Where would I rather be than Ames, Iowa? Hmmm. Where is a better place than sitting here in Hamilton Hall? Then again, where isn’t? But where could I have it all? Alcatraz? Nah, never make it back out. Church? For heaven’s sake, no.

Wait a minute.

Where else than Milwaukee County Stadium? Beer, brats, bikinis, babes, and the Brewers. Lucky for me, there’s always the Brewers. For me, life is baseball, and it all begins in Milwaukee.

I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but for some reason early in my childhood I became True Brew. I don’t know if it was Rollie Fingers’ handlebar moustache, Robin Yount’s Harley, an early attraction to the big beer mug in centerfield, or seeing fans in the stands actually stupid enough to wear blocks of cheese on their heads.

Whatever it was, it happened, and it’s still happening. I’m a cheesehead at heart.

Bob Uecker is my idol. It’s an obsession.

I’m past the stage of denial, and I have reached peace with myself.

I have one of those blocks of cheese, and I’m not afraid to wear it.

I guess my love for the Brewers is just a strange phenomenon. It’s unexplainable.

Like UFO’s, and who killed JFK, and why no one in Dubuque, Iowa, (a suburb of Peosta) has come to realize that other cities in America have professional sports teams besides Chicago. Face it, Chicago sucks.

But this article isn’t about that other city on the lake.

It is about a blue-collar town with a love for the Brewers, beer, more beer and the polka.

It’s a city which houses the best stadium, fans and team in the majors. Sure, the fans will get into fist fights with opposing players, but that’s expected.

I’ve come to expect the unexpected in Milwaukee.

After all, it’s baseball, the game in which the only thing that is predictable is that it will be unpredictable.

It’s a small market team trying to stay afloat while other big money teams throw around their money picking up over-priced free agents. They play with little-known guys who play baseball the way its supposed to be played. Hard, and for the love of the game.

Fernando Vina, Jose Valentin, Matt Mieske, Mike Matheny and John Jaha? Candidates for political office. Nope.

Starters for the Milwaukee Brewers, and pretty good ones at that.

And who will be the next Triple Crown winner? Frank Thomas, Ken Griffey Jr., Albert Belle? Wrong. The “Awesome Aussie,” the” Wonder From Down Under,” Dave Nilsson. Just watch. I caught his foul ball last year and got it autographed, so he’d better. By the way, what did he do on the very next pitch? Yep, he homered.

Milwaukee gets no respect. Some amazing players have gone relatively unnoticed playing for the Brew Crew: Robin Yount, Cecil Cooper, Gorman Thomas, Jim Gantner and the greatest player of all-time, Paul Molitor.

That’s right. Paul Leo Molitor. You can have your Ted Williams, Joe DiMaggios, Hank Aarons, Babe Ruths, Ty Cobbs and Stan Musials. But none of them are the Ignitor. The man is simply amazing.

You may not be smart enough to realize it now, but just watch and wait. Someday, you’ll be able to say to your grandchildren:

“Yep, I used to watch him play. He was the greatest. It’s just too bad my mom threw out all of my Molitor cards, I had a whole shoebox full of them.”