In Kalamazoo the Froodley Doo of Loy Norrix High climb Trufulla trees with large purple leaves that reach to the sky. Only two of the nouns in the previous sentence are fictitious. Wikipedia suggests that "Kalamazoo" is of Native American origin and that "Loy Norrix" was a former superintendent. I have my doubts.
Around lunch time, the mundanely named Bell's brewery found us nursing six beers of a sampler. It's a good thing they served food, otherwise we would not have made it to Detroit that day. I can't recall precisely, but I believe the menu went something like this:
Wedding Ale
Kal-Haven Ale
Golden Rye
Rye Pale Ale
Rye Stout
Rye Barleywine
Sensing a theme? That's actually 5 out of 6 Rye-based brews: according to sources the Kal-Haven is an "experimental rye... wild yeast." Yum.
I was very pleased to find a full sampler that was available exclusively at the brewpub. Though I wasn't really in the mood for more beer, I quickly warmed up to the delightfully crisp sweetness of the Wedding Ale. The Kal-Haven's wild yeast was not overpoweringly strong. The balance was such that I didn't realize it had any rye at all. The Rye Barleywine, another huge beer, notable for the ease of its quaffability and the lack of heavy alcohol ester, would have kept me from driving had I not split the six ounces with Leigh.
After Bell's we visited Leigh's mom's childhood house and her dubiously named High School. I did not see any Truffula trees.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
As promised: deep dish and Goose Island #2
Our second day in Chicago found us meandering before the White Sox game. After taking in the Sears, the Bean, the lake, and the El, we decided 2 hours was plenty of time to backtrack to the Near North and hit up Goose Island's primary location. Though I dragged Leigh kicking and screaming, we did not regret our excursion. After hitting up a touristy deep dish restaurant downtown, we hopped on the El and in 20 minutes exited towards the shopping facility that apparently contained Goose Island's brewpub. The outside was not much for looks, but the inside was a surprising mix of old school brick and steel, and new school loft and modernism. The beer: it was grand. More than grand: imperial. Not agreeing on our choices, we decided to each order our own sampler. We tried only the biggest and most exquisite of Goose Island's drafts: Imperial Coffee Stout, Night Stalker imperial stout, English Malt Porter, Black Saison, Pere Jacques, Fleur, La Deuxieme, and Bare Tree Weiss Wine - a guest beer from Two Brothers.
All were deliciuos, but two stood out.
The Black Saison's full bodied dark malt added a nice earthiness, which mellowed out the sweet candi sugar and the strong belgian yeast very nicely. This is a Saison which could be enjoyed just as well in the winter months.
I have had Weiss Wine before, but this was definitely the most well balanced: not too sweet, not to hoppy, not to floral or estery. It drinks almost like a session beer; at 11.5%, this beer was downright dangerous.
Remember the Wrigleyville White from the Cubs game? It is worth mentioning that the Uptown Goose Island location served a suspiciously similar-sounding beer with the exact same specs and description called Willow St. White.
Game #6: New York Mets at Pittsburgh Pirates
(I've avoided writing this final post, because that means the trip is over. The exploration of new stadiums is complete, for now. We are back to reality and responsibility. )
But let's pretend, for the moment, that it's a Thursday afternoon. Rain has threatened, and canceled, baseball contests in various states for a day. As we encounter the traffic of Pittsburgh, the sky clears. The rain and cold turns into sun and humidity. We struggle to find a parking space, or an affordable lot. And when we do, we cross one of the Steel City's many steel bridges to arrive at PNC Park.
As a native Pennsylvanian, one may assume that I have been to Pittsburgh at some point. In fact, this is my first time here. As a native Philadelphian, one may assume that I despise the Mets. That would be a correct assumption. In this way, being in Pittsburgh this afternoon is like being in Philadelphia on any day of the year. We are here together to boo the Mets.
Aaron and I wear our Phillies gear as our best way to show the Mets how much we care about them losing. Pirates fans toss us a dirty look or two, but as I quickly realize, they are the Keystone State's polite city. They are Philly's organized distant relative who has managed to get each of their professional sports teams to wear the same color. And they have managed to get many of these teams into championship contests. And more often than Philly, they win.
On this day, the yellow-and-black clad fans are riled up for their Stanley Cup match. They are still blinded by the glow of their Super Bowl rings. The Pirates echo this energy with an amazing 4 runs in the bottom of the 1st inning.
The Mets make this a contest and score 3 in the following half-inning. A surprisingly large handful of transplanted New Yorkers are keeping the volume up and the Mets beach towel waving in left field.
Not so fast. The Pirates manage another run in the 2nd and 4 more in the 4th. We haven't seen offense like this during our whole trip. Also new to this park are fan text messages between innings broadcasted on screens around the field. We haven't seen Yuengling in 2 weeks, so we know we are getting close to home.
The biggest clue that we are on the wrong side of the state comes around the bottom of the 7th. The Pirates are up 11-5, so the Mets fans start getting mouthy. Maybe heckling alone will knock a few out of the park? At a Phillies game, as we saw earlier in the season, this often ends with late inning ejections. When the ushers finally realize their jersey's have derogatory terms embroidered on them instead of names and the cheers are really foul-mouthed jeers.
Here in Pittsburgh, however, the Mets fans' citations of the city's shortcomings are answered directly by a Pirates/Steelers/Penguin fan. And then the most amazing thing of the game happens. A fan in blue puts his arm around the fan in yellow. This is camaraderie over competition. This is a game, and only a game.
The Mets fans continue to yell into left field into the 9th, as their team sneaks in a pointless run. By now, they've gotten Morgan, the Pirates' left fielder, to pay attention. With his team up by 5 runs, he can take the time to turn around to talk back a bit. With two outs, we worry he may be too distracted to catch the fly ball coming his way. Instead, he looks away from his opponent's fans to catch the last out. He turns back to the Mets fans, pointing his gloved hand and winning baseball straight at them, a smile on his face. He runs to his home dugout as the fireworks go off in the daylight.
And just that effortlessly it feels, we've seen six games in eight days. And after five hours of driving, we are home. To the land of real rivalries and the reigning World Series Champions.
But let's pretend, for the moment, that it's a Thursday afternoon. Rain has threatened, and canceled, baseball contests in various states for a day. As we encounter the traffic of Pittsburgh, the sky clears. The rain and cold turns into sun and humidity. We struggle to find a parking space, or an affordable lot. And when we do, we cross one of the Steel City's many steel bridges to arrive at PNC Park.
As a native Pennsylvanian, one may assume that I have been to Pittsburgh at some point. In fact, this is my first time here. As a native Philadelphian, one may assume that I despise the Mets. That would be a correct assumption. In this way, being in Pittsburgh this afternoon is like being in Philadelphia on any day of the year. We are here together to boo the Mets.
Aaron and I wear our Phillies gear as our best way to show the Mets how much we care about them losing. Pirates fans toss us a dirty look or two, but as I quickly realize, they are the Keystone State's polite city. They are Philly's organized distant relative who has managed to get each of their professional sports teams to wear the same color. And they have managed to get many of these teams into championship contests. And more often than Philly, they win.
On this day, the yellow-and-black clad fans are riled up for their Stanley Cup match. They are still blinded by the glow of their Super Bowl rings. The Pirates echo this energy with an amazing 4 runs in the bottom of the 1st inning.
The Mets make this a contest and score 3 in the following half-inning. A surprisingly large handful of transplanted New Yorkers are keeping the volume up and the Mets beach towel waving in left field.
Not so fast. The Pirates manage another run in the 2nd and 4 more in the 4th. We haven't seen offense like this during our whole trip. Also new to this park are fan text messages between innings broadcasted on screens around the field. We haven't seen Yuengling in 2 weeks, so we know we are getting close to home.
The biggest clue that we are on the wrong side of the state comes around the bottom of the 7th. The Pirates are up 11-5, so the Mets fans start getting mouthy. Maybe heckling alone will knock a few out of the park? At a Phillies game, as we saw earlier in the season, this often ends with late inning ejections. When the ushers finally realize their jersey's have derogatory terms embroidered on them instead of names and the cheers are really foul-mouthed jeers.
Here in Pittsburgh, however, the Mets fans' citations of the city's shortcomings are answered directly by a Pirates/Steelers/Penguin fan. And then the most amazing thing of the game happens. A fan in blue puts his arm around the fan in yellow. This is camaraderie over competition. This is a game, and only a game.
The Mets fans continue to yell into left field into the 9th, as their team sneaks in a pointless run. By now, they've gotten Morgan, the Pirates' left fielder, to pay attention. With his team up by 5 runs, he can take the time to turn around to talk back a bit. With two outs, we worry he may be too distracted to catch the fly ball coming his way. Instead, he looks away from his opponent's fans to catch the last out. He turns back to the Mets fans, pointing his gloved hand and winning baseball straight at them, a smile on his face. He runs to his home dugout as the fireworks go off in the daylight.
And just that effortlessly it feels, we've seen six games in eight days. And after five hours of driving, we are home. To the land of real rivalries and the reigning World Series Champions.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Game #5 - Boston Red Sox at Detroit Tigers
On Tuesday, we spent a quick but packed day in Michigan, first visiting my mom's hometown of Kalamazoo, then to pick up Aaron's high school friend and her husband in Ann Arbor, and then off to Detroit for some baseball. Aaron's friends are Red Sox fans, after spending a few years in Boston, but had the respect to leave their hats at home. Somehow, Red Sox fans have been everywhere on this trip, even when they aren't playing. We knew we were in for some away team rooting as we approached Comerica Park.
From the few blocks of Detroit we saw, the city lived up to my expectations. If something can live down to expectations, the city did that too. Abandoned warehouses and theaters with flashing lights surrounded the baseball and football stadiums. Comerica is guarded by Tigers. Not live ones, but lots of sculptures that are just as frightening. Usually a team with an animal mascot embraces the cutesy, stuffed version of said animal over the realistic, growling version. But Michiganders are taking their wildlife seriously.
Enter the Squirrel.
Early on in the game, a brown squirrel found its way into the outfield. I can only assume that a squirrel in Detroit has never seen as much grass as this one did at this moment. He relished in running, thought not quickly, from right field to left and back again. He would wait attentively as pitches were thrown, facing home plate and flopping his tail. The entire stadium became enraptured with Squirrel. Cheering for him more than their home team.
Even though this game was close. At least while the squirrel was on the field. The first inning, both teams score a run. The Red Sox score two more in the third inning, but the fans have other things on their minds, including:
-The Red Wings in game 3 of the Stanley Cup finals against the Pittsburgh Penguins. A fan in front of us has headphones on. A fan behind us refreshes her blackberry. The fan next to us watches a TV in a nearby skybox. The jumbotron advertises the score every once in a while.
-Activities around the stadium, such as a carousel (more tigers!), the "how fast can you pitch" game (so loud!), the Dunkin Donuts coffee race (Go Coffee!)
-The collapse of the automobile industry. In the outfield, signs advertise Chrysler, General Motors and Ford. In between innings, a fountain blasts water behind them, highlighted by colored lights. Given that GM declared bankruptcy the day before, one would think they'd cut down on the fanfare. We can see the sign for Ford Field, where the Lions play, just behind left field. One can hope by football season, this will still be relevant.
-More with the Squirrel. He is fed by the Tiger's first base coach. He is ultimately chased by 4 grounds crew members around outfield, to many cheers from the stands, and he jumps onto the center field wall, just in front of the ivy. He makes a triumphant return in the bottom of the 5th. He hangs out in the outfield until the inning break. This time, 7 grounds crew members appear. He is eventually chased into the Red Sox dugout. The stadium is the most lively when the Squirrel is on the field. Not when the Tigers are.
The Tigers must be thinking of at least some of this as they bobble ground balls, walk in runs, strand baserunners.
The Red Sox score two more to make it a 5-1 game in the top of the 6th, though by this point many of the fans, in their Red Wings gear, have started to leave the stadium. The majority certainly aren't there as the Tigers keep hope alive in the bottom of the 9th to load the bases. Predictably, they leave each runner there, never to cross home. It's the fans that are home - watching hockey, looking for a job, or telling the story of the Squirrel.
From the few blocks of Detroit we saw, the city lived up to my expectations. If something can live down to expectations, the city did that too. Abandoned warehouses and theaters with flashing lights surrounded the baseball and football stadiums. Comerica is guarded by Tigers. Not live ones, but lots of sculptures that are just as frightening. Usually a team with an animal mascot embraces the cutesy, stuffed version of said animal over the realistic, growling version. But Michiganders are taking their wildlife seriously.
Enter the Squirrel.
Early on in the game, a brown squirrel found its way into the outfield. I can only assume that a squirrel in Detroit has never seen as much grass as this one did at this moment. He relished in running, thought not quickly, from right field to left and back again. He would wait attentively as pitches were thrown, facing home plate and flopping his tail. The entire stadium became enraptured with Squirrel. Cheering for him more than their home team.
Even though this game was close. At least while the squirrel was on the field. The first inning, both teams score a run. The Red Sox score two more in the third inning, but the fans have other things on their minds, including:
-The Red Wings in game 3 of the Stanley Cup finals against the Pittsburgh Penguins. A fan in front of us has headphones on. A fan behind us refreshes her blackberry. The fan next to us watches a TV in a nearby skybox. The jumbotron advertises the score every once in a while.
-Activities around the stadium, such as a carousel (more tigers!), the "how fast can you pitch" game (so loud!), the Dunkin Donuts coffee race (Go Coffee!)
-The collapse of the automobile industry. In the outfield, signs advertise Chrysler, General Motors and Ford. In between innings, a fountain blasts water behind them, highlighted by colored lights. Given that GM declared bankruptcy the day before, one would think they'd cut down on the fanfare. We can see the sign for Ford Field, where the Lions play, just behind left field. One can hope by football season, this will still be relevant.
-More with the Squirrel. He is fed by the Tiger's first base coach. He is ultimately chased by 4 grounds crew members around outfield, to many cheers from the stands, and he jumps onto the center field wall, just in front of the ivy. He makes a triumphant return in the bottom of the 5th. He hangs out in the outfield until the inning break. This time, 7 grounds crew members appear. He is eventually chased into the Red Sox dugout. The stadium is the most lively when the Squirrel is on the field. Not when the Tigers are.
The Tigers must be thinking of at least some of this as they bobble ground balls, walk in runs, strand baserunners.
The Red Sox score two more to make it a 5-1 game in the top of the 6th, though by this point many of the fans, in their Red Wings gear, have started to leave the stadium. The majority certainly aren't there as the Tigers keep hope alive in the bottom of the 9th to load the bases. Predictably, they leave each runner there, never to cross home. It's the fans that are home - watching hockey, looking for a job, or telling the story of the Squirrel.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Game #4 - Oakland A's at Chicago White Sox
As the jumbotron at U.S. Cellular Field let us know, there are traditions, and there are White Sox traditions. The architects behind this new field, the Sox marketing staff, and the fans on the South Side for this Monday night game wanted to make those traditions clear to us.
Unlike Wrigley and all its surrounding festivities, U.S. Cellular has been firmly planted in the middle of nowhere. Sure, the Red Line on the El stops right there, but I didn't see any restaurants, bars. Really, just the highway and some warehouses served for ambiance. In fact, the stadium literally has its back turned on the city. The opportunity to have Chicago's skyline behind the outfield is missed. Maybe this is because of the wind, but it's a shame.
The concrete hallways to get to our seats are lined with a seemingly endless timeline. The White Sox have been a team since forever, and have been winning a good chunk of that time. Ceiling high graphics won't let us forget.
Walking into the half-empty stadium, I wondered - why is this team second rate in the second city? Once they started playing, my wonder turned into downright confusion. This team can PLAY.
Just like almost every other game on our road trip, this outing started with runs scored in the 1st inning. The A's handily hit a home run to left field, with the White Sox outfielder not even flinching or feigning he could catch it. The Sox answer with a run in the bottom of the 1st. The next few innings pass quickly and without scoring. The defense is spot on for both teams.
In the bottom of the 5th, the Sox tie it up with a solo home run. The inexplicably prominent pinwheel/hard candy looking decorations light up. Fireworks blast off in the outfield, over the warehouses. Too bad this celebration can't happen with the Sears Tower for a backdrop.
As the 8th inning arrives, we are nervous about the potential of extra innings. The weather is more like October than the first day of June. The temperature is approaching 45 degrees. Clouds threaten to bring back the rain from the afternoon. As good as this game is, I want it to end in 9 innings. Somehow.
The answer comes with Jim Thome. He fulfills all that is right with baseball. He pulls his socks up. He used to play for the Phillies. He's quietly making his way into the history books. The various screens and jumbotrons in the park are overloading us with stats. Thome is one home run above Mike Schmidt's record and just another home run shy of 250.
So when Thome gets up and knocks the ball to that sweet spot in left field, we see history. We also see the Sox take the lead 5-2. There is hope of getting out before the rain.
But just like October baseball, meaningful baseball, usually unfolds, the teams keep it interesting. The closer for the White Sox who has an amazing 1.00 ERA at home allows a hit in the top of the 9th as the rain starts to fall. We get nervous. But this guy does what he came to do. He closes the game without another run. At the last swing and a miss, we run through the concrete walls of the stadium, down the ramps with screaming fans, treating this win as big as it felt.
Unlike Wrigley and all its surrounding festivities, U.S. Cellular has been firmly planted in the middle of nowhere. Sure, the Red Line on the El stops right there, but I didn't see any restaurants, bars. Really, just the highway and some warehouses served for ambiance. In fact, the stadium literally has its back turned on the city. The opportunity to have Chicago's skyline behind the outfield is missed. Maybe this is because of the wind, but it's a shame.
The concrete hallways to get to our seats are lined with a seemingly endless timeline. The White Sox have been a team since forever, and have been winning a good chunk of that time. Ceiling high graphics won't let us forget.
Walking into the half-empty stadium, I wondered - why is this team second rate in the second city? Once they started playing, my wonder turned into downright confusion. This team can PLAY.
Just like almost every other game on our road trip, this outing started with runs scored in the 1st inning. The A's handily hit a home run to left field, with the White Sox outfielder not even flinching or feigning he could catch it. The Sox answer with a run in the bottom of the 1st. The next few innings pass quickly and without scoring. The defense is spot on for both teams.
In the bottom of the 5th, the Sox tie it up with a solo home run. The inexplicably prominent pinwheel/hard candy looking decorations light up. Fireworks blast off in the outfield, over the warehouses. Too bad this celebration can't happen with the Sears Tower for a backdrop.
As the 8th inning arrives, we are nervous about the potential of extra innings. The weather is more like October than the first day of June. The temperature is approaching 45 degrees. Clouds threaten to bring back the rain from the afternoon. As good as this game is, I want it to end in 9 innings. Somehow.
The answer comes with Jim Thome. He fulfills all that is right with baseball. He pulls his socks up. He used to play for the Phillies. He's quietly making his way into the history books. The various screens and jumbotrons in the park are overloading us with stats. Thome is one home run above Mike Schmidt's record and just another home run shy of 250.
So when Thome gets up and knocks the ball to that sweet spot in left field, we see history. We also see the Sox take the lead 5-2. There is hope of getting out before the rain.
But just like October baseball, meaningful baseball, usually unfolds, the teams keep it interesting. The closer for the White Sox who has an amazing 1.00 ERA at home allows a hit in the top of the 9th as the rain starts to fall. We get nervous. But this guy does what he came to do. He closes the game without another run. At the last swing and a miss, we run through the concrete walls of the stadium, down the ramps with screaming fans, treating this win as big as it felt.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Game #3: Dodgers at Cubs
The Cubs have a special place in my heart. Growing up as a fan of a losing team that wears red and blue, I can't help but have sympathy for the fans that have waited 100 seasons for a championship. 2009 will make it 101.
Still, Wrigley Field is an institution. It's exploded beyond the stadium. There are bleachers on nearby rooftops. The entire neighborhood is named Wrigleyville. As we get off the El, I can't help but be a little jealous that Chicago seems to love its team more than Philly does.
They sell t-shirts declaiming their hatred for every team in their division. They even mock fans of the White Sox, their neighbors to the South and not technically competitors.
We have two extra tickets we are trying to unload, and there are more scalpers than potential ticket buyers. Why pay for a ticket inside the stadium when you can peak in on the action from a gate in right field? We wander around aimlessly, feeling like foreigners. I unzip my sweatshirt so my blue sweater can be revealed. I'm trying to belong to a culture bigger than the team's history.
Inside the stadium, our seats give us a picture different than the one I was expecting. We see just the bottom sliver of the jumbotron, but have flat screens showing ESPN. We can't see the upper decks, but we do have a view of the doorways to the box seats, and the dessert carts and coffee service to entertain them.
Wrigley strikes a nice balance of required activities and cheers. There isn't too much to shout or dance or guess in a trivia game. "Let's Go Cubbies" happens organically. Though with this game it's hard to feel enthused.
The Cubs behave just how we would have predicted. Poorly. There's no hustle. Balls are bobbled. Men stay stranded on base after base. The Dodgers are allowed to score 5 runs on the 1st inning, while the Cubs let their pitcher who permits this disaster to stay in the game. When they finally take him out a few innings later, he is booed. At least this town knows when they don't have a winner and they let you know it.
Cubs fans are just as self-depricating as Phillies fans. The guys behind us can't stop talking about how a pole obstructs their view of 2 or 3 or 4 players, depending on if a righty or lefty is up to bat. They paid alot for these tickets! As one says "If I paid this much in Milwaukee, I could get in the dugout." His friend responds, "Yeah, pay $125 and you can bat 8th for the Brewers." A third chimes in, "Then I'd be batting clean-up." This sense of humor gets us through the to the bottom of the 6th, when the score is 8-0 Dodgers.
These are Dodgers without Manny Ramirez. The team we thought was a one man show, not really a team. Even the Cubs can't let this go unanswered. In the bottom of the 6th, they manage 2 runs. Of course they leave even more stranded. The ballboys still run with vigor. And the pitchers still hit batters in retaliation for near misses on their own teammates. Pitching changes, pinch hitters. The team goes through the motions.
But the fans have given up. The top of the 8th, and they are walking out. There are two more at bats for the Cubs. Don't they know baseball? Anything can happen. Haven't they learned in 100 years that not everything losing game turns into a loss? We stay planted in our seats. As Phillies fans, we know what is possible.
The Cubs fans know better. Nothing happens in the last 2 innings. No one scores for either side and this goes down as an 8-2 loss. What's another one? Why bother to watch when Wrigleyville awaits?
Still, Wrigley Field is an institution. It's exploded beyond the stadium. There are bleachers on nearby rooftops. The entire neighborhood is named Wrigleyville. As we get off the El, I can't help but be a little jealous that Chicago seems to love its team more than Philly does.They sell t-shirts declaiming their hatred for every team in their division. They even mock fans of the White Sox, their neighbors to the South and not technically competitors.
We have two extra tickets we are trying to unload, and there are more scalpers than potential ticket buyers. Why pay for a ticket inside the stadium when you can peak in on the action from a gate in right field? We wander around aimlessly, feeling like foreigners. I unzip my sweatshirt so my blue sweater can be revealed. I'm trying to belong to a culture bigger than the team's history.
Inside the stadium, our seats give us a picture different than the one I was expecting. We see just the bottom sliver of the jumbotron, but have flat screens showing ESPN. We can't see the upper decks, but we do have a view of the doorways to the box seats, and the dessert carts and coffee service to entertain them.
Wrigley strikes a nice balance of required activities and cheers. There isn't too much to shout or dance or guess in a trivia game. "Let's Go Cubbies" happens organically. Though with this game it's hard to feel enthused.
The Cubs behave just how we would have predicted. Poorly. There's no hustle. Balls are bobbled. Men stay stranded on base after base. The Dodgers are allowed to score 5 runs on the 1st inning, while the Cubs let their pitcher who permits this disaster to stay in the game. When they finally take him out a few innings later, he is booed. At least this town knows when they don't have a winner and they let you know it.
Cubs fans are just as self-depricating as Phillies fans. The guys behind us can't stop talking about how a pole obstructs their view of 2 or 3 or 4 players, depending on if a righty or lefty is up to bat. They paid alot for these tickets! As one says "If I paid this much in Milwaukee, I could get in the dugout." His friend responds, "Yeah, pay $125 and you can bat 8th for the Brewers." A third chimes in, "Then I'd be batting clean-up." This sense of humor gets us through the to the bottom of the 6th, when the score is 8-0 Dodgers.These are Dodgers without Manny Ramirez. The team we thought was a one man show, not really a team. Even the Cubs can't let this go unanswered. In the bottom of the 6th, they manage 2 runs. Of course they leave even more stranded. The ballboys still run with vigor. And the pitchers still hit batters in retaliation for near misses on their own teammates. Pitching changes, pinch hitters. The team goes through the motions.
But the fans have given up. The top of the 8th, and they are walking out. There are two more at bats for the Cubs. Don't they know baseball? Anything can happen. Haven't they learned in 100 years that not everything losing game turns into a loss? We stay planted in our seats. As Phillies fans, we know what is possible.
The Cubs fans know better. Nothing happens in the last 2 innings. No one scores for either side and this goes down as an 8-2 loss. What's another one? Why bother to watch when Wrigleyville awaits?
Baseball Game #2: Reds at Brewers
A series of planning errors/omissions on our part led us perfectly into experiencing a Brewers game as the locals do. As we circled for parking in downtown Milwaukee, we saw a corner full of frat-looking guys standing on a corner next to the chalkboard that read "FREE BREWERS SHUTTLE." Being in our beer-seeking mindset, I first thought: "oh, a brewery event!" and then remembered, right, this town loves their beer so much that their baseball team is named for the concept. Perfect for our road trip theme.
We found parking in a nearby garage, went into the bar with this shuttle bus, ordered 2 beers, and squeezed our way onto the party van. I think I was one of 2 women, and found a seat on the cooler in the doorway. (Yes, beer could be drunk and purchased on the bus.)
So, it turns out that Milwaukee wholeheartedly endorses tailgating and all that goes with it - barbecues and open containers. The stadium is named after the town beer - Miller Park, that is. And the naming opportunities don't end there. This game turned out, more than anything else, to be an excellent lesson in sponsorship.
We found our seats in the Kohl's Family Section. That means lots of kids and no beers allowed. A nice break from the party bus, the parking lot, and the rest of the stadium. We watched as the Johnson Controls Grounds Crew tidied up the dirt between innings. For each double play, Dole donated $100 to breast cancer research. And one of my favorites, for each home team pitching change, a red Chevy Camaro drives across the warning track.
Oh, but I should tell you about the game. Before we even reached our seats, the Reds had scored 3 runs. Yikes. As we sat down, the Brewers quickly matched that with 3 more of their own in the bottom of the 1st. The Reds scored another run in the 2nd, and another in the 4th. Things were not looking good for the home team.
Then the 5th inning arrived. This is the kind of inning a home town waits for. The team finally responded to all the encouraged and advertised cheers, the flashing LCD screens and pre-recorded music. They hit two home runs, sending their mascot Bernie Brewer down the Kalahari Splash Zone Slide with barely enough time to climb the stairs back to the top. The team bats around, scoring a total of 6 runs.
Ah, to be drinking your Miller (or one of its subsidiaries), wearing your Fielder jersey, and doing the Brakebush Chicken Dance and cheering for the Klement's sausage of your choice. To live in Milwaukee in the summertime is to have no fear of taking your shirt off and waiving it over your head during the 8th inning Bad Dance Cam. Here, all 40,000+ fans will cheer for you and your beer gut displayed on the jumbotron.
As the last 1/3 of the game goes off without incident, we pile into the parking lot, relishing in the 9-5 Brewers' win. Surprisingly shivering, we watch shuttle bus after shuttle bus pick up their passengers, beer in hand, to take them back to the Irish Pub of their choice.
Only back on our bus, did I get the full sense of how this town cared about the baseball as much as the stadium experience. In the game re-cap, I relished hearing the announcers signature home run announcement: "Get Up. Get Up. Get Outta Here. It's Gone!" This was the piece of signage in the stadium no one had mentioned. It had been brought to us by The Game of Baseball.
We found parking in a nearby garage, went into the bar with this shuttle bus, ordered 2 beers, and squeezed our way onto the party van. I think I was one of 2 women, and found a seat on the cooler in the doorway. (Yes, beer could be drunk and purchased on the bus.)So, it turns out that Milwaukee wholeheartedly endorses tailgating and all that goes with it - barbecues and open containers. The stadium is named after the town beer - Miller Park, that is. And the naming opportunities don't end there. This game turned out, more than anything else, to be an excellent lesson in sponsorship.
We found our seats in the Kohl's Family Section. That means lots of kids and no beers allowed. A nice break from the party bus, the parking lot, and the rest of the stadium. We watched as the Johnson Controls Grounds Crew tidied up the dirt between innings. For each double play, Dole donated $100 to breast cancer research. And one of my favorites, for each home team pitching change, a red Chevy Camaro drives across the warning track.
Oh, but I should tell you about the game. Before we even reached our seats, the Reds had scored 3 runs. Yikes. As we sat down, the Brewers quickly matched that with 3 more of their own in the bottom of the 1st. The Reds scored another run in the 2nd, and another in the 4th. Things were not looking good for the home team.
Then the 5th inning arrived. This is the kind of inning a home town waits for. The team finally responded to all the encouraged and advertised cheers, the flashing LCD screens and pre-recorded music. They hit two home runs, sending their mascot Bernie Brewer down the Kalahari Splash Zone Slide with barely enough time to climb the stairs back to the top. The team bats around, scoring a total of 6 runs.
Ah, to be drinking your Miller (or one of its subsidiaries), wearing your Fielder jersey, and doing the Brakebush Chicken Dance and cheering for the Klement's sausage of your choice. To live in Milwaukee in the summertime is to have no fear of taking your shirt off and waiving it over your head during the 8th inning Bad Dance Cam. Here, all 40,000+ fans will cheer for you and your beer gut displayed on the jumbotron.As the last 1/3 of the game goes off without incident, we pile into the parking lot, relishing in the 9-5 Brewers' win. Surprisingly shivering, we watch shuttle bus after shuttle bus pick up their passengers, beer in hand, to take them back to the Irish Pub of their choice.
Only back on our bus, did I get the full sense of how this town cared about the baseball as much as the stadium experience. In the game re-cap, I relished hearing the announcers signature home run announcement: "Get Up. Get Up. Get Outta Here. It's Gone!" This was the piece of signage in the stadium no one had mentioned. It had been brought to us by The Game of Baseball.
Wrigleyville
Around Wrigley stadium, where the Cubs play, is a neighborhood known fittingly as Wrigleyville. Anyone who's been to Yankee stadium knows a sense of how a market for baseball paraphernalia will grow to strangle all the adjacent business. What I did not see in the Bronx, however, was block after block of drinking establishments. What Philadelphia and many cities with newer ballparks lack in organically grown local business and neighborhood establishments, Wrigley makes up for and then some.
After the Cubs, we decided on a Goose Island satellite brewpub. Unfortunately, Goose Island does not serve flights on home game days, so we select our brews carefully. Leigh went with the Wrigleyville White, a beer served exclusively at this location. The White was refreshingly crisp with lots of spice and a solid wheat base. I was surprised at the amount of character, and we made quick work of the pint between us. I chose the seasonal Maibock, a rich, malty offering with a maple-syrup like nose.
Today, we'll make our way downtown to Grant Park and the waterfront, take pictures in front of The Bean, and possibly hit up Goose Island's primary facility. A Chicago boat tour sounds promising, which will be preceded or proceeded by some artery-threatening deep dish.
After the Cubs, we decided on a Goose Island satellite brewpub. Unfortunately, Goose Island does not serve flights on home game days, so we select our brews carefully. Leigh went with the Wrigleyville White, a beer served exclusively at this location. The White was refreshingly crisp with lots of spice and a solid wheat base. I was surprised at the amount of character, and we made quick work of the pint between us. I chose the seasonal Maibock, a rich, malty offering with a maple-syrup like nose.Today, we'll make our way downtown to Grant Park and the waterfront, take pictures in front of The Bean, and possibly hit up Goose Island's primary facility. A Chicago boat tour sounds promising, which will be preceded or proceeded by some artery-threatening deep dish.
Milwaukee
So much beer, so little time. (Left, an impressive collection of taps at Water Street brewery.) With a little more planning, we could have done so much more in Milwaukee. Alas, we resigned ourselves to do what we could. There's so much more to the story, but I'll try to stick to the beer and leave the rest to my better half.
Here are the beers we tasted, in order:
- Lakefront Amber
Solid brew from a local, storied brewery. Unfortunately we weren't able to get in to see the Lakefront facilities, because of (as we were informed by Lakefront staff) "some wedding shit going on." - Leinenkugel (Leiny) Summer Wheat
Leigh says "tasted like lemonade." Leiny is a Miller brand edging in on the craft beer market, and a perfect example of why craft brewers need not worry about major brands encroaching on their turf. - Rock Bottom Sampler (9 beers)
Rock Bottom is a large chain of brewpubs across the US, and their beer has suffered for it. Though not as transparently macro as Leiny, Rock Bottom offers craft-style beers with not much character or individuality. The nine beers we sampled were rote executions of their respective styles, and left us thirsty. - Water Street Sampler (9 more beers)
By far our best experience was at the Water Street Brewery, where conspicuously attractive and friendly bar staff served us a pallet of their brews. The most notable characteristic across styles was a smokiness, evident in the lightest lager, the bock, and even the pale ale. The oh-so-friendly bar staff were pleasant enough, but knew nothing about the beer they were serving or how it was made. Regardless, one suggested a hip brunch spot for the following morning, where I enjoyed - Three Floyds Pride & Joy Ale
A well-executed flagship brand from this Indiana establishment. A great way to start the morning.
Door County
We exhausted the longest legs of our road trip in the first 2 days. After the first 1300 miles, we've a quick shot from Minneapolis over to Wisconsin, and up the peninsula. In case you didn't know, Wisconsin is shaped roughly like Michigan (save the Upper Peninsula): vaguely like a left-handed mitten viewed from the back. The Wisconsin peninsula (the thumb) is Door County, where Leigh's aunt Rachel lives. About half way up, an active ship building center and shipping lane, Sturgeon Bay is nestled on a body of water of the same name. I have been hearing about Door County, Sturgeon Bay, and fish boils since Leigh and I started dating, so I was very excited to be there at last. A fish boil (pictured left) is exactly what it sounds like, and has a long history in Green Bay area, and especially on the peninsula. The actual food was not much to write home about (sorry), but the experience was well worth it.
Following the fish boil, Rachel drove us up to North Port (or as she pronounced it "Nawth Pawt") and Death's Door. Until a canal was dug through Sturgeon Bay, the Door County corridor was the gateway to Green Bay (the body of water, not the city) and infamously treacherous to ships (and therefore particularly enticing to divers). Pictured at left, breakers and an island lighthouse in the distance.
Before we headed to Milwaukee, we stopped in the Door County Museum, which did not disappoint. We learned about the history of loggers and shipbuilders and fishers. We learned about the wildlife of the region and the taxidermy thereof. We learned about the Scandinavian heritage of the upper midwest. We learned about a wreath made of hair (pictured left).Before we left the peninsula, we did not neglect the local alcohol industry. At a wine and beer store we stocked up with Wisconsin beer and wine made from Wisconsin grown grain and grape. We have imbibed readily, and will be lobbying for its importation back East.
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