The Milwaukee Brewers are now one victory—nine innings, 27 outs—away from winning the World Series. The World Series! While last night’s extra innings loss is a reminder there’s still work to do and that nothing is guaranteed, it’s been an amazing ride to this point and I’m hoping tonight is the night. Like most, I’m swept up in the excitement. I’m trying to remain present and soak it all in. I’m high-fiving strangers. I’m walking around my house singing “let’s play some baseball and get some home runs” ad infinitum.
I’m also an emotional wreck, but it’s not because I’m nervous. It’s because when I think of this World Series run, I don’t just think of this already legendary 2026 team that’s one final step from baseball immortality: I think of it all.
When I first heard Jeff Levering’s “The Brewers win the pennant! Oh my God, the Brewers win the pennant! The World Series will go through Wisconsin!” call maybe an hour after the NLCS-clinching game in Los Angeles, something within me fractured. Hearing genuine exhilaration carried by Levering’s cracking voice, the significance of it finally hit me. I outright wept, both as a delayed reaction to the sheer enormity of what had happened and—more so—because of everything that happened before it to make that unprecedented point in time mean so goddamn much.
Since that pennant-winning call, a chasm of raw emotion has been carved into my chest. Tears come easy lately, as do the countless memories I’ve collected as a byproduct of maintaining a lifetime relationship with a baseball team.
When I think of the 2026 Milwaukee Brewers being a game from winning the World Series, I also can’t help but to think of games with family members at County Stadium as a kid, tailgating with friends before venturing into Miller Park in my teens and twenties, and spontaneous outings at what I’ve gradually learned to call American Family Field in the present day. I think of Opening Days, final outs, and standout plays that have earned permanent placement on my internal highlight reel.
I think of the few teams of yore that had an outside shot, the many others that had no chance whatsoever, and the squads that landed somewhere in between. I think of Robin’s 3,000th, the summer of CC, the arrival of players like Prince and Rickie and Braun, Axford entering games to Refused, and even Jeromy Burnitz for some reason.
I think of my baseball-loving friends and relatives who aren’t here to experience what we are, my grandma who’s hanging on and is undoubtedly loving every minute, and the texts my dad would probably be sending me these past few weeks if he were still around to hop on the Brewers bandwagon. I think of all the people you’re missing a little bit more right now.
I think of staying up late as a kid to watch west coast road trips on TV, celebrating the Wild Card berth in my mom’s basement in ’08, and listening to Uecker call games while driving around in my first car. I think of Bob Uecker.
I think of a group of players and coaches overcoming its own ownership’s lack of spending to earn the opportunity to win it all. I think of my adopted city of Milwaukee—which I moved down to partially because of the Brewers—meeting this moment with grace, charm, enthusiasm, and an utter disregard for what the rest of the world thinks. I think of Wisconsin, arguably the purplest state in an irreparably divided nation, coming together specifically and singularly for this special moment in time.
I think of it all and I know you’re thinking of it, too. Brewers in five, or six, or however many fucking games it takes.
