My Summer of Baseball

Only in Baseball

When was the last time you got to know somebody at a basketball game? Probably never. Too much action too fast, too many whistles blowing, too many shoes squeaking across wood.

A football game? Not likely there either. Too cold. Too crowded. Too much field to crane your neck around. Too much macho.

But then there's baseball....the coffee shop of the sporting world.

In the three hours of a baseball game, there's plenty of time to chat up your neighbor in addition to cheering the team, eating a hot dog, hitting the store, scoring some innnings, enjoying some kettle corn, walking around the park and making six trips to the bathroom.

Yesterday was a great example and a great 4th of July. We met Bob and Rachelle, freshly back this winter from a stint in Phoenix but, happily, still Brewers fans. (Bob has a childhood love of the Twins, but we're ignoring that for now.)

In the two hours and 48 minutes of the game, we managed to swap stories and opinions about: living in Arizona, living in Wisconsin, spring training, trading Fielder for C.C. Sabathia, the benefits of the NL vs. the AL (no DH = more strategy!), our jobs, Craig Counsel, Chase Field vs. Miller Park, the sausage race and why accountants make the best communicators.

And that's not to mention their friends, the Palmers, who were visiting from Arizona and joined in the fun. They turned out to be great as well.

This - plus trouncing the Pirates 9 to 1 - made for a perfect afternoon. And, it was the kind you get only in baseball, I think.

It's like a great family day at the park. Only with a 41,000-member family, fireworks and a cooler park.

Let's Keep It Unfair Every Once in a While

Tonight during the radio coverage, Jim Powell talked a lot about the new system being used in pro tennis to check line calls. He thinks that within a few years, baseball will have a similar system for strike calls.

Now, I get it that it's not fun when the ump is making questionable calls that aren't in our favor.

But then again, it's awfully fun when the calls go our way. We won't soon forget that catcher who took off all his gear and stomped off the field, chased by Milwaukee laughter.

More important, though, I like that it's not always fair.

Bad calls get made. The strike zone changes from one ump to the next. Coaches emerge from the dugout. It's part of the game, and the best players, they roll with it...and even find the advantage.

That's what I like best, I think. I got a fortune cookie once with the message: "Adversity is the source of your strength."

It's true. And maybe why I so admire the batters who, after two bad strike calls in a row, blast it out of the park.

It's just that much sweeter.  

Yep, That and More

A disappointing game tonight, for sure. Missed chances and dumb mistakes. But I'm counting on the Crew to turn it around for the remaining games.

In the meantime, if you stay on top of the comments, you might have seen this from Curt earlier today:

"Which brings me to a question as we near the mid-way point for the SOBster: Is it everything that you've hoped for? More? Less? What's most surprising? Have you started to dread baseball at all (or regret the blog, for that matter)? OK, that's more than one question. But there you have it..."

Hmmm. Let me take them one by one...and add a few.

Is it everything that you've hoped for?
Yep, and more. It turns out that I love following a team. I enjoy the TV games almost as much as the home games. I dig the pressure of having to write all the time. I love the intricacies of the rules and rulings. 

What's most surprising?
Rediscovering a love of hot dogs.

What's most disappointing?
Fielder.

What's most touching?
That my family reads the blog regularly.

What's most fun?
Winning. But also trying to find a different hook every day to link whatever I'm thinking about to baseball.

What's most frustrating?
The Cubs.

What's most comforting?
38 games in, I still get choked up every game during the national anthem.

So...have I started to dread baseball at all?
Hell no. Is it Friday yet?

Kinda Sheety

Is it just me? Or was anybody else disappointed to read that Ben Sheets is pretty much a sure thing for free agency next year?

Now, let me be clear. I don't mean disappointed that he'll be gone, though clearly that will be a major loss for the Brewers. But what bums me out is that he would be so keen to abandon the team.

Still, suffice it to say, he made his dissatisfaction known in the interview - especially in light of his "big year" so far.

Sure, Sheets is a star...when he's healthy. But the last three years, the Brewers have stuck by him through injury after injury.

So it just seems wrong that he'd be so eager to test the waters elsewhere. I guess it's the business of baseball. And I know, it IS a business. But it still feels bad.

3 Million Reasons to Love Milwaukee

If you didn't see this Journal Sentinel article, I hope you'll check it out. It's about Milwaukee baseball fans and their amazing game attendance.

Among other points to make us proud:

* Milwaukee ranks with the likes of New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, the Bay Area, Philadelphia and St. Louis in terms of game attendance.

* Per capita, the Brewers are actually the best attended franchise in the National League.

* And, my favorite point, to put it all into perspective: With 19 million people, only 16% of New Yorkers have to go to a Yankees game for them to tally 3 million attendees. As the Journal Sentinel notes:

Comparatively, the Brewers need to get almost every man, woman and child in Greater Milwaukee to show up twice a season at Miller Park for 3 million to happen.

And we'll probably get there. We're at more than 1.3 million already.

Like we even needed one more reason to love Milwaukee.

Besting the Twins, One Kid at a Time

My friend Matt weighed in this morning with the following guest post about Saturday's game versus the Twins. Enjoy...

Baseball in-game excitement is often in the eyes of the beholder…and these words are no truer than when applied to my six-year-old daughter, Peyton. 

Shortly after the sausage race – her personal pinnacle in any game – she batted her big blue eyes at me asking, “Daddy, can we go to the Kid’s Zone?” 

Secretly relieved to get a break from screaming Twin fans and the Moreau jerseys positioned right in front of me for the first six innings, I gladly smiled and grabbed her tiny hand as we headed to the area just beyond the 1st base line.

What a delight! Watching the corners of her mouth approach her ears on several occasions was only exceeded by my laughter as she was convinced she’d beat Corey Hart on a timed run to 1st base. 

Then off to our favorite … the children’s sausage race of course! 

After briefly waiting in line, Peyton’s turn came up and she quickly positioned herself behind the Polish Sausage. After a little reassurance from “Daddy,” she readied herself to push the object twice her size the roughly 25 meters to the finish line.

It was at that moment that some tension returned in me, as an older boy twice her size  – and in a bright red Twins shirt and cap, no less – positioned himself behind the Italian Sausage next to her. 

“We’re just here to have fun,” I kept telling myself, obviously mildly aggravated about yet another Twins fan encroaching on our Brewers fun. 

The stadium staff positioned two other children in the ready position behind the other sausages as they were about to start the race. Peyton’s eyes swelled as he spoke: “On your mark … get set...”

And it was at that point that the big Twins boy got out to an early lead by jumping the gun, obviously motivated to win the race at any cost – even against his younger, smaller opponents. (And Peyton’s dad’s blood pressure began to escalate …) 

“...GO!” … and the other three children, including Peyton, start to push their sausages – now well behind the older boy.

Peyton initially struggled, but never gave up, pushing what must’ve felt like the equivalent of a vehicle down the track towards the finish line. Meanwhile, the Twins boy coasted to an easy victory … and smiled, proud of his tainted accomplishment.

But as fate would have it, poetic justice strikes back.

Upon completing his victory, the young lad circled completely around the Italian Sausage to look back on the onlooking observers and admirers. But instead of adoring fans, he was greeted by the lumbering, giant Polish Sausage coming down the tracks fueled on the strength of a 38-pound girl – half his size! 

Wap!! He immediately tumbled backward several steps onto the floor. Welcome to Milwaukee!! 

Not seriously hurt, the boy went to his father to shed some tears … while this Dad smiled and said to himself, “That’s my girl!”

Keeping Up with Dad

When I first started talking about doing this blog, some people seemed to think it was a crazy idea. What software would I use? How would I learn how to program it? What if I messed it up or crashed it?

But I don't really worry about stuff like that. My dad taught me the wonderful skill of just diving in and figuring it out. Things like photography, computers...I have great memories of learning and experimenting with him, and learning some more.

These days, I'm pretty comfortable fiddling with new technology until I get it to work. In fact, I enjoy it -- that's another trait I share with Dad.

Also, enjoying the newest, neatest toy. I'm actually writing this blog on my Mac Air laptop, which I bought shortly after Dad beat me to it with his own.

Most people are trying to keep up with the Joneses. I'm trying to keep up with my tech-savvy father. He's still got me beat with his iPhone and SLR digital camera. But I'm trying.

I'd like to say that all these years of playing with technology have made me an expert. But just this winter I had an Excel challenge that, for the life of me, I couldn't sort out.

My father fiddled around with it for a few days and came up with a perfect solution. Just goes to show, you're never too old for a little help from Dad.

I'm may not be a perfect techie, but I'm one lucky daughter.

Don't Give Up

Last night at the game, the guy sitting next to me mentioned that our seats used to belong to an old couple. They were in their 70s or 80s, he said, and had been coming to games for years and years.

How great. I love the idea of us, decades from now, still being a nutty couple that never misses a game.

But on the other hand, his words made me ache. What happened? What changed this past winter to make that couple give up their seats? Is one of them gone?

I got a lump in my throat, too, each time the crowd booed Bill Hall last night.

Yes, he made dumb errors. Yes, he didn't deliver at the plate. Yes, we're all frustrated that he's playing the media to get a trade.

But I can imagine, too, the feeling of that terrible moment, when you realize that what's been good for years is starting to slip away.

When the player just can't connect in the role he always held for the team.

Or when it gets too tough for the old man to make it down the steps to the ballpark seats.

And once you recognize that moment, it might break your heart. You'd fight it, but a little part of you could start giving up. Giving up your season tickets. Or giving up on your team.

I hope not. But my blue imagination wonders.

Baseball Perfection

When the Brewers walloped five home runs last night and won the game, I have to admit I was pretty gleeful. But my favorite baseball moments actually came earlier in the day.

I'm visiting my sister in Connecticut this week. So when my eight-year-old nephew's little league team had a special event - the kids versus the families - I was in on the fun.

With my sister nursing an aching back, I got to pinch hit twice. It was HUGE fun (and yes, I got a hit). Plus, it brought back memories...
* The way the field looks so different from that one spot next to home plate.
* The anxiety of watching the pitch fly your way.
* And, the amazing old muscle memory that kicked in and told me when to swing.

It felt great.

Of course, the chance to play also brought back my throwing arm...about which my sister dryly noted: "You throw like a girl."

But who cares. The kids won. The families had a blast. And as Pete always says: Even a bad day of baseball beats a great day of work.

And this was a perfect day of baseball.

 

Pretty Darn Cool

This past March, I got to go to a spring training game with my mom. The Brewers vs. the Angels, a bright sunny day, a win for the Crew.

But what was really great wasn't the game, it was my mom. She bought a Cactus League t-shirt, cheered the racing sausages, and told me all about going to Braves games in Milwaukee with her grandfather when she was a teenager.

She was so excited, you wouldn't know it was the fourth day of spring training vs. the fourth game of the World Series - which, by the way, the Braves went to the year she was 17.

And this is what I love: Whether at 67, as she is on her birthday today, or at 17, Mom has always embraced fun whole-heartedly.

In fact, I'd say she's even cooler today than she was 50 years ago. And she was pretty darn cool then:

I certainly inherited the love of baseball from Mom. I hope I got a little of the whole-hearted coolness, too.