Savoring another special home opener for the St. Louis Cardinals

With apologies to the Masters, it’s become our very own tradition like no other.

Since 2019, I’ve been traveling back home to St. Louis, first from New York and then from Arizona, to take in the Cardinals' home opener (or, as it was this year, Opening Day in general).  And no matter the changing circumstances of who exactly is there with me, or the changing feelings about the team’s chances that year, the tradition remains just as cherished as ever.

Cardinals baseball has always been a glue for my family. One of my earliest baseball memories is reading the St. Louis Post-Dispatch’s description of Gary Gaetti’s painfully slow trot around the bases after his grand slam in Game 2 of the 1996 NLCS, a description my father and I laughed at over morning breakfast. One of my brothers moved abroad last year and yet a text between us is more likely to be concern over the day’s lineup than a life update.

So it made sense in 2019 when my two younger brothers and I decided to get together at least once a year for the Cardinals’ home opener, the best opening festivities in baseball. We had spread across the country after growing up in St. Louis, and our new tradition offered the chance to combine two cherished entities — family and the Cardinals.

The specific crew at the game has changed over the years. It started as the three of us, while our parents, either together or separately, have tagged in and out at times. This year, both of my brothers had to miss, and while their absence was felt, family still was the dominant theme. For the second year in a row, we had three generations at the game — my parents, me, and my three-year-old son, who was also there for the second year in a row. Next year, I plan to also bring his little brother for his first. A tradition that began as a way to ensure family bonding continues to give.

But no matter the changes in who sits in the seats next to me, the opener at Busch is always such a special day. From the Clydesdales (yes, even when they’re early) to the procession of trucks around the field, from the red jackets to the first pitch, everything just screams tradition.

And it continues to give regardless of the direction of the team. It was a weird offseason for Cardinals fans, having to deal with a team that openly admitted it would no longer prioritize winning above all else, at least temporarily. Former stars aired some dirty laundry, and it just seemed the team couldn’t help but stack missteps on top of missteps. (This 3-0 start, as well as the exciting play that has led to it, certainly takes some of the sting out of those feelings.)

But despite all that, Thursday’s game remained as special as ever. Taking it in with my parents and my son, it simply didn’t matter what the rest of the year held for the Redbirds. What mattered was the goosebumps I always get at the ovation for Ozzie. Or the wonderment in my son’s eyes when Lars Nootbaar homered, or his glee when the victory fireworks erupted.

What mattered was my mother’s excitement when the lights dimmed for Ryan Helsley’s entrance music or my father’s joy in taking my son to meet Fredbird. 

What mattered were the conversations struck up with others during the rain delay, whether it was complaints about the direction of the team or comparing travel notes for making to the game.

What mattered was that we were there, together as a family and with our extended Cardinals Nation family. A tradition like no other, and one I wouldn’t miss for the world.