Brewers and Mariners: A Tale of Two Championship Losers

With the Seattle Mariners losing last night in heart-breaking fashion, fans are denied the coveted Brewers-Mariners battle between two teams who’ve never won a World Series. That perfect pairing will have to wait. I was fourteen when the Brewers last made the World Series, and I’m prepared to keep waiting. I’m just running out of time!

The ALCS and NLCS couldn’t have been more different: the former was a 7-game, back and forth affair between two teams playing at a high level, with alternating stellar pitching and offensive punch; the NLCS was a 4-game snoozefest, with the Brewers breaking records for the worst batting average and OPS in playoff history for a series of more than 3 games. They scored a whopping four runs in four games. Only game 4 provided fans with an indelible memory, as the world’s greatest player had arguably the greatest playoff game in history.

I didn’t see it.

I was traveling in New York, and when I peaked at my phone and saw that the Crew was already down 4-0, I decided to go to bed, prepared to wake up to the realization that Milwaukee’s season was over.

The next day my mom and I drove two and a half hours to Cooperstown to see the Baseball Hall of Fame, one of my favorite places on the planet. When I handed the attendant my tickets, he noticed the Brewers hat on my head and commented, “Man, how about Ohtani?” I sheepishly admitted I hadn’t watched the game. “Three home runs! And 6 innings pitched with 10 strikeouts.”

Wow!

I’m glad I missed it. I’m reminded of a Brewers-Twins matchup I attended in Minneapolis in 1994, when Twins pitcher Scott Erickson cruised through 8 2/3rds innings of no-hit ball. I found myself surrounded by Brewers fans who were actually cheering for the guy to finish the job. Hell no! Greg Vaughn was at the plate and I was praying – PRAYING – for a home run to not only ruin the no-hitter, but to kill the shutout and complete game as well. I didn’t get my wish, and I was pissed. I don’t mind watching history, as long as it’s not against my team.

Anyhow, all of this begs the question: is it better to lose a hard-fought battle in heartbreaking fashion like Seattle, or to lose in such an anemic fashion like Milwaukee? I mentioned a few weeks ago that I’ve been to two deciding playoff games in which the Brewers lost. It wasn’t fun, but at least the series provided moments of joy. This year’s NLCS against the Dodgers provided nothing for Brewers fans to hang their hats on. It wasn’t any fun. To go from winning a deciding game against the Cubs on Saturday to being eliminated by the following Friday….that’s a different sort of heartbreak.

Seattle fans, the three-run home run in the 7th was a brutal way to lose. Brutal. But try to embrace the season, the amazing 15-inning victory to clinch the ALDS, and the terrific battle against the Blue Jays. You had a hell of run.

So did the Brewers, until they didn’t.

I guess any way you lose, you end up in the same place.

The Grayness of Human Beings

A couple of months ago, a patron at a Chicago White Sox game made some very meanspirited and personal remarks to Arizona second baseman Ketel Marte, and the fan was subsequently banned from all MLB games indefinitely. Reports are that the 22 year-old was “very apologetic and remorseful,” which is promising; I hope he uses this unfortunate experience as an opportunity to recalibrate his life. I also hope that Major League Baseball doesn’t banish the fan for life, or even for a year, but rather invites him back to enjoy baseball with his regrettable indiscretion behind him.

People can be cruel. People can be dumb. The world is run by cruel and dumb people, for crying out loud. But I’d also like us to give people a little more leeway than what is often offered on social media, podcasts and YouTube. Lord knows that if I were held accountable for all the stupid shit I spouted as a 22-year-old, I’d be banned from all sorts of businesses, websites and homes – including my own! I’m wiser today, I’ve smoothed out some of the rough edges, and I try not to utter every stupid thought that pops into my brain.

As we look around the world today, on the news or on internet comments or social media, we’ll witness words and actions that exemplify the worst of humanity. If we look a little harder, we’ll also see words and actions that exemplify the best of humanity. It’s so easy to observe the worst in someone and use it to summarize their entire being. One false action, one slipup of a remark, one viewpoint that doesn’t correspond to our own, and WHAMMO! You’re now an asshole. A pariah. A “them.”

This isn’t the best way to go through life, for it too easily distills a complex human being into a one-word pejorative. I’ve had discussions with my children about this. There is a celebrity who’s done some amazing things but who’s also made some remarks that my children don’t agree with. This celebrity is now banished from their lives, relegated to the island of assholes who aren’t worth their time, which is unfortunate, because it doesn’t address the full human being; it cherry picks the one thing that they find abhorrent and ignores all the good they’ve done.

People are gray, sometimes impressing us with their words and actions, and sometimes letting us down. Goodness knows that I don’t always live up to my highest ideals. There are a multitude of words and actions from my past that I wish I could take back, but it would also be wrong for someone to take a few of those words and actions and make a blanket statement about who I am as a person. I am more than my missteps. I’m also more than a guy who holds a different viewpoint that you do about a particular subject. It’s OKAY to have an opinion that doesn’t align with yours.

People are numbskulls. People are geniuses.
People are despicable and amazing.
They’re pathetic and inspiring.
They’re disappointing and promising.
They’re mean-spirited and kind, cowardly and brave.
People are dishonorable and commendable, capricious and steadfast,
stingy and generous, hypocritical and trustworthy.
They’re hateful and loving. Weak and strong. Lazy and indefatigable.
They are painfully serious and side-splittingly funny,
They’re boring as hell and engrossing.
They are black and white and red and orange and yellow and brown and…
GRAY.

Let’s try to refrain from painting a broad brushstroke about someone’s entire being based on one or two things that we don’t appreciate. Okay?

Back to Baseball

It’s Tuesday morning, and as I write this a replay of last night’s Brewers game is streaming behind me, a comforting companion to my morning. Like Bob Uecker himself – who’s announced Brewers games on the radio since I was three years old – my life’s accompaniment has always been baseball.

Except last year.

In a bit of bravado, on the heels of baseball’s moronic lockout that delayed the start to last season, I decided a year ago that I was done with baseball. And I was. After announcing in February, “Screw ‘em. I’m done,” I didn’t watch any baseball on TV except for a few game recaps, and I only attended five innings in person (at a White Sox game to hang out with my daughter and her partner).

This was a big change for me, and as I summarized last October, I didn’t really miss it. I found other things to do with my time, and I got lucky that the Brewers didn’t finish the season strong, sparing me the agony of having to watch my team miss the playoffs for the first time since 2017.  But I recognized that my baseball boycott might not continue.

A new season has started, and it only took four games for me to dive back in, purchasing the MLBTV package and following every Brewers game since in some form or another (a game recap, highlights, live or on-demand).

What led to this turnabout? Two things that I can think of:

1)      Major League Baseball, finally – FINALLY – enacted rule changes meant to speed up the game, something that should have been done a decade ago. It was a relief to check out box scores for the first few days of the season and see game times of 2:21, 2:32 and 2:57 (the latter for a high-scoring 9-5 game). This change was sorely needed. After enduring over a decade of watching showboating Ryan Braun step out of the batters box after each and every pitch to mess with his batting gloves, viewers are now treated to a streamlined game that transpires happily, neither rushed nor sluggish.

2)      Reviewing the box scores for those first four games was jolting for me because I recognized three names in the starting line-up. THREE! And I’d only been away for a year! I suddenly felt oddly disconnected from my hometown, no longer a native to Milwaukee, but an outsider. 

It was a combination of these factors, and the fact that the Brewers got off to a hot start, with three young rookies making an impact, that led me to spend $150 for MLBTV, eschewing the monthly bill that I could have opted for and cancelled at any time.  Nope, was all-in.

Two nights ago, I watched a spectacular 1-0 Brewers victory against the Padres, the only run being scored from a combination of a bunt single, a balk, a stolen base and a sacrifice fly in the second inning.  That was it for the night, and I sat on the edge of my seat as Wade Miley and Yu Darvish traded zeros through the seventh inning, and my heart raced as Brewers closer Devin Williams loaded the bases in the ninth and took Trent Grisham to a 3-2 count before obtaining a game-ending strikeout.

Baseball is back!

Life Without Baseball

There’s a running gag in the movie Airplane! in which Lloyd Bridge’s character, stressed out by an impending airline catastrophe, utters “Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit smoking.” Throughout the film, he raises the ante, substituting “quit smoking” with “quit drinking” “quit amphetamines” “quit sniffing glue.” Fantastic.

At the beginning of the 2022 Major League Baseball season, I thought I might wind up in a similar state, as I had given up baseball despite the Milwaukee Brewers sprinting to a 32-18 start. 

Fear not, I thought. There’s still time.

And there was. In contrast to Lloyd Bridge’s character, it looks like I picked the right year to quit baseball.  After all, baseball quit on me and the rest of the nation in February and March, as spring training was postponed to accommodate whiny billionaire owners and whiny millionaire players while the rest of the country recovered from a hangover of COVID isolation, inflation, low-paid jobs, an attempted coup, disappearing lakes and rivers, and everything in between.

Good going, baseball! You are run by a bunch of morons.

In February, I wrote a blog called Baseball Digs its Own Grave and finished with the line, “Screw ‘em. I’m done,” uncertain if I would actually live up to the bravado of the sentiment. But I did. For the first time since I was a wee toddler, I didn’t watch any baseball except for a few game recaps and 5 innings of a White Sox game in early August solely to hang out with my daughter and partner who were looking for something to do on a balmy Chicago afternoon. I also checked out the box scores and standings a few times a week.

That’s it. Compare that to 2021, when I attended four games in Milwaukee (despite living 90 miles away) and watched upwards of 120 games via my now cancelled MLBTV subscription (after over a decade of loyal viewership).

In short, I followed baseball the way most sane people do: scanning a few headlines about the hottest teams and Aaron Judge’s historic home run pursuit.

I wasn’t sure I could do it, but as happened to so many people during the bleakest months of COVID isolation, it became very clear what I could live without. Not only could live without, but could happily live without. I did not miss baseball in the slightest. My evenings were spent playing music or taking walks or chatting with neighbors, and my visits to Milwaukee included record shopping with a friend, attending a lakeside beer garden, and enjoying a backyard barbecue. No $20 parking. No $13 beers. No frustration watching an anemic offense. No tearing out my hair as my team collapsed and failed to make the playoffs for the first time since 2017 despite uncharacteristically high expectations.

Sure, I was intrigued when general manager David Stearns traded Josh Hader away to the Padres, but this intrigue was squashed when a subsequent move to improve the woeful offense didn’t occur. And after reading this fine post about some of the boneheaded moves (or non-moves) of management this year, I’m thankful that I wasn’t subjected to such incompetence as a passionate participant. Instead, I was able to watch things from afar, with sensible detachment.

Now, I know that there’s a cost to detachment. I recall October of 2018, when I attended Game 1 of the NLDS and watched the Brewers edge out the Rockies as I maniacally cheered, waved my victory towel and downed beers. It was a great evening (less great was watching that same team lose twice to the Dodgers, once in Los Angeles, and once in Milwaukee for the decisive Game 7). I know that sports can lead to wonderful moments. And that’s what’s at stake here. The possibility of being elated. Of being overjoyed.  Of screaming up to the heavens when the Brewers finally, finally win a World Series. 

That overwhelming jubilation will be denied me even if the Brewers do finally win it all one day, because I will no longer be watching with the passion I once felt. I’m not saying that my baseball boycott will last forever. It might not even last more than one season. I don’t know. But I will no longer invest emotion into Major League Baseball. The most I’ll invest is a mild appreciation for the sport itself, and $100 or so to attend a game with all the fixings.

A couple of albums ago, I wrote a song called “Put You Away.” It’s a good one, and the lyrics perfectly capture how I’m feeling right now: 

I
I've got to put you away for a while
Someplace I'll one day say with a smile
Or maybe a tear
This is where I kept my heart from feeling
Cuz I
I can't bear to feel any more
This is so much worse than before

All those little heartbreaks when you're young
They don't compare to what feels like a ton
Of trouble taking me down
All my passions turn to sure disaster
And I
I've got to put you away in a drawer
And remember how it was before

How you opened up my soul
When all I wanted
Is to crawl back into a hole
You let my spirit soar towards a future
Paved in gold

I have visions in the night
It seems so close I almost toast the cup in victory
Could this be really happening?
Could this be really happening?

Oh, how you opened up my soul
When all I wanted
Is to crawl back into a hole
This hurts me more than words can say
And still I know no other way
Cuz this is really happening
Yes this is really happening to me

So long, baseball.  It was a good run.

Baseball Digs its Own Grave

Major League Baseball was already in trouble. With dwindling attendance after peaking in 2007, game times ballooning to 3 hours and eleven minutes (even after instituting some foolhardy rule changes), and lagging World Series TV ratings, it could be argued that baseball is on its way out, crying uncle to the multitude of other forms of entertainment. Hell, I raised three kids to love baseball, and they tell me that baseball isn’t really a thing their friends are interested in. Sure, maybe they go to the ballpark once a year for the hell of it, but as far as checking box scores and standings and tuning into games on TV, baseball has largely lost the next generation of fans. Of course, having World Series games that start at 8:09PM EST hasn’t exactly helped, has it? Why the MLB insists that they can gain the most market share by having as few young people watch the game as possible is perplexing. Football seems to have factored young fans into its calculous, but baseball has its collective head up its collective ass.

Ah, but not as far as we thought, apparently, because they’ve managed to push it in a little further still. 

Yes, Russia is invading Ukraine, America has just suffered through the worst two crises since World War II, people have lost full-time jobs and found only part-time jobs in return, the planet is heating up and water levels are rising, but baseball players and owners – these entitled pricks who get to play a game or get to be billionaires – are fighting over money. Never mind the multitudes who will be adversely affected as a result: the restaurant and bar owners, hotel chains, vendors, and local tourist attractions. Baseball has flipped them the proverbial bird. Screw you. We want our money!

It’s akin to something I read in Politico last week about the shenanigans that the far left in San Francisco employed recently during the pandemic. Autumn Looijen, co-founder of the Recall SF School Board campaign is quoted:

Imagine you’re in San Francisco. There’s been an earthquake. You’re out on the sidewalk in a tent because you’re not sure if your home is safe to go back to. And you’re cooking your meals on the sidewalk, you’re trying to do normal things. You’ve been there for months. Finally, your elected leaders show up and you’re like, ‘Thank God, here’s some help.’ And they say, ‘We are here to help. We’re going to change the street signs for you.’

Yep.

She’s spot-on, of course. And the same quote could be applied to Major League Baseball. The American people have endured several punches to the gut these past two years and could use some fun, lighthearted entertainment. So what does baseball do?  Shut down and argue about money.

I have cancelled my MLBTV subscription. This will put a strain on my marriage this summer. It will make my life less pleasant. I will have to find new things to do on weekday evenings when all I want to do is crack open a beer and enjoy the quintessential summer game. 

Screw ‘em. I’m done.