Ever since Babe Ruth was waddling around the bases, there have been grim predictions about baseball's future: Time has passed on the national pastime, too leisurely, too bucolic. Last year's World Series TV ratings, and this season's batting averages, both hit 50-year lows. Baseball, they say, is dying.
But never mind the current World Series between two of the game's stalwarts, the New York Yankees and the Los Angeles Dodgers. Want to feel better about baseball's health? Just go to a Milwaukee Brewers game.
There, in Major League Baseball's smallest market, cheese curds sweat under floodlights, frozen custard unspools into batting helmets, hometown Miller flows liberally, and on the stadium's second level is the most authentic Milwaukee touch of all: the broadcaster they call "Mr.