Photo courtesy of Creative Commons

My father sent his annual “done with the Brewers” e-mail last night:

BOYS, YUP, I"M OUT!!!!!!!!!!!! They Suck again - and again and again!!!

DAD

It came a little earlier than usual this year, but I can’t say that I fault him for leaping on April 14th. This is a man who bleeds baseball, and unfortunately bleeds True Blue Brew Crew. He’s lived through more crap ball years in his home town than I have flat-out lived. After a while, it becomes a matter of self-preservation. If he doesn’t harden himself to the team, they’ll destroy yet another summer. And as a teacher, my dad treasures his summers.

Ironically, it was this same man who taught me the importance…the necessity…of patience in baseball. Between the lines or between the armrests, baseball demands the most even of temperaments between the ears for 162 games. It is indeed a marathon.

We talk of 1982 as though the Crew rolled through the American League like nothin’ en route to the franchise’s lone World Series appearance. We forget that our significance hinged on the outcome of game…yep…162. The same holds true for our 2008 club. It took ‘em all to sew up a post-season berth.

Still, just 8 games into 2010, I’m looking around the bus and it’s pretty unsightly. As usual, it seems that father knows best.