A Tribute to Bob Uecker

Very rarely does the passing of someone whom I never met produce such genuine feelings of grief and sadness as the passing of Bob Uecker has created.  As a lifelong Brewers fan, my earliest memories include listening to games on the radio, waiting for the iconic “get up, get out of here, gone” call for a Brewers home run.  It was listening to Uecker telling stories and being entertaining even as the Brewers were getting pummelled year after year.  And of course in recent times it's been watching Youtube highlights of recent Brewers’ wins and playoff successes to hear Uecker’s calls synced with the video highlights.  

For much of my early life, the Brewers were crap.  Like sell the team crap.  Which of course Bud Selig finally did.  So for literally my entire childhood, Brewers games on the radio were made up of Uecker story time, helping take the edge off of calling games for a poverty franchise.  Fortunately in the mid 2000’s and onward, the broadcast featured a blend of play-by-play mixed expertly with relevant past experiences Uecker would share with the listening audience.

There is some poetic justice in what would be Bob’s final broadcast.  The final home run he witnessed was by the Mets’ Pete Alonso off of Devin Williams, blowing the Wild Card series for the Brewers and thus ending their season.  Whether the team was good or bad, winning or losing, a Brewers radio broadcast was always worth tuning in to.  Because at the end of the day, Uecker was at his best when the game could take a back seat to a story, many of which took more than a half inning to tell while still describing the action on the field.  If when turning on a game you hear “and at the end of five complete, the score is Cardinals ten, Brewers one” the first move was not to immediately turn it off, but instead hope you have enough time to listen as a great story was probably coming up. 

One thing that I find admirable about Bob was his passion for baseball.  It’s not that baseball is hard to love, but to want to be around it for over 70 years, coming back year after year, is something that I really respect.  Having a passion for anything and being able to be around it everyday to me is living life to its fullest.  I would love to have something I was as passionate about as Bob Uecker was to baseball.

For me, the hardest part of losing Bob is that we never truly got to say goodbye.  There was no farewell tour.  There was no final game that I would have been sure not to miss.  I think as humans we are always looking for closure.  We want to know when we see or hear something for the last time, so we make sure we memorialize it in our memories.  It feels very much like the old saying never take something for granted because you don’t know when it will be gone.  In recent years we have gotten a taste of life without Bob, as he was only calling select home games in recent years.  And while his replacements seem plenty capable of filling the job of baseball commentators, there will never be any replacement for the life experiences that Uecker would regularly share.  Even if you have heard the story about the best way to catch a knuckleball a hundred times, it was always worth hearing just one more time.

I joked that I thought Bob Uecker would live forever.  Think about it, living a life consisting of calling baseball games, hanging out with guys a third your age, and laughing it up with everyone you know seems like the recipe for sticking around for a long, long time.  In a sense he will live forever, through everything from his announcing highlights to his Hollywood appearances.  It is incredible to think that some random Joe Blow backup catcher from Milwaukee turned a subpar baseball career into a 50 plus year career as a broadcaster and entertainer.  It's safe to say there will never be another Bob Uecker.  His loyalty to the city of Milwaukee speaks to his character and love for his hometown.  He was more than just a voice for so many people.  He was the soundtrack for generations of Brewers fans.  The best thing to do during this difficult time is crack open an ice cold Miller Lite and say “juuuuust a bit outside” in his honor.  

Here’s to you Bob, forever Mr. Baseball.

- White James