Milwaukee Brewers radio broadcaster Bob Uecker was outstanding

On By Littum

Tom Haudricourt
| Special to the Journal Sentinel

Tom Haudricourt covered baseball in Milwaukee for 36 years before his retirement from the Journal Sentinel in 2022.

There will never be another Bob Uecker.

The term “one of a kind” is sometimes misapplied with iconic figures, but not with Ueck. He was as unique as they come and so permanently ingrained in the psyche of Brewers baseball fans that the news of his death Thursday left a deep sadness that, to some degree, will never go away.

Managers, coaches, players, employees and fans have come and gone since the Brewers arrived in Milwaukee in April 1970. But Ueck was always there, a constant behind the microphone in the clubhouse radio booth, a soothing and often amusing voice that carried devoted listeners. through both long, losing summers and exciting, playoff-bound campaigns, as there have been in recent years.

Why did Ueck form such an everlasting bond with Brewers fans? For starters, he was a born and raised Milwaukeean. A true Cheeser who understood the locals and what mattered most to them, starting with a down-home approach to broadcasts, great knowledge of the game and enough humor to get them through tough nights in the park.

But more than anything, Ueck grabbed you with non-stop self-deprecation that made him seem like one of us. Not some hot-shot, Hall of Famer looking down his prominent nose at you. Just one of the guys, someone you could imagine having a beer with, an everyman who grew on you every time he was on the air.

After parlaying his modest playing career, including a lifetime .200 batting average over six seasons with the Braves, both in Milwaukee and Atlanta, as well as the Cardinals and Phillies, as the centerpiece of a burgeoning career in comedy, Ueck was in constant demand on across the entertainment spectrum, including film (he stole the show in “Major League”) and television.

But as he reminded us many times, he always came back to baseball. And more specifically the Brewers. He had options to go elsewhere — George Steinbrenner once tried to steal him away to the Yankees — but never intended to leave his hometown team.

Ueck cracked Johnny Carson so much that he was invited to appear nearly 100 times on “The Tonight Show,” turning straight lines from the host into comedy gold with his trademark deadpan delivery. It was Carson who dubbed him “Mr. Baseball,” originally intended to poke fun at his career, but later worn proudly as a badge of honor by the former catcher.

Uecker hit just 14 home runs in 843 plate appearances in the majors, but one came off legendary Los Angeles Dodgers ace Sandy Koufax on July 24, 1965 at Dodger Stadium.

“Every time I saw Sandy Koufax after that, I apologized to him,” Ueck often joked. “I thought for sure that would keep him out of the Hall of Fame.”

Speaking of the Hall of Fame, if you ever need a laugh, or dozens of them, go to YouTube and call Ueck’s 2003 Cooperstown speech when he received the Ford C. Frick Award for Outstanding Broadcasting. It was a master class in side-splitting self-deprecation as he took the captive audience step by step through his time as a player.

When Ueck was initially approached by a Hall of Fame representative, he was told he would have 10 minutes to give his acceptance speech.

“I can’t do my act in 10 minutes,” Ueck replied, insisting he would need at least twice that.

Fortunately for everyone involved, including a national television audience, Ueck got the 20 minutes. No one complained afterward, including the Hall of Fame players on stage behind him, who nearly fell out of their chairs in uproarious laughter and wiped tears from their eyes as he reeled them off, line by line.

One of the privileges of my 36-year career covering the Brewers, first for the Milwaukee Sentinel and then the merged Journal Sentinel, was being around Ueck on a daily basis. He constantly tickled your funny bone and entertained the group with stories from his treasure trove of personal experiences.

But Ueck was more than just a funny man ready to keep the mood light. He was part of the team and insisted that the players treat him as one of them and not as a celebrity. He chatted with guys before and after games, knowing when to encourage and when to entertain, always feeling like a part of the clubhouse despite an age gap that widened with time.

Outside of outsiders, Ueck was also extraordinarily generous. Among his many charitable endeavors, a longtime commitment to the Make-A-Wish Foundation has allowed legions of youth battling life-threatening illnesses to get out on the field and mingle with players and put much-needed smiles on their faces.

In his first year as a manager in 2024, but with eight years of experience in Milwaukee as a bench coach under Craig Counsell, Pat Murphy wouldn’t allow players to pop champagne in the clubhouse after winning the division title until Ueck reached down from the radio booth.

“There’s nobody who epitomizes a champion like this man does right here,” Murphy exclaimed after rallying his jubilant players. “What an example for us to be with every single day. Bob Uecker!”

In true Ueck fashion, while showered with bubbles from every angle, he announced with a smile, “I peed my pants.” No one was sure if he was joking.

The end of the 2024 Brewers season painful for those close to Bob Uecker

The mood was completely different when Ueck made his final visit to the home clubhouse on October 3rd. The Brewers had just lost in devastating fashion to the New York Mets to be eliminated in the first round of the playoffs, and it was as quiet as a library as players tried to process the ninth-inning turnaround that ended what had otherwise been an uplifting year.

The stunning defeat was not the primary reason certain players were left in tears late that night. A sick Ueck, who knew he didn’t have much time left, went around saying goodbye, telling some he probably wouldn’t see them again.

Christian Yelich, who had become particularly close to Ueck, was demonstrably emotional after their private conversation.

“It’s special every time he’s around,” Yelich told reporters quietly, choking back tears. “We shouldn’t take that for granted. He’s the man. He means a lot to this place. Anyone who’s spent any kind of time with him knows how special Bob is.”

Although his health had deteriorated by the end of the 2024 season, Uecker insisted on calling some of the action in the Brewers’ series against the Mets. That put him behind the microphone in the ninth inning of Game 3, when Pete Alonso broke the hearts of the home fans with a dramatic home run that ended Milwaukee’s season.

“He tried to play Game 2 and did the (pregame) ‘Pat Murphy Show,’ but got on top but decided he didn’t have the energy to do it,” longtime broadcast partner Jeff Levering said. “But he insisted on doing his normal routine for Game 3.

“Knowing what he had been dealing with, just getting out of bed every day and coming to the ballpark and performing like he does and being ‘on’ like he is, that’s the only way he knows how to He knew that was what everyone expected of him.

“But what it took for him to do it, you just attribute it to sheer will and determination. If he didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t have done it.”

In addition to the outcome of the game, knowing that Uecker would never return to the booth had everyone on hand in tears, including Levering, who somehow held it together to call off the broadcast.

“It just happened so fast,” Levering said. “We were three outs away. Who knew if Bob would be able to hit home runs in the next round? He signed off and as you heard it, he said, ‘This one’s got some sting to it.’ I think everyone realized that he might not be back.

“When he said goodbye to everyone, he really took his time, and rightly so. I was trying to hold it together and do the postgame show. When he decided to leave, he shakes my hand and says, “See you soon.” I turned and saw him go up the stairs (in the broadcast booth) for the last time.”

Bud Selig loses another dear friend in Bob Uecker

In many ways, Bud Selig, Henry Aaron and Uecker were the three amigos of Milwaukee baseball. All born in 1934, they became extraordinarily close over the years, along with their shared experiences with the Braves and Brewers. Uecker and Aaron began their major league careers in Milwaukee, where Selig grew up a big baseball fan.

Selig, who wanted to return baseball to the city after the Braves left by becoming owner of the Brewers, had the brilliant idea of ​​bringing Aaron back to finish his historic playing career in Milwaukee in 1975-76. A few years earlier, after Uecker comically failed as a scout and left smears of mashed potatoes on a player evaluation, Selig redirected him to the radio booth in what became another masterstroke.

Now only Selig remains of the titanic trio.

“We had a lot in common when you think about it,” a deeply sad Selig said when reached Thursday at his winter home in Scottsdale, Arizona. “Not just baseball, but Milwaukee and the state of Wisconsin. I really miss Henry and I’m going to miss Bob even more. I really don’t know what to say right now.”

Selig brightened when he was reminded that Uecker regularly referred to him as “Al,” a nod to his first name Allan, when speaking together publicly at events.

“He’s the only person in my life who called me Al,” Selig said. “He’s the only person who could get away with it. I enjoyed it. It was Bob; it was Ueck. It would always get a big laugh.

“He never took himself seriously. There was no one else like him.”