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The Good Lord timed Bob Uecker’s demise as ideally as possible if one has to accept its inevitability–in the dead of winter and after one last title celebration, with a whole lot of Miller Beer and I suspect a smidge of champagne being hoisted and occasionally guzzled. He lived nearly 91 years and was about as well-known as anything that came out of Milwaukee that didn’t have a label on it. But ask any proud “Cheeser” or, for that matter, any true baseball fan and they will to a person confess that it wasn’t nearly long enough.
Uecker and his beloved Brewers never did actually win a World Series, nor even return to one after their spirited run that fell one game short in 1982. One of our September musings chronicled the story which told how special that was to a city that had won it all with the Braves at the height of the Happy Days era only to have that bromance go horribly downhill and eventually lead to the team moving to Atlanta not even a decade later. (If you haven’t yet found a way to see this beautifully produced documentary, do so–I have a hunch it may turn up somewhere now). The Brewers restored the city to national promience when the Seattle Pilots’ premature birth was a financial disaster and eventual commissioner Bud Selig rescued his city and the team by hurriedly relocating it shortly before the start of the 1970 season. Uecker, who was a popular yet indistinguished Braves reserve, came back to the flock a year later, and until yesterday never left.
What Uecker may have lacked in statistical prowess was more than made up for by both his knowledge of the game and his uncanny ability to find humor in it. He parlayed that into a prolific comedic career that expanded his reach and appeal well beyond County Stadium and its successor, which for years was appropriately named Miller Park. As DEADLINE’s Erik Pedersen wrote yesterday:
Uecker’s charm and versatile humor was perfect for late-night talkers, and he was a guest on shows hosted by Johnny Carson, David Letterman, Jay Leno, Bob Costas and others. He also hosted episodes of Saturday Night Live and The Midnight Special and appeared on WrestleMania, game shows, documentaries and other programs.
Uecker likely is best known among non-sports fans for playing frumpy sportswriter George Owens on ABC’s Mr. Belvedere from 1985-90. He and wife Marsha (Ilene Graff) hire debonair English housekeeper Lynn Belvedere (Christopher Hewett), who is proficient as cooking, cleaning and solving the family’s problems. During that show’s run, he also played Harry Doyle, the put-upon homer announcer in the 1989 movie Major League, starring Charlie Sheen, Tom Berenger and others. After a pitch by Sheen’s hot prospect Rick “Wild Thing” Vaughn nearly goes all the way to the backstop, Doyle says, “Juuuuust a bit outside — he tried the corner with it.”
He also was a pitchman in several memorable Miller Lite ads during the 1980s. In one, he boasted about how being an ex-Big Leaguer means “getting freebies to the game. Call the front office, bingo” After plunking down in his fieldside seat, an usher tells him, “You’re in the wrong seat, buddy. Come on.” To which Uecker replies, “Oh, I must be in the front roooow.” Cut to shot of Uecker sitting alone amid empty seats at the top of the stadium.
That’s one heck of a busy side hustle. But if a Miller competitor was known as The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous, Uecker was arguably The Wit That Made Milwaukee Famous.
Which is what made Uecker’s last go-round particularly poignant. Turns out Uecker, who had battled several health issues in recent years and even missed several months of prior seasons’ games with various surgeries, was dealing with small cell lung cancer since 2023. He had stopped traveling with the team and had a limited on-air schedule. But the Brewers’ run to the National League Central title–not quite enough to earn them a playoff bye–did give them the chance to host the New York Mets for a three-game Wild Card series last October that was far and away the only competitive one of he four that were played. As A Mets fan, I’m far too biased to remind you what happened. I’ll let veteran MINNEAPOLIS STAR-TRIBUNE scribe Patrick Reusse tell it more objectively:
The playoffs came and the fans that jammed American Family Field were ready to celebrate, as the Brewers took a 2-0 lead into the ninth of a decisive Game 3 vs. the New York Mets. Devin Williams served up a three-run homer to Pete Alonso, the Mets scored four and Milwaukee’s surprise season was soon over.
Bob Uecker, in his 54th year on Brewers radio, did a wrapup that concluded: “I’m telling you, that one had some sting to it.”
The sting continued more quietly, as Uecker went to the home clubhouse, started moving around the room and saying his goodbyes to the players. It didn’t come off as a goodbye to another season, but to all seasons.
And while the Mets were jubilant and I was dumbfounded by the stunning turn of events, I certainly noticed the scenes and video of Uecker in that clubhouse which only days before he was rejuvenatedly frolicking around with players young enough to have been his grandchildren. As hometown writer Curt Hogg noted in one of the many pieces from yesterday’s MILWAUKEE JOURNAL-SENTINEL:
The players inside the Milwaukee Brewers clubhouse always said that Bob Uecker was one of the boys. And he sure was. In every possible way.
As three of the most prominent Brewers of the final two decades of Uecker’s career behind the mic – Ryan Braun, Brandon Woodruff and Christian Yelich – gathered to tell tales and honor the memory of the team’s beloved broadcaster who died Thursday, it was a reminder of yet another title Uecker held in addition to husband, father, announcer, player, actor and comedian. Teammate.
That type of relationship between players and broadcasters is uncommon. In fact, it’s almost unheard of. To see Uecker in the clubhouse was to see him at his most relaxed. It was his happy place. He had a locker near the entrance to the room, but before he would ever sit down there he would take a lap around the room, greeting every single player along the way.
“In the clubhouse, he was just Bob,” Yelich said.
I got a glimpse of that camaraderie working a couple of conventions with Bob as he helped hawk BELVEDERE reruns to local stations. As Pedersen accurately reminded us, while in hindsight it’s a beloved relic for Gen X kids, it was hardly a top-tier show: Airing mostly on Friday nights, the comedy never made the primetime year-end Top 30 in the three-network universe but lasted six seasons. I struggled with its pitch as much as Uecker did with those he faced during most of the at-bats he garnered during his career. But he did hit 14 home runs, three off eventual Hall of Famers, and we were able to successfully hock his show to more than 100 markets. And yes, we got more than our estimated market value in Milwaukee.
I’ve frequently mused that when it’s time for me to go I’d love to depart this moral coil the way Tommy Lasorda did. Also in his 90s and despite health issues he managed to get well enough with the help of a MediVac plane to be among the 11,000 socially distanced onlookers in Arlington, Texas to watch his “homestanding” Dodgers win their first World Series in 32 years–since he skippered them to their unlikely conquest of the potent Oakland A’s. He passed three months later, in the (relative) cold of January, never again to know a world where the Dodgers weren’t champions. Pete Alonso’s heroics eliminated that possibility for Uecker, and in hindsight it appears he knew that better than anyone. But at least he will also never know a world where the Brewers weren’t defending a championship of some kind and, like Lasorda, he had one final opportunity to savor the joy of victory with fans that adored him as much as he did them.
And if there is any justice in the afterlife, Uecker will finally have a seat in the front rooooow. He earned it.
Until next time…