Nola Beery

HEAR HIM!!! It's the (lack of) pitching. Uribe stunk up the joint. Dreadful.

I'll go away now. The charade is over: WE CANNOT PITCH. Uribe was awful, bad and awful, and bad, and awful. Now Judge will hit it out. Bughghghghghghgh!

Great win. Nice recovery for a split! And (pedantry alert!) it's Wiemer. Under German pronunciation rules, Weimer would be pronounced WHY-mer. (Actually VYE-mer, but let's not get carried away.) You're welcome!! 😁😶

I confess that I was hoping they'd send him. Alas. Didn't work.

Just when I was ready to throw the radio (i.e., my phone) out the back door. YAY. Let's hang on. Oh wait. leadoff double. Bughghghghgh!

Whew.

Bughghghghgh!!!

That play works in highschool girls softball.... sometimes. Incredibly dumb.

Boogers!

Glad to be watching the game on ESPN+ after having a stupid argument with my eldest daughter. It will be OK if some one else tells me I'm full of S#1+. bughghghghgh!

Woot!

uhhhh

Yelich!

Happy family obligations have kept me away from here for the first game or so. But I must say that I'm amazed in a really good way!

Even before I knew BA was associated with the Brewers, I thought he was great play-by-play guy: He always seemed to be excited without being melodramatic; he usually didn't say too much; and he has the perfect voice timbre for a baseball announcer,

I guess it's time to quit moping and start appreciating the last baseball games until next Spring! I don't care much about who wins the AL, as by birth and upbringing, I have a very hard time cheering for any Texas team (though I do like Dusty Baker). In the WS, I'll be for the NL winner. Kinda leaning toward the Phils, but it might be some small consolation if the D-Backs who knocked us out went all the way.

I don't hate the "chaos"; that's how playoffs work. But that doesn't change that I love the regular season rhythm much more (for reasons others and I have expressed earlier in this thread). I guess what really bothers me is the simple fact that in the playoffs, the games and teams dwindle down until there ain't no more baseball! 😪

This really sums it up better than I could do!

I'm sure if the Brewers were still playing, I'd feel differently, BUT.... I just can't enjoy the "postseason" (a name I hate) as much as the regular season. In the regular season, there's always tomorrow to look forward to. Or there's always a different game or team to watch or listen to. However, a leisurely summer of a wonderful 19th-Century pastoral game simply isn't quite enough for most people today. (See George Carlin's comparison of baseball and football.) The expanded playoffs, with all the pressure and finality, feed our culture's need for constant and instant amusement and stimulation. And I appreciate the drama of teams fighting it out for the last wildcard spot. But anything less than a best-of-7 series seems inadequate to decide a winner. The current MLB playoffs are like running a 100-meter dash after a marathon, where the marathon winner starts in the same place as the runners who barely finished. That said, I don't know how I would change anything. When is opening day 2024?

I just remembered: About 30 (!) years ago, the NO Saints impossibly lost a game to our archrivals, the hated Atlanta Falcons. I went out in the back yard and tossed my cookies (that is, I puked). At that moment, I vowed never to be so invested in any sporting event. As my wise buddy later said, "Win or lose, I still have to take the kids to school and go to work the next day." Still, the brief emotional investment makes sport the great thing that it is.

It would be a long drive from New Orleans, but I'd do it!

Brilliant. And of course.... This is always worth a read and a remembrance of baseball in a nutshell. (Kinda like the 8th inning last night, and far too many Brewer innings this season.) Yes, you know how it ends, but read the build up; THAT is the real baseball bit. Casey at the Bat Ernest Lawrence Thayer (1863 – 1940) The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day: The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play, And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game. A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast; They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that— We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat." But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake; So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat, For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat. But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all, And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball; And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred, There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third. Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell; It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face. And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt; Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt; Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped— "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said. From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore; "Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand; And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on; He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew; But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two!" "Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!" But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate, He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate; And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.

AMEN.

I posted this on another thread, but here anyway: My reductionist (i.e. oversimplifying) mind says we just needed more guys who could hit, especially under pressure with RISP. But I'll leave it to the rest of you smarter folks to figure out the details and to provide the necessary guidance to Arnold and the rest of the front office. Except for the ending, it was a fun season. I learned a lot from many posters. But mostly, it was just great fun to share the experience with all of you. Cheers! And better luck next year! Kevin