Because in this old ball game they say “one, two, three hits and you’re out.” One of the first songs I learned as a child.
Usually, we get excited when the pitchers and catchers are announced to be heading to training camp when the snow in Wisconsin is still knee-deep on February 4th.
We wore winter coats in the Midwest and brought snow shovels for opening day. This year we brought sunglasses and sunscreen.
And for all the cautious hype, who knows what a pandemic election year might bring… we’re past the MLB All-Star Game in the middle of the season, and here are the first pitches being thrown at the approaching transfer deadlines. It’s happening too fast. And usually, after the last out is made in the All-Star Game, summer starts running through that hourglass like it’s on a rushed schedule. It’s been a month already! For those who don’t remember, the American League prevailed 5-3. (Something for your trivia night.)
The trade fair planning is gaining momentum. Before the first stand is cleared out, we are cautiously looking ahead to what will come next.
Suddenly, back-to-school sales are all over the media, “The Boys of Summer” have put their gloves under the mattress for another year, football players are talking about how much they hate the dreaded “two-a-days,” and ESPN is already systematically listing teams that have no chance of making the World Series.
Spoiler alert. The White Sox and Athletics were eliminated on Opening Day.
Except for 1982, our childhood in Wisconsin was filled with heartbreak. Usually by this time of year, we’d had enough of it and had to settle for bragging about Bernie Brewer sliding down the slide into a giant beer barrel, or maybe the Klements Sausage Races at Milwaukee County Stadium.
The only time we were heartbroken was in 1982 when the Brewers finally made it to the World Series but lost to the Cardinals. Bambi’s Bombers narrowly missed out. Our fame was based on the fact that Bob Uecker was our sportscaster and he lived in my hometown of Menomonee Falls, where he still lives today.
He used to live on Uecker Lane and we went to school with his kids. One time I brought him a baseball card of him as a Cardinal and told him it was for my investment in baseball cards. I wanted him to sign it and he immediately told his daughter Leann that I had no idea and would accomplish nothing by collecting worthless cards. Then he offered me $10 for it, I took the money and he tore up the card.
He said, “Okay, now go get a real job.”
I’m old school though. Really old school. Much older than I look, although my daughter always denies it and keeps me modest.
I was there before the Seattle Pilots moved to Milwaukee. We lived in downtown Milwaukee until 1960, and everyone had Milwaukee Braves fever back then. That changed when Lombardi came to the Packers to start a dynasty, but we’ll leave that for another column.
All of my relatives were diehard Braves fans, and the stories of Lou Perini moving his Boston Braves to the new Milwaukee County Stadium in 1953 were legendary. Long before I was born. OK, not that long, but long enough.
In 1957, the Milwaukee Braves won their only MLB World Series against the Yankees, and my mother, who was friends with the Braves’ manager and also worked as a model for Gimbles and Boston Store, got to ride in the World Series parade two days after the team returned from its Game 7 victory in New York.
She also gave birth to my brother shortly after the series win. It is said that she went into labor during that game. She was brave and didn’t want to miss the parade. Some speculated that she wanted to name him “Lewis” after Lew Burdette, the winning pitcher, but she clearly didn’t like the way he looked.
So they named him Todd. Ironically, he died years later in New York, but I can’t say for sure if it was universe karma.
My summer memories of games in Milwaukee are filled with the smell of Milwaukee’s Ambrosia Chocolate Co. wafting across the field as the wind blew in off Lake Michigan, Harley Davidson motorcycles racing around the stadium and, of course, the yeasty smell of downtown breweries.
The best part was watching Hall of Famers Hank Aaron, Eddie Matthews and Joe Torre hit home runs out of the park and seeing Warren Spahn’s great left-handed throw from the mound. I just wish I had one of those Aaron autographs I got after several games.
A friend of mine and I would wait by Aaron’s car because we knew he was always the last one out to avoid the crowds. But every game we would sit on the hot asphalt next to this red 1964 Ford Galaxy convertible. We wore our green Little League shirts to every game and one time he asked us if we had any other shirts. We laughed a little and it wasn’t until later in life that I realized it was a joke.
I mean, he wore the same uniform to every game. And isn’t it funny how most boys remember the color of their Little League jersey as a kid and the position they played?
The sun rose and set on the Braves and I loved going to the games until I got hooked on baseball in 1966 and was heartbroken when my legends moved to Atlanta. And for a couple of years the sun didn’t rise in Milwaukee. I still can’t bring myself to watch CNN. Maybe it’s for other reasons. I’m just saying.’
I never managed to attend another baseball game at County Stadium until I was in junior high, when the bankrupt Seattle Pilots renamed themselves the Milwaukee Brewers. They came to town the first year and thrilled us all by giving us the satisfaction of watching the neighboring Twins win the division, and we finished the season 33 games behind the first place team. Ah yes, I’m living my dream in Milwaukee.
After that, summers seemed to pass much faster. The Packers and Braves had their heyday, and the Bucks won their first NBA championship in 1971. After that, it didn’t rain in Wisconsin for many years.
Until Brett Favre. I’m just getting started to cater to you Favre haters. I should add a LOL, but I won’t.
Mark DeLap is a journalist, photographer and editor and CEO of the Bladen Journal. To email him, send a message to: (email protected)
