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Jack Buck is an oppressively hot and muggy summer evening on highway 40 approaching the Vandeventer overpass, and seeing that big monstrosity of a neon eagle flying the AB colors...

Jack Buck is the evening security shift at Jewish Hospital crammed into a tiny room listening to the Cards smack the tar out of those pond-scum Muts...

Jack Buck is the tinny voice crackling out of a homemade crystal set - under the covers, past bedtime, on a school night - as the Cards work a west coast trip.

Jack Buck is the guy for whom everyone stops trying to make time at Tom's Bar and Grill and cheers loudly and in unison.

Jack Buck is a team of Clydesdales pulling a big, red, beer wagon; two birds on a bat; and a white stadium crowned by arches.

Jack Buck is, was, and forever will be the Cardinals. And when it's time to finally go, I want to hear my wife's laugh and Jack Buck calling a game at 9:30 in the middle of July.

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