Some thoughts on Sunday’s Bob Uecker Celebration of Life (and official video of the whole thing)

A few days before Sunday’s Bob Uecker Celebration of Life at American Family Field, a friend said something about Uecker’s death I hadn’t considered. “I think we’ve all accepted that he’s gone, that his voice is gone,” my friend said. “But we haven’t had a chance to properly mourn him. I think that’s what Sunday will be about.”

When Uecker died on January 16 at the age of 90, I drove out to American Family Field. I found a small but growing number of people paying their respects to the legendary broadcaster, placing flowers, memorabilia, and cans of Miller Lite at the foot of his parking lot statue. I hadn’t been expecting a party, but I was still moved by how somber the scene was. After paying my respects, I found myself back in my car, shedding my own tears. (This was the same day legendary film director David Lynch died; a real double-whammy for me.)

Back in July, I wrote an article titled “Half a season without Uecker.” I talked about the absence of Uecker’s voice, the absence of Uecker’s presence, and how Uecker’s Usinger’s Sausage spokesperson duties were being handed off to Milwaukee Brewers legend and longtime Uecker buddy Robin Yount. “Even without Uecker calling the games themselves,” I wrote, “his voice was still part of the radio broadcasts. ‘The soundtrack of summer isn’t complete without Mr. Baseball!’ numerous commercials and bumpers would proclaim before cutting to Uecker’s iconic ‘Get up! Get up! Get outta here! Gone!’ There were audio clips of him saying random things like ‘Oh baby!’ There were those Usinger’s ads. And then there weren’t. Those clips and commercials are gone now, replaced with ones featuring the current broadcast team. That’s the way it has to be, of course, but oh baby, it stings.”

And so, as my family and I took our seats for the seven-months-in-the-making Bob Uecker Celebration of Life before Sunday’s Brewers – San Francisco Giants game (the Brewers blew it, btw), I wondered if I had, in fact, done my mourning. I had gone out to the statue. I had written hundreds of words in July. Uecker was gone but not forgotten. We all knew and felt that. Was my friend wrong? Had I—had we—already said it all?

The hour-long ceremony, expertly hosted on-field by Bob Costas, featured all the video clips and special guests you would expect. It was moving, funny, sad, sweet, and just about perfect. You can watch the whole thing below. Did I cry several times during the ceremony? Of course I did.

But what impressed me most was how the ceremony mixed mass mourning with personal mourning. For the vast, vast majority of us, Bob Uecker was simply a voice, a celebrity personality, a summertime staple. “The soundtrack of summer isn’t complete without Mr. Baseball!” as those radio commercials said. Those are all big roles, of course, and worthy of emotional attachment, but they’re still abstract. We knew what Uecker represented, but we didn’t actually know the guy.

And yet there were plenty of people who did. His family. His friends. His colleagues. And they were there on Sunday, too, along with the 42,053 fans in the stands. I thought that was nice. The public and the private. The clips from Major League and the photos of long-ago family vacations. All mixed into one. An all-encompassing goodbye.

Near the end of the ceremony, Yount said something that got me:

“He just loved making people laugh. Right to the end, he told me he wasn’t afraid of dying. He just didn’t want to be there when it happened.”

The crowd laughed, then applauded, then chanted “UUUUECK!” And then Yount, barely audible over the crowd, holding back tears and looking to the sky, said something that really got me:

“God rest your soul, Ueck. Love you, buddy.”

That, I suppose, finally said it all.