You've seen him in the pages of some of the finest publications in the country: the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, the J. Peterman catalog. He also used to write for the Pioneer Press. Now he's finally made the big leagues, published right here on Fraters Libertas. Mark Yost is heading back to his ancestral homeland of Brooklyn for July 4, and on the way is hitting some big league ballparks, along with his trusty sidekick, George. And we're happy to post his exclusive reports right here. First stop, Miller Park in Milwaukee. Take it away Mark:

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The National League-leading Milwaukee Brewers beat the Houston Astros, 6-3, in 11 innings at Miller Park Wednesday afternoon to complete the three-game sweep. It made for an exciting first stop for my son, George, and me as we drive from St. Paul to Brooklyn for Fourth of July. With time to spare, we decided to squeeze in some baseball along the way. The Fraters had enough extra electrons that we'll be reporting on our trip here over the next week.

Mostly, this guest blog will be a review of the ballparks, the fans, and the food. Miller Park was a good place to start because it's one of a slew of new ballparks with a nod to the architectural past; it has a winning team (for the first time in eons); and, it has pretty good food. Unfortunately, it also has baseball fans.

I'm pretty contemptuous of most baseball fans today. In general, they don't know much about the game, they're more interested in tracking down the sushi concession than keeping track of the pitch count. The only time they really get involved is when they're prompted by the Jumbotron. (Don't get me started on The Wave, Beach Balls and other unnecessary distractions.)

George and I arrived at Miller Park about 45 minutes before the 1:05 first pitch. It was easy to get into from I-94 and general parking was $8. We quickly found a guy selling Loge tickets, the second deck, for $4 off face value and made our way toward Section 209, about halfway between first base and the foul pole.

It had been raining in the morning, so the retractable roof was closed. That, combined with the 80-degree temperatures outside, made the place a real hothouse. The humidity was palpable at about 90%.

I've been here before and like Miller Park. The fans like to show up early and grill in the parking lots. Inside, the brats are good, too. I took Learned Foot's suggestion and got one with the red sauce and grilled onions. Delicious, and reasonably priced at $4. Catering to the many beer-bellied cheeseheads, Miller Park has a pretty good selection of beer, too.

On the downside, they have a coffee bar, something that has no business being in any major league park. The bottled water was outrageous at $3.50. While I inhaled my brat, George forced down the nasty Palermo's pizza. Six bucks for some gooey dough with ketchup and barely melted cheese. If my barber from New York, Tony Palermo, had been with us, he would have slapped the counterman. And the service was pretty poor. The guy who waited on us clearly hadn't mastered the cash register yet.

Once in our seats, we found ourselves literally wedged between the drunks and the retards. Behind us were two rows of developmentally challenged adults. Many just sat there, staring blankly at the field. Unfortunately, we got the seat in front of the hyperactive one. Throughout the game, he loudly yelled cheers and encouragement that had nothing to do with the action on the field. But he's obviously a regular, because he responded appropriately to all the prompts from the sound system. He also knew the lyrics to every Heavy Metal song they played (his last name must be "Nugent.")

In front of us were the aforementioned fans who were here for anything but the baseball. As best I could figure, it was the yearly outing for one of the local tire shops. They had absolutely no interest in what was happening on the field. All they cared about was the location of the beer man and taking close up photos of the thong straps of the cute 20 something in their group who was all too willing to show evermore as the game went on. When they weren't throwing things at each other -- popcorn, peanuts, Twizzlers -- they were standing up, blocking our view, loudly asking "Who wants another?"

They did take notice of the sausage mascot race at the end of the sixth inning. The Polish sausage won, although the brat holds the season-long lead, having won 28% of the races. During the 7th inning stretch, our neighbors behind us sang enthusiastically during "Take Me Out to the Ballpark." The drunks cleared their pipes for the "Beer Barrel Polka" sing-along that followed.

For those who were paying attention, it was a pretty good game, knotted up at 3. At the end of the 7th inning stretch, sweaty from just sitting there, I said to George, "Just two-and-a-half more innings. You can do that standing on your head."

He looked at me, soaked in sweat, and said, "Dad, I can't even stand on my head."

In the 8th inning, the retards got into a heated argument about the score. Most understood that it was tied up, 3-3. Our boisterous neighbor argued that the score was 7-6, which was actually the total number of hits, not runs.

"It's the second set of numbers," he yelled, loud enough for Brewers right fielder Corey Hart to hear. He did, to his credit, follow the shuffling baseball caps game on the Jumbotron and guess correctly that the ball was under cap number three.

At the end of nine innings, the only sober guy with the drunks decided to leave. He was wearing a T-shirt that read, "Star Wars Celebration IV." A half inning later most of the drunks left, too, "to be closer to the beer," giggled the girl showing off her thong straps all night. I doubt they knew it was a tie game.

In the bottom of the 10th, the retard cheered for a grand slam, even though no one was on base. Then he sang along -- a little too knowingly for my comfort -- to AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long." George and I moved over a few sections closer to home plate.

To their credit, most of the Brewers fans stuck it out through the extra innings. When Damian Miller stepped to the plate in the bottom of the 11th with two men on base, a couple in front of us stood and started cheering. A couple of old guys behind us politely asked them to sit down. The man turned around and gestured for them to stand up and then ignored their pleas. While one of the old guys went to get an usher, Miller sent the game-winning three-run homer into the Brewers' centerfield bullpen. A fitting end to our Miller Park experience.

I don't want you to leave this extensive first post thinking Miller Park is a horrible place to see a game. Quite the contrary. It has good sight lines, good food, and, for the most part, good atmosphere. Furthermore, this is not meant to be a rant against Brewers fans (Learned Foot). I'm sure they're no less boorish than the fans we'll find on the rest of our trip. Sad, but true.

Fans aside, I'd rate Miller Park an 8.

George and I will have an off day from baseball on Thursday. We're going to the Great America amusement park just across the Illinois border. But we'll be back at it Friday night, in Detroit for Tigers-Twins.

UPDATE: Learned Foot responds.

Labels: Baseball

Posted by Saint Paul--Link