More of what you don’t see

Now that the Brewers have scattered the birds (Jays and O’s), they set off for yet another long road trip. So since Miller Park has fallen silent for a while, it seems appropriate to give you another installment of the Brewers: Behind-the-Scenes.

First off, let me repeat just how often I see Doug Melvin walking to and from his office, this guy must be very busy. In fact, the last two times I’ve seen him, he’s been on his cell phone perhaps trying to package Billy and some others together for C.C Sabathia or Rich Harden or something. Or, he just realizes that he should forget about any other seat in the house ’cause the view from his office is pretty sweet.

My first actually interesting story is when I met the guy who does Miller Park’s fireworks. He’s a hefty fellow who interrupted my “keep-to-yourself” attitude while waiting for the service elevator by loudly exclaiming how heavy his rolling luggage bag was.

“Whew, Jesus, that shit’s heavy.”

“Oh yeah? …. Hmmm.”

“Ya wanna carry it for me?”

“What? Uh, sure.” (I grab the bag, expecting the contents to be as heavy as his complaining… it wasn’t.)

While laughing, “No no no, that’s alright, I was kidding, just drop it over there.”

(I drop it harder than I intended too.)

“Whoa! Shit, take it easy, kid.”

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry.”

“There’s explosives in there.”

“What?!”

The ensuing conversation satisfied all the pyromania I never had as a kid. He explained how after he gets off the elevator on the terrace level, he has to climb 9 flights of stairs and then walk over to the catwalk above the Jumbotron out in center. When I asked if he was the one lighting the fuses, he laughed and said that fuses no longer really exist and the fireworks are ignited by an “something like an electric match” and so everything is electronic and all he really does is push a button-thus ruining my cool mental image of ancient Chinese celebrations or George Washington’s inauguration. Either way, when Braun hits one into the upper deck or, one of my favorite moments at Miller Park, at the bottom of the first when the Crew is about to bat, this guy gets the crowd rowdy.

Another great story just happened this past Sunday when the Crew handled the Orioles. I was taking my usual walk to the service elevator in the hopes of bumping into Kendall or Prince or something. As I was walking, I hear echoes up ahead of me of guys yelling at each other, which wasn’t unusual, but this sounded a bit heated. I turned the corner to see the angry Melvin Mora, #6, with a bat in his hand being verbally subdued by a Brewers beat writer. Several feet away were three guys yelling back at him. Mora was cursing in both English and Spanish, telling the three guys to “Shut the hell up!” with his Venezuelan accent ringing through the hallway.

As I continued walking, I turned the corner to see the three guys laughing hysterically. I looked at their lanyards and saw that they were the local Baltimore paper beat writers. One guy said, “God I hate him. What a cock suck—” The other guy interrupted by saying, “I stopped listening once he said he can play shortstop,” while the third guy stated, “This is going to be a long road trip.”

As we all made the ascent in the elevator, the three Baltimorons buzzed about the rumors of great food in the press box of Miller Park on Sundays. “I heard they’ve got like a brunch thing. Eggs, fruit, and those square potato things!” I thought to myself, “square potato things??”

For those of you who aren’t dumbass reporters from the East Coast, of course he means hash brown patties. No wonder they lost 7-3 that day.

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