Strange days have found us. Your Milwaukee Brewers just hosted (and won) games 1 and 2 of the Freakin’ World Series. The time for waking up continues to evade Brewers fans, because this is the ever-loving dream. And while strange days continue to track us down, interacting with strangers has become an increasingly common occurrence for Milwaukeeans. From Third Ward watch parties to West Allis taverns, and within the outlandishly vibe-tastic stadium currently called American Family Field, humans are punctuating their interactions among strangers with the satisfying smacks of old-school high-fives. I know because I’ve met many new hands, have been greeted with unfamiliar smiles, and have had my hand clutched for several seconds at a time by total strangers during several Brewers playoff games in 2026.

World Series, Game 2

I have certain responsibilities. As a father, a husband, a worker, and as a Milwaukeean. I won’t get into all of them, because there are too many to enumerate, and many are too ridiculous to claim as responsibilities. But let’s just say I’m plenty busy. Oh, and I also don’t make much money. But I’ve got quite a conscience on me, so when I purchased a pair of tickets in Section 420 Row 14 for Game 2 of the World Series before the Brewers had even swept the Dodgers, I nearly soiled myself in fright. Fortunately, my miraculous partner agreed that the choice was a good one, provided I brought her to the game. And did I ever.

Half an inning into Game 2, the Tampa Bay Rays were leading 4-0. The Brewers had them right where they wanted them. As soon as Jake Bauers broke for second base and William Contreras went high-IQ to the spot on the diamond vacated by the Rays infielder, the circuit of high-fiving strangers began. The woman in front of us turned around, high-fived me, then Alie. The man in front of us high-fived his wife, Alie, and then me. The man next to us high-fived Alie, then me. His daughter, the same. Garrett Mitchell roped a single to right, Bauers scored, and the high-fiving strangers rewired the circuit. The first inning ended and so did the Tampa Bay scoring for the night: the high-fiving of strangers had just begun, as had the Brewers scoring.

In between accelerated palpitations and Logan Henderson getting his groove back, we chatted with our new neighbors in Section 420. The daughter was in town from her East Coast college, just because she is a huge Brewers fan: she and her father had agreed that should the Brewers host a World Series game, they would take the drastic (and appropriate) measures of securing tickets. She knows her ball, and revealed that pregame, she had predicted a 5-3 Brewers win. We agreed that 5-4 would suffice.

In the bottom of the 4th inning, David Hamilton’s grounder Mookie Wilson-ed its way past the Rays first baseman, delivering Cooper Pratt to home plate. The score was 4-3 Rays, but the vibe had altered: the Brewers were going to win this game. The agreement was passed entirely by word of high-five: the intensity of our circuit heightened as the guy in front of me made our high-five into a prolonged handshake. The father and daughter swing synched high-fives to the left and right of me and my wife. We were becoming non-verbal sisters and brothers of Brewers belief.

Salvatore Sidebar: I am Italian. I stand 5 foot 9 inches. I could not, as a high school centerfielder, nor could I ever, hit a home run. If Sal Frelick had a jersey giveaway with pre-added dirt on it (he did), then my jersey would come pre-stained with coffee and Secret Stadium Sauce. I believe he’s my distant cousin. Back to high-fiving strangers…

In the bottom of the 6th inning, the Brewers were winning. Well, they were down by a run, but to everyone in the stadium it was just a matter of time. Obviously the time to tie it up would not be when Sal “I have one homer off a lefty all season and have never hit a HR to dead center” Frelick came to the plate. Sal took his time, and a lot of pitches. He fouled off a few. On the ninth pitch, Sal hit a line drive 104.4 miles per hour. He ran like mad, thinking double, maybe triple. Halfway around first base the working-class hero lost consciousness as the ball escaped the surly fucking bonds of centerfield.

My hat flew off, I jolted in the general direction of the diamond and hugged Alie. Our circuit of high-fiving strangers went wonderfully haywire: the couple in front of us high-fived us both at once. The father next to us maintained composure and went up top for one with both of us. The daughter kept cool as well, high-fiving with accuracy, and a man in a Brewers fedora added himself to our supercharged circuitry and hell, he was wearing a Frelick jersey, so I gave him some skin as the stadium quaked beneath the visiting Devil Rays. I added the family behind us to the love-fest and they politely indulged my desire to prolong the moment and the game was actually tied 4-4 thanks to Salvatore.

Back in the first inning, 21 year-old Cooper Pratt (what were YOU doing at 21? Me? Getting astronomically destroyed on the daily, working third shift at the Citgo, and alienating friends and family) misfired his throw to first base, allowing the leadoff hitter to second base. The Rays put up four runs quickly thereafter, but thanks to the soul-sucking Brew Crew offense and Milwaukee’s heroic bullpen, it was knotted at 4 in the bottom of 7.

Brice Turang slugged a lovely double to right-center. Brisk high-fives were shared: sure, we were holding back for the next moment. Garrett Mitchell hammered the ball to right-center as well…it looked gone, but it stayed. Turang moved to third base on the catch and then it was back to Cooper Pratt. The young man began playing shortstop for the Crew in the middle of this pennant-winning season. No one can relate to how difficult it must be to play baseball at that level, let alone to join the best team in the league, mid-stride. Pratt’s knack for contact continued as he lofted a base knock to right field and the go-ahead run scored. The redemption high-fives were sweet: we didn’t care how hard we were five-ing now. It was the 7th inning. It was the World Series. My whole body was an electrical current.

Stuff happened. The Rays struck out. A Ray doubled. Ashby entered. Rays struck out. The top of the 9th began. A Ray doubled. A Ray struck out. A Ray grounded out, sending the tying run to third base with two outs. A Ray struck out. The Brewers won. My hands high-fived every hand in sight.

I recommend sharing our casual joys among strangers. We have so little opportunity to celebrate together, as humans, as baseball nuts, as Milwaukeeans. Take advantage of this week. Get to a watch party, your local tavern, a neighborhood hangout, any place you can, and join hands with strangers, as Uecker intended, high above this ridiculous day-to-day Earth, with hope and a smile wider than Wisconsin Avenue.

Strangers on this road we are on / We are not 43,245, we are 1.

Want more Milwaukee Record? Subscribe to our free weekly newsletter and/or support us on Patreon.