Rush, The Brewers, and Coming Full Circle

I first saw Rush on October 9, 1982, the day the Milwaukee Brewers tied the ALCS against the Angels. Singer/bassist Geddy Lee and drummer Neil Peart both came out sporting Brewers garb, and Geddy modified the lyrics to the opening song, “The Spirit of Radio,” to include the line, “One likes to believe in the freedom of baseball.” As an impressionable boy of fourteen enjoying the show from sensational floor seats at MECCA Arena, watching a great band with my older brother, this was one of those electrifying moments that’s stayed with me forever. What’s crazy is that this moment can now be streamed on YouTube, and I’ve done so at least a half a dozen times just to relive the thrill. The Brewers went on to beat the Angels the next day, earning their first World Series berth, which ended in heartbreaking fashion against the Cardinals.

Last Friday, I watched Rush perform for my eleventh and final time (really…this is my last one!), this time in Cincinnati with my son, daughter and son-in-law, and in a strange bit of kismet, just as Rush were beginning their show, the Milwaukee Brewers were starting their first inning of World Series baseball since 1982. Yes, my allegiances were torn, but I was determined to be present for what was in front of me: witnessing one of my favorite bands with my family well-represented. It was my daughter who couldn’t stop checking the score, and when she informed me early on that the Brewers had taken a 2-0 lead, it looked like this was going to be one of those perfect evenings.

By the time Rush completed their show, game one of the World Series was nearly over, with the Brewers clinging to a 3-1 lead. We four exited the arena and quickly made our way to a nearby bar with TVs hanging outdoors along the sidewalk, and from this vantage point we were able to witness the thrilling, stressful conclusion to the game, with the Brewers winning 3 – 2. After high fives and hugs, it came to me: I said to my kids: “That was the first Brewers World Series victory since I attended game 5 in 1982 with my buddy John.”

In a few days, I’ll once again watch a World Series game with my buddy John, this time from a bar rather than the last row of the left field bleachers of County Stadium.

For life to circle back this way: the teenager now a post-middle-aged husband and father of three; the power trio in its prime now a duo with hired hands; the young, electric future hall-of-famers Yount and Molitor now throwing out the first pitch for the new and improved young, electric Brewers, well…dang. I don’t think I could dream up a script as good as this one.

The Brewers Make the World Series

When you’re fourteen, the future seems limitless, both in time and possibility. After my buddy John and I watched the Brewers take a three-games-to-two lead over the Cardinals in Game 5 of the 1982 World Series, we were certain that we’d be celebrating a championship in a few days’ time. It was not to be. But at a school assembly later that year, Bud Selig himself assured us that the Brewers would return better than ever the following season.

Forty-four years and many life lessons later, I know that the future isn’t limitless and life rarely unfolds as imagined, in baseball or otherwise. There will be gut-punches, heartbreaks and disappointments along the way. You’ll learn to manage, adapt, reframe things and make the best of it. Every so often, usually with a sad song playing on the stereo and a bourbon in hand, you’ll look back on your youth, when everything seemed possible. When that wrong turn hadn’t yet been taken. When you hadn’t yet failed to live up to your potential. And when your baseball team whose radio broadcasts captivated you from a young age hadn’t yet fallen short in heart-breaking fashion, again and again.

I think of all the games I took my kids to. Those hapless teams of the early 2000s, when my daughters fell in love with Brady Clark, Ben Sheets, Scott Podsednik, Geoff Jenkins and Bill Hall. So many losses. So many trips up to Milwaukee without the luxury of a fun post-victory broadcast to listen to. And then there are the playoff losses we attended: Game 2 of the 2011 NLCS, followed by two in 2018 – Game 4 in Los Angeles with my daughter and Game 7 in Milwaukee with my son – and finally a 2025 loss in Milwaukee against those same Dodgers.

Yes, I loved baseball as a game and the Brewers as a team, but dang, it had been a rough ride. Sports can be so exhilarating, so inspiring and fun, but often they merely echo the hard life lessons of having to endure hardship and disappointment. And honestly, who needs that reminder? Isn’t life hard enough?

But then last night, when the Brewers completed their sweep of the Dodgers, all of those disappointments were excised. Even some of the personal ones.

The future isn’t limitless, but man, it sure has potential.

The Tylenol Murders Thirty Years Ago

One of the most gripping and troubling pieces I've read in a long time: Chicago Magazine's chronological retelling of the seven Tylenol murders that took place in and around Chicago in late September, 1982.  The tragedy begins on Wednesday morning, as a 12 year-old drops dead in her bathroom, and through dozens of interviews of family members, friends, political leaders, doctors and investigators, we follow the unfolding of events, hour by hour, as more and more people are discovered dead with no logical links.  

Except for one. 

Through the efforts of skilled professionals and a little bit of luck, in just over 24 hours after the first death it's concluded that cyanide-laced Tylenol capsules are the culprit.  Within five days, Johnson & Johnson recalls everyTylenol bottle from the shelves nationwide, resulting in an overhaul of how foods and medications are protected ongoing.

Hearing first-hand accounts of the mundane events that lead to so many deaths leaves you feeling hollow, shocked, angry and saddened.  You want to reach out and stop these ordinary people from making that fateful stop to Wahlgreens, or call out and tell them to forego the medication and just go to bed.

Vitality literally asphyxiated.  The crime remains unsolved.