Ed. Note: Part of a continuing series where FTT throws dirt on the graves of dead stadiums to show that yes, we are freaking old. Enjoy!
Once upon a time, my children, the Milwaukee Brewers were a team that you could root for, even if you weren't from there.
They had Robin Yount, a great little Hall of Fame player who wasn't really what you think of as Hall of Fame player, but he was really very good all the same. On his way to battling Cal Ripken for the title of Best American League Shortstop of the '80s, Yount suffered horrific injuries and eventually relocated to cener field, where he picked up as if immortality had not been denied him. In the long run, it wasn't.
They also had Paul Molitor, another Hall of Famer with injury issues. Molly hit like a machine, ran with abandon before he got hurt, and was to George Brett as Yount was to Ripken. He wound up at first base and DH, rather than center field, and did much the same thing.
The town loved both of them, along with their freakish '82 AL Championship team, which had Yount, Molitor, the supernova that was Storming Gorman Thomas, Rollie Fingers, and a lot of guys that looked bad in uniforms. They set the unofficial record of most jock scratches on camera during their '82 Series loss to Whitey Herzog's Cardinals, and then they more or less went to .500 seed for a long time after that. (Fun fact: the Game 7 winner was noted maniac Joacquin Andujar. He was kind of all or nothing when it came to Game Sevens.)
The Brewers, the little team that you could always feel good about rooting for, would get more or less the same results as the Yankees of their era, and for about 20% of the payroll. Their superstars were likable, their fans were cheerfully drunk, and hating on Milwaukee is like hating on Green Bay. You can do it, especially if you are lactose intolerant, but it's hard to imagine anyone making a diet of it. In their 37 years of existence, I doubt that the Brewers were ever involved in anything close to a long-term heated rivalry.
Then, Bud Selig worked his special magic. The man with the toxic touch turned the Brewers into something for which everyone could root against. Everything Bud did -- from inequal revenue cap sharing to encouraging local teams to engage in corporate welfare schemes for new stadiums, to cancelling the World Series and his fondness for eating live puppies -- could be seen as a particularly ham-handed move to benefit his wretched Brewers. Yount retired, Molitor moved on to World Series rings with the Jays and Twins, and the Brewers went to NL Comedy Central, where they have spent most of their existence fighting the Pirates to see which team could be less relevant.
So it is with a mixed heart that I approach this Craphole Entry, because Milwaukee's County Stadium really wasn't all that bad... and, I suspect, a place that I'd like better than the current budget Beer Palace they are occupying.
When we visited, it was a warm summer night in the late '80s. We were on a one-day road trip from Chicago, dragging a North Side native with us to the first and only Wisconsin Run of his life. (Asking people from Chicago if they've been to Wisconsin is like asking people from New York if they've been to Scranton.)
The Brewers lost in a run of the mill affair. The stadium was drab and featureless on the field, with ample concessions and the same cheesy Baseball Activities that you see everyone else. 10,000 fat and happy Wisconsinites ate cheese, drank beer, cheered for Robin Yount, groaned at Chris Bosio, and generally didn't let the game get in the way of their good time. It had a timeless feel to it, like the game didn't really count in the standings, because nothing the Brewers did impacted the standings, really.
My only memory of the place was getting a fake baseball card made of myself, which actually worked as ID in my college days. The bouncer someohow bought the idea that even though the stats on the back of the card showed I was a .367 hitter with 28 triples for the year, the birth date would be accurate. Or maybe they really just wanted to sell me beer. In any event, Milwaukee made me proud.
It was a place like many others. My Chicago friend never went back, but I don't think he's gone to the new yard, either. It didn't help the Brewers; it didn't hurt them, either. And if Bud Selig didn't ruin the world with his presence, they'd probably still be playing there today, and it would all seem like nothing has changed.
As always on Crap Holes We Have Known, if you’ve got a different view, we’re eager to hear it, so that we can get what people in pro wrestling call Cheap Heat. Post your impassioned defense, or pile on the corpse, in the comments below.
Coming Up Next Time on A Very Special Crap Holes We Have Known: Roasting a Sacred Cow. Only on FTT!
