There wasn't a dome in sight. Lush vegetation loomed behind the center-field fence, not far from people's homes, and fans could grab a seat in the bleachers for $5. As a dear friend told me this week, Milwaukee's County Stadium was "a great place to soak up sun, suds, brats - extra kraut, extra brown mustard - and a whole lot of baseball."
Thanks to the dear old Chron, I had the privilege of covering the 1982 American League Championship Series in that ballpark, and Milwaukee hasn't known anything like it since. The Brewers won that best-of-five series by sweeping the final three games at home against the California Angels, as they were then known, and the ensuing World Series (a loss to the Cardinals) was their last such appearance until Friday night's opener against the Tampa Bay Rays.
To say the least, those days are fondly remembered around town. The Brewers' manager back then, Harvey Kuenn, was a Milwaukee guy, born and raised on the south side. He and his wife, Audrey, operated a neighborhood bar called Cesar's Inn, and whenever the Brewers had a home off-day during the postseason, you'd find him there, serving drinks and spinnin' yarns.
The place was packed all week - "Harv and Aud's," they called it - and I became a regular with Bill Madden, the New York Daily News baseball writer bound for the Hall of Fame, and several other scribes. Watching Harvey hold court behind the bar, we marveled at the fact that he'd lost his right leg to an amputation just two years before. (He thought seriously about a wooden leg, but opted for a modern prosthetic.)
I savored the opportunity to tell Kuenn that I'd followed his career: Hitting .300-plus for the Detroit Tigers in eight of his first nine seasons. Leading the American League with a .353 average in 1959, then getting traded for the home-run leader, Cleveland's Rocky Colavito, in the ultimate one-for-one deal. Making the last out of Sandy Koufax' perfect game at Dodger Stadium in 1965, because I was there.
And not to be forgotten, that Kuenn was a huge part of the 1962 San Francisco Giants' run to the World Series, hitting .304 in 130 games as an outfielder/third baseman. He was just a born hitter, with the cragged, trustworthy face of a ballplayer from the days of train travel.
As the baseball world descended on Milwaukee in '82, the ultimate baseball humorist, Bob Uecker, worked play-by-play on Brewers radio. Bud Selig, who would later own the team, was the joke-telling club president, wandering around the press box and sending good-natured wisecracks toward the writers and anyone else he knew.
Down on the field, those Angels were a sight to see. Everyone in the starting lineup was over 30, and although some had passed their prime, the names were historic: Reggie Jackson, Rod Carew, Fred Lynn, Don Baylor, Bob Boone, Bobby Grich. Doug DeCinces, Brian Downing. Run that past Arte Moreno, who ran the Angels straight into the ground before recently selling the team, and he'd go into hiding. (Wait, he was already there.)
How could the Brewers overcome such prowess? Because the series handed them three straight home games, playing before one of the most passionate crowds in the game. Because they had Cecil Cooper, Gorman Thomas, Paul Molitor, Ben Oglivie, catcher Ted Simmons (total bad-ass, from his look to his demeanor), and shortstop Robin Yount, who hit .331 that season and won the AL MVP award.
(Yount played most of his career in the outfield, but I once asked Frank Robinson to name his all-time team, each member in his prime. He put Yount from 1982 at shortstop.)
Speaking of a long-ago era, the Brewers' most heroic starters during that three-game run were Don Sutton and Pete Vuckovich, neither of whom gave a damn about fastball velocity, radar gun readings or throwing every pitch as hard as possible. They were artists, mixing speeds like magicians with curves, forkballs, sliders and changeups to get and keep the hitters off-balance.
As the series unraveled for the Angels, there was the occasional dugout shot of manager Gene Mauch. It was agonizing to watch. Mauch was a hell of a manager, but he had presided over what many call the most catastrophic collapse in MLB history: his 1964 Philadelphia Phillies blowing a 6 ½-game lead with just 12 games remaining - when there was no such thing as a wild card or even divisions.
And here it was, happening again.
When it came down to Game 5, Mauch's seasoned club had a 3-2 lead into the bottom of the seventh inning. But Cooper, with his sweetly controlled lefty swing, drilled an opposite-field, two-run single for the winning margin.
The closing reliever should have been Oakland A's legend Rollie Fingers, who played his last five seasons in Milwaukee. But Fingers had torn a muscle in his forearm in September and was lost for the season. It was left to soon-to-be-forgotten Peter Ladd, who had saved only three regular-season games in his life, to finish the job.
And how fitting. The incomparable Carew, who once hit .388 and won seven American League batting titles in 10 years, hit a ground ball to Yount. That was money in the bank, and the bedlam inside County Stadium spread quickly through the town.
Yount played his entire 20-year career with the Brewers, and recently lamented that Uecker, who died in January 2025, won't be around for this World Series. Uecker played for the Milwaukee Braves of Henry Aaron, Eddie Mathews and Warren Spahn in 1962-63 - that team should never have left for Atlanta - and he was Milwaukee born and raised.
Many beers will be raised on Uecker's behalf in the coming days. Iconic lines from the old Miller Lite ads ill be recalled, the likes of "Must be in the front row" or "Wow, they're having a good time in there." And there will be laughter. The way he liked it.
Bruce Jenkins writes the 3-Dot Lounge for the San Francisco Chronicle. Email: jenksurf@gmail.com Twitter: @Bruce_Jenkins1
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There’s more to San Francisco with the Chronicle. Subscribe today for just 25¢.This article originally published at Bring on the bratwurst! Brewers in the World Series conjures memories of Kuenn, Yount and Uecker.