In a eulogy, you cannot tell the whole story of someone’s life. You’ve only got time for a few moments that… I’m not going to say a few moments that “mattered,” but rather ones that were emblematic. The stories that show who that person was.
I never met Bob Uecker. I’d only seen him in person when I’d peek up into the press box at County Stadium or Miller Park/American Family Field.
To me and to most of us, he was a broadcaster. The greatest, best entertainer for our Brewers. He was a silly, beer drinking, fibbing Walter Cronkite. And he was perfect.
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In my mind, there are three moments that tell the story of who Uecker is and was. None of them have anything to do with the success of the team he worked for across 54 seasons. None were during crucial games. None of them mattered.
Uecker didn’t care if it mattered either. He, unlike most baseball radio broadcasts, understood that the game on the field is only part of the broadcast entertainment. Uecker knew how to fill space. He knew he had to talk about something more than just a slow-paced baseball game.
He’s the kind of person to make you laugh at a funeral, to break the silence after a fight, to dance in the rain. Uecker, above all else, was a pal.
I will remember these moments more than most sporting successes. Because they still make me smile.
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” – Maya Angelou
The Garden Season
When I was a kid, so this would’ve either been in the late 1990s or early 2000s, there was a season when Uecker – during every game it seemed – would talk about his garden. He was growing eggplants and carrots and pumpkins.
Except, it became clear to the households and workplaces that listened to every game, that the man clearly had never put a trowel in soil. Or, at least, he could pretend he hadn’t. Because each game there’d be a new plant, a new vegetable or fruit that he was planting or harvesting. It could be July and he’s harvesting sweet potatoes (which are usually harvested in fall) or he’d be planting some corn in October or something else that didn’t really make sense. It didn’t take long for listeners and people calling into the station and others at 620 WTMJ to realize the man was fibbing for a whole season. But the Brewers hadn’t been in the playoffs for 20 years, the play-by-play was still being called, and we were having fun.
The man didn’t care. He just talked. He filled the void for us. Uecker was what radio has been for generations, and what podcasts are now: he was a good friend in the ear, talking about nothing, and laughing the whole time.
“Man I hope that guy puts his shirt back on”
I have no recollection of what year this was, where the Brewers were playing, or any other context. All I remember is that we’re returning from the commercial break, Uecker is welcoming us back into the booth saying something like “Welcome back to [Whatever Stadium we’re in] the score is [Whatever].” Then, apropos of nothing, “Man! I hope that guy puts his shirt back on.”
To be clear: Uecker had not mentioned this shirtless buffoon before in the broadcast, or brought him up afterward. He just was annoyed by a guy, and he wanted us all to know about it.
So he told us.
No Idea What Vegemite Is
Ueck and either Jeff Levering or Lane Grindle were talking about Australia-native pitcher Liam Hendriks. This was, I believe, the summer or early fall of 2021, because I remember driving to a then-girlfriend’s house in the pouring rain on I-41. The game was barely coming through on the radio.
Ueck and the colorman are going back-and-forth about Hendriks and the Down Under. Levering or Grindle asks Ueck something to the effect of “You ever had vegemite before?”
Uecker replies something like “Yeah of course.” Then, after a pause: “It’s shrimp, right?”
Nothing was said on the broadcast for maybe 30 seconds because Uecker had cracked up his partner so successfully. (Vegemite, of course, is a spread made from yeast extract popular in Australia. No seafood involved.)
Uecker responded to the first question with the confidence that only a professional broadcaster could have – pretending he knows what he’s talking about at every moment. But then, because he’s Ueck, he cut himself down with all the humility he always had.
This is the same man who apparently peed his pants when the Brewers clinched the playoffs in 2024, then admitted it on TV. (I don’t care if he was joking at that moment. I 1000% believe the 90-year-old peed himself, because that’s what he would want me to remember.)
The legend would play along with any joke. There’s a reason his Miller Lite ad spots were often filmed in bars, where nothing you say matters so long as you’re smiling.
For as long as I think about Bob Uecker, I will be smiling.
Rest in Peace, friend.
