The Milwaukee Brewers have won the World Series! And I'm elated. Ecstatic, even. I'm happy for our dear, departed Bob Uecker. I'm happy for Milwaukee. I'm happy for my father and grandfather who didn't live to see this day, but who would still have loved it. I'm happy for all Brewers fans everywhere.
And yet, the intellectual side of me knows that this wonderful moment in history is just part of the overall "bread and circuses" act which pulls us away from the things we really ought to be paying attention to. I'm fully aware that this happiness comes, not from the act of actually achieving anything, but from our evolutionary history, back when we were hunter-gatherers and the "team" which came home from a successful hunting excursion was greeted like heroes, because it meant plenty of food and security for months to come. I'm cognizant of the fact that we lack such heroic hunting parties today, and so have supplanted it with artificial forms of fake-hunting upon ritualized hunting grounds, thus allowing us to feel this thrill again vicariously.
But I'm happy anyway.
We feel the emotional high of the victory saying "we" won, as if we did anything. Sure, we bought tickets. We cheered. We endured the constant, relentless onslaught of soul-deadening commercials that constantly ruin the sport of baseball like a swarm of ants at a picnic. But aside from that, what did we really do?
The honest answer is -- nothing. Our hired mercenaries out-played every other team's hired mercenaries, and we no more "helped" than someone who passively watches a workout video helps the dancing woman in leotards stay in shape. We didn't take the field. We didn't do anything. They did.
Oh, we like to think we did something. We wore our "rally caps," waved our freebie towels, put on our lucky socks, refused to wash our favorite jersey, or did any number of other silly things we thought might help. Yes, even I fell victim to this line of thinking, as I clutched a 1957 collectors' baseball, signed by many members of the World Series Winning Milwaukee Braves, as a kind of totem. I did this throughout the entire World Series. I knew, rationally, that this didn't really help -- that this was stupid. But I did it anyway. We all did. And did it help? Well, one might like to think it did, because the Brewers won, didn't they? But no. It was all bullshit. Deep down, we realize it. Those hired mercenaries did it all on their own.
But I'm still happy.
If anything, the fact that our hired mercenaries did so well, despite having one of the lowest team payrolls in Major League Baseball, is an achievement of the Brewers' front office. Those people made better deals, initiated better trades, executed better drafts, and hired better coaches and managers. We fans could probably name every single player on the team. But is there anyone who knows even one name in that front office, besides General Manager Matt Arnold? For the vast majority of us, the answer is no. Yet shouldn't they get most of the glory? Shouldn't they get to showcase the trophy first? Shouldn't we know their names even better than the players?
We don't. But I'm still happy anyway.
More than 750,000 of us gathered for the Brewers' victory parade down Wisconsin Avenue -- possibly the largest single crowd-gathering in Wisconsin state history. But did we ever have an outpouring like this for the travesty of incompetent Nazi-dunces who are busily burning our democracy to the ground? Did we care enough to gather like this about homelessness? About massive wealth inequality? About datacenters purloining our water? About the war in Iran? About the high cost of groceries? Hell, did we gather like this to end segregated neighborhoods in Milwaukee itself?
Isn't it amazing what we truly care about?
And good ol' Miller Park. Remember those idiots who tried to prevent it from getting built? 30 years ago almost to the exact day, back in 1996, nearly all of the conservatives in Southeast Wisconsin hemmed and hawed fighting against a mezely .01% sales tax within only five counties. They almost succeeded in defeating this "stadium tax." If they had, none of this World Series Victory stuff would have ever happened. The Brewers would have languished in dilapidated old County Stadium until the team got bought out by Las Vegas or some other larger city. Fortunately, George Petak of Racine changed his vote at 2:00 in the morning to get the stadium funding passed in the Wisconsin State Legislature. For this brave act, his ass was booted out of office in a recall election!
30 years later, in the midst of our celebrations, did anybody suggest banning those motherfuckers who tried to defeat the stadium tax bill from the victory parade? Did anybody try to shun those who voted out Petak? I really think someone damned well should have!
George Petak didn't live to see the World Series victory. He died in 2024. The Brewers should absolutely put up a statue of him right between those of Bob Uecker and Robin Yount!
And, in the midst of our elation, can we all please spare a moment to criticize the travesty that is the renaming of Miller Park? Most fans still refuse to call it "American Family Field," and rightly so. But even as they engage in this private act of rebellion, they suck down Miller beer in grand Milwaukee tradition, as if Molson Coors didn't stab us all in the back by abandoning the naming rights to the grandest baseball stadium in the Midwest in the first place. Did nobody think to boycott Miller products, even as a one-day strike, in protest? (There's always Pabst Blue Ribbon, you know.)
And what have we said about American Family Insurance committing flagrant acts of graffiti all over the stadium since? Their name is on top of the roof, under the roof, in every concourse and on every outside facade... Why, even Bernie Brewer's chalice has the American Family red roof on top! Why weren't there riots with pitchforks and torches over that one?! Why didn't we all collectively say, "Look, AmFam, you might have bought the naming rights to the stadium, but Bernie's chalice is still fucking ours!"
But I'm still elated, in spite of it all.
Lastly, let's all take a moment to finally laugh our asses off at North Shore Adult Diapers. I don't mind there being a sponsor for Brewers radio broadcasts, but come on! This wasn't an ad campaign, this was a punchline from the movie Major League II, in which Bob Uecker, as Harry Doyle, pokes fun at a proctologist's ad displayed on the outfield fence.
I mean, talk about a shitty move (pun absolutely intended).
Intellectually, I know all these objections are true. I know that I should be dismissive of sportsball and more focused on things that truly matter. But this isn't a rational thing, it's an emotional one. For all my intellect, my heart still loves my favorite baseball team.
And I'm going to be happy all the way to spring training in 2027!
Eric
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