My favorite team has won the World Series. It still hasn’t totally sunk in that my beloved Milwaukee Brewers, the team that introduced me to the game, now sits atop the baseball world. Less than twenty-four hours after I’d shut our bedroom TV off in disgust shortly after Joey Ortiz’s errant throw in Game 4 gave Tampa Bay the beginnings of a game-ending hit parade to force Game 5, a complete turnaround of emotions washed over me watching the final out, a routine ground ball to Bryce Turang, and the ensuing celebration. My team had finally done it.
“My team.” I say that and I become acutely aware of how ludicrous it sounds. For the players and coaches, winning the title becomes a life-changing moment. As long as baseball history is kept, they’ll forever be remembered. But for me, and everyone else here in Wisconsin and wherever else there might be someone who bleeds Brewers blue and gold, life goes on. Sure, I entertained thoughts of going to the victory parade and being a part of a historic celebration. Crowds aren’t really my thing though, and the odds of getting a spot where I could actually see anything cool seemed slim to none. So hard pass on that.
Since moving back here after college, I’ve been fortunate enough to see the Packers win two Super Bowls and the Bucks win an NBA title. Heck, even the Milwaukee Admirals, our minor league hockey club, won it all in the AHL about 20 years ago. But a World Series title for the Brewers? That always seemed impossible. The last time the Brewers had the opportunity, I was 11 years old and living in Illinois. They were arguably the better team but lost in seven games to the Cardinals. Primetime baseball and a 6th grader’s bedtime tend to clash, so while I’m sure I watched as much of that series as I was allowed to, I don’t remember a lot. Much of what I know is from articles read years later. And that missed opportunity begat 44 years of what-ifs.
What if Rollie Fingers wasn’t hurt and could have closed out the games they led late and lost. What if they’d played Marshall Edwards in right field instead of Charlie Moore – maybe the Cards wouldn’t have gotten all those extra base hits in the huge alleys of Busch Stadium. The one moment that sticks in my head is St. Louis center-fielder Willie McGee leaping to rob Gorman Thomas of a two-run homer at County Stadium. I’ve always said that if I had a time machine, the first place I’d go would be the center field bleachers to spill a beer on him as he went to make that catch. (Not very Christlike, I know, but being a passionate Brewer fan in the aftermath of that World Series letdown makes a person think unkind thoughts.)
Even as the Brewers have built a contending team the last few years, getting to, much less winning the World Series still seemed like an impossible dream. Despite having the best record in baseball, just like they did this year, last year’s Brewers got swept by the Dodgers in the NLCS. Previous teams always came up short, sometimes in heartbreaking fashion, with goats to spare (Devin Williams, Trent Grisham, Jeremy Jeffress, Shawn Marcum.) Wisconsin sports in general over the last few years have been chock full of disappointment – the Packers’ recent playoff chokes, the 2019 Bucks losing the Eastern Conference Finals to Toronto after taking a 2-0 lead, Badgers Rose Bowl and NCAA Tournament trips that came up short. So it’s easy to be conditioned to expect the worst when the stakes get high.
As good as this Brewers season had been, come playoff time, you might say I was living the title of this blog. Flipping the script on the Dodgers to reach the World Series should have inspired confidence, but there was still worry that they could somehow screw it up, or that the Rays would expose some weakness that would ultimately do them in. Even after Game 3’s 10-1 blowout put the Crew up three games to none, visions of the Rays turning into the 2004 Red Sox, or last year’s Bears vs. the Packers in the NFL playoffs had me watching Game 5 on pins and needles.
But this Brewers team was just different. They never seemed to care what the score was. They played great defense and had a group of bullpen pitchers that seemed to have ice water in their veins. All through the playoffs it was harped on how they played small-ball, and just wore pitchers out with their patience. And while Tampa Bay was a team with a similar approach, for some reason they couldn’t make the same formula work the way Milwaukee did. And thus, as Jake Bauers’ glove squeezed the final out, the impossible became reality.
Maybe it really wasn’t as impossible as it seemed. Maybe the most enduring takeaway from the Brew Crew’s ride to the top is that miracles and the impossible often happen one moment at a time. On the diamond, it’s game-by-game, inning-by-inning, pitch-by-pitch. In life, it’s day-by-day, moment-by-moment, prayer-by-prayer. It’s having faith that, no matter what the score is, we can come back. And while they have some great individual players, it’s the way they came together as a team that made the difference. For us as God’s children, it’s how we come together as believers, loving one another, praying for one another, that makes the difference in our lives and the lives of those around us. And while even the MVP, William Contreras, makes an out sometimes, we can trust that our MVP, Jesus, will always come through.
For the Brewers, and their fans like me, we can celebrate this victory for a while, and Sal Frelick can try to have a beer for every Brewer fan, but next season will come (assuming owners and players can somehow agree on a new labor deal) and there will be new games and another World Series to try to win. But for all who follow Christ, our victory is ultimate, and our celebration will last forever. And that seems like more than enough time to down 100,000 beers.