The Brewers’ Hour, &c.

On baseball and money; the Franco-American past; sights in Tucson; and more

Jacob Misiorowski, a.k.a. The Miz, hurling for the Brewers (Wikimedia Commons)

Though I am a Detroit Tiger, I salute the Milwaukee Brewers for their triumph this year. Last week, they won the World Series. For one thing, this proves that money isn’t everything. That money isn’t the be-all, end-all. The Brewers are not one of the wealthier teams. But they are the best.

Reassuring to know.

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In Texas, Elon Musk has spent something like $170 million on the Paxton for Senate campaign. Wouldn’t it be something if Texans said no? (I wouldn’t bet the ranch on it.)

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The principal owner of the Brewers is Mark Attanasio. I have a friend with that same last name—an Italian, a Milanese. Last summer, I discussed this name with him. It is an Italianized version of an old Greek name: “Athanasios,” meaning “deathless” or “immortal.”

In 4th-century Alexandria, there was a theologian and patriarch who became St. Athanasius.

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Bob Uecker is a Milwaukee legend—specifically, a Brewers legend. A native of the city, he played for the team, even if he did not excel. He excelled as a broadcaster, actor, and all-around personality.

[This just in—a correction from a reader. Ueck played for Milwaukee, all right—but for the Braves, before they moved to Atlanta.]

I was in Milwaukee recently and snapped the below mural. May I point out one minor thing? Ueck’s signature. See the elegance of that handwriting? That’s the way they used to teach it …

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Regular readers know that this is pretty much my favorite sign in America. It’s at the Milwaukee airport, right after security screening. During the screening, you get discombobulated. Then you have a chance to recombobulate.

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Stick with language for a moment—French, in particular (or its variants). In my column on Friday, I had an item about French in Maine. Today, let me share a New York Times article—fascinating—headed “Oldest Recording of Louisiana’s Vanishing Creole Language Is Published.” The article includes a recording of Emma Benoit, from 1935. To hear her speak—one could get shivers.

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The first thing I saw in Tucson, on arriving at the airport, was an eatery advertising “New York bagels.” I had just flown from New York (where I live). Kind of funny.

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On the way into town, I saw billboards advertising weed—“Good Weed,” etc. What a pity. But I know that this ship has sailed. Or has it? Might Americans have second thoughts about legalization, seeing its effects? Might they turn the ship around?

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Some eye-catching flowers, near the U of A (University of Arizona):

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A building at the university—unusual, imaginative, impressive:

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Look, this isn’t Cooperstown—but I’m glad there’s a Handball Hall of Fame. It’s a wonderful sport.

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“Be on Time!” says this elementary school. “Attendance Matters!” Good values.

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Throw some more flowers at you? Purple jobbies this time?

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A little night practice at the university, making for a lovely scene:

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On my trip home, a flight attendant was a real comedian. I’ll give you a brief sampling of his work: “Everyone’s a winner today. There are no middle seats on this fabulous ship.” “We’re going to experience some turbulence. So fasten your seat belts, and do it just like my grandmother’s support bra: low and tight.”

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In my Friday column, I had occasion to mention Ken Burns, the documentarian. Let me quote a little from the relevant item:

Burns graduated from Pioneer High School in Ann Arbor. (Pi High.) I went to the other high school, Huron. Anyway, we are both Ann Arborites, and one of us has made good. There may be hope for me yet …

I heard from Julie Stielstra, whose dad, Jay, was renowned in Ann Arbor—as athlete, coach, teacher, and, not least, singer-songwriter.

Julie writes,

I was in high school with Ken Burns at Pioneer, though he was a year ahead of me. I remember him as a skinny kid who often wore a green army jacket and lurked backstage at the theater. He was the guy who knew everything about sets, lighting, working the curtains … He was behind the camera, so to speak. No surprise he ended up doing what he does—and superbly. Those bangs were longer and in his eyes back then.

Marvelous.

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I’m sorry this is a lousy picture—but it tells you something about New York. Can you read the sign? “THIS IS A FILM SET. Not real police activity.”

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Over the years, I have written a lot about panhandling—begging. I have thought about this issue since I was in grad school. I encountered panhandlers in Cambridge, Mass. And then, on virtually every block, in Washington, D.C., and New York. I’ve gone back and forth on giving. I’ve given a lot—probably unwisely—in the past 40 years.

Anyway, I don’t want to get into that today. I wanted to share a thought, which occurred to me the other week. Young people, I understand, seldom carry cash. Society will, by and by, go cashless.

What will that do to panhandling?

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The Finnish embassy in Washington put out a funny video about Halloween—about the stuff that Finnish nightmares are made on. (Shakespeare said “made on,” not “made of.” Don’t screw that up, please.) Amusing.

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“Cuauhtémoc Cárdenas, Who Helped End One-Party Rule in Mexico, Dies at 92.” That obit, by Anthony DePalma for the New York Times, is here. Very interesting life. In 1988, a presidential election was stolen from Cárdenas—outright, brazenly stolen. No one disputes this.

Cárdenas “refused to call his followers into the street,” as the obit says. It also quotes Enrique Krauze, the historian, whom I am privileged to know. “An order from him would have sent Mexico up in flames.” Cárdenas “did the country a great service by sparing it a possible civil war.”

Ladies and gentlemen, you are really nice to join me today. Thank you.