A Tip of the Hat to the Milwaukee Brewers

It should come as no surprise to my faithful readers that I do not like the Milwaukee Brewers. Indeed, when it comes to baseball, I do not like any team not named the St. Louis Cardinals. I will not here rehash the psychological complexity of growing up in New Jersey as a Cardinals fan, nor attempt to explain why I have remained loyal to a midwestern team located in a city to which I have no personal or familial connection. But resolute and loyal I have remained for six decades of my life, including the past three seasons when the Cardinals have been, at best, mediocre, and more often deeply disappointing. The current version of the Cardinals does not resemble in any manner the Cardinals of my youth, the Cardinals of Gibson, Brock, and Cepeda in the 1960s, nor the speedy and scrappy Cardinals of the 1980s, and certainly not the teams that produced over two decades of mostly first-rate baseball starting in 2000.

My love of the Cardinals generally precludes me from praising another team. It is a defect in character, I know, but ask any passionate fan to look objectively at the opposition and you will get disgruntled mumbling in return. So, it is with trepidation that I tip my hat to the Milwaukee Brewers.

As I write, there are five days remaining in the 2025 season, and the Brewers have the best record in all of baseball. Yes, better than the Philadelphia Phillies and Los Angeles Dodgers in the National League, and far better than the Toronto Blue Jays, New York Yankees or any team trying to distinguish itself in the American League. The common denominator for each of those teams is a massive payroll. Those teams pay their players, especially a few select superstars, big-time money. The Brewers, on the other hand, have the 23^rd lowest payroll in the major leagues. The Brewers’ payroll is almost $200 million less than the New York Mets ($323 million), who are hanging by a very thin thread in the Wild Card pennant chase, holding a one game lead over the Reds and Diamondbacks with four games to play. Only seven teams have a lower payroll than the Brewers. Heck, the Brewers spend less money on their players than the Colorado Rockies, who have the worst record in the major leagues and will be lucky to win 45 games all season.

Outside of Milwaukee, most people – even earnest baseball fans – cannot name three players on the Brewers. Go ahead, try it. This is a team without superstars. The Dodgers have Ohtani, Freeman, and Betts. In fact, they have an entire roster of All-Star caliber players. The Phillies have Harper, Schwarber, and Turner. They play with bravado and confidence and bring a dangerous combination of sluggers and crafty pitchers that fill the opposition with anxiety and dread.

The Brewers? Their top players are guys with names like Turang (is that a soft drink?), Chourio (bless you), Frelick (who?), and Yelich (is he still playing?). I only know of William Contreras because his brother Willson plays for the Cardinals. Their third baseman is Caleb Durbin (enough said). One of their best starting pitchers is Quinn Priester, who I might have told you until a few weeks ago was most likely the name of a Catholic seminary student. I mean, this is an entire roster of “players to be named later.”

Since 2017, the Brewers have consistently finished at or near the top of their division. Only the Dodgers, Yankees, and Astros have won more games than the Brewers in that time. And yet, they are never mentioned by the professional baseball analysts and reporters as a team to watch during pre-season predictions. No one takes them seriously. This season was no different, with most analysts predicting the Cubs to win the NL Central. Yet here we are. The Brewers have won more games than any other team in baseball as the Cubs sit quietly in second place, 6.5 games back.

How do the Brewers do it? By playing solid, fundamental baseball. They do not swing at pitches outside the strike zone (only four teams have struck out fewer times than the Brewers) and they get on base (only five teams have more walks than the Brewers). They play superb defense, run the bases well, are almost always in the game and find a variety of ways to win. They make contact, steal bases, advance the runners, and play small ball while also hitting home runs. Although they will not outslug anyone (they rank 20^th in total home runs), they have one of the best-ranked offenses in the major leagues, as only two teams in baseball have scored more runs than the Brewers. At the same time, they have the second-lowest team earned run average in the major leagues.

As the manager of the Durham Bulls said in one of my all-time favorite movies, baseball “is a simple game. You throw the ball. You hit the ball. You catch the ball. You got it?” The Brewers score a lot of runs without giving up a lot of runs. That’s a pretty good combination. And they do it without much chest pumping and flamboyance.

Baseball is a wonderful game in part because it is so difficult. The more I watch baseball, the more I am convinced that hitting major league pitching is the most demanding thing to do in sports. As Willie Stargell said about hitting, "They give you a round bat, and they throw you a round ball, and then they tell you to hit it square." Hank Aaron, one of the greatest hitters of all time, said “it took me seventeen years to get 3,000 hits in baseball, and I did it in one afternoon on the golf course." The Brewers hit the ball well up and down their lineup. Sal Frelick (.291, 12 HRs), Brice Turang (.284, 18 HRs), Jackson Chourio (.270, 20 HRs), Christian Yelich (.266, 29 HRs, 102 RBIs), William Contreras (.262, 17 HRs), and Caleb Durbin (.262, 11 HRs) provide a steady drumbeat of offense without much fanfare. None of these guys knock your socks off but what the Brewers lack in superstars and MVP candidates, they make up for with their competent work ethic and blue-collar consistency. It is frustratingly impressive.

The Brewers do not sign expensive free agents. Shohei Ohtani and Juan Soto did not even talk with the Brewers when contemplating where to sign in the offseason. As certain as death and taxes, you can take it to the bank that upcoming free agents Kyle Schwarber and Kyle Tucker will not be signing with Milwaukee in the offseason. The Brewers not only have one of the lowest payrolls in baseball, but they also play in the smallest television market in North America. From a marketing perspective, Milwaukee is the opposite of New York and Los Angeles, and you can be certain the executives at Fox Sports and ESPN desperately do not want the Brewers to advance in the playoffs.

The Brewers succeed with a combination of home-grown, young talent from a first-rate farm system, quality minor league instruction and player development, and smart trades, often taking a chance on players that other teams have passed on. Turang and Frelick were first-round draft picks in 2018 and 2021, respectively. Starting pitcher Jacob Misiorowski (how do you spell that?), who routinely hits over 100 mph on his fastball and combines it with ridiculous breaking stuff, was a second-round pick in the Brewers 2022 draft. Contreras (C), Durbin (3B), Priester (RHP), and Chad Patrick (RHP) were each acquired through under-the-radar trades.

Taking an early lead against the Brewers does not mean much. The Brewers have come from behind to win thirty-eight times this season, including five times in the ninth inning. And once the Brewers grab a lead, they are difficult to score against. They have one of the best bullpens in the game and consistently shut down opponents in the late innings. And they have done it with pitchers named Trevor McGill (30 saves, 2.54 ERA), Abner Uribe (1.72), Jared Koenig (6-1, 2.95), and Aaron Ashby (2.24). See what I mean?

Their starting pitching is solid, too, but like everything else about this team, there is no one who causes opponents’ knees to shake. Freddy Peralta (17-6, 2.68) is their ace, but does anyone even mention his name when people talk about the most dominant starting pitchers in the game? The 24-year-old Quinn Priester (13-2, 3.25), who the Brewers acquired from the Red Sox in the offseason, is turning into one of the top pitching talents in the league. Their pitcher with the third most wins (11) is 36-year-old journeyman Jose Quintana, who played for seven other major league clubs before the Brewers acquired him at the start of the 2025 season. No one else has more than seven wins.

Pat Murphy, Manager of the Milwaukee Brewers

Pat Murphy, the Brewers’ likeable manager, spent the first 25 years of his coaching career at the college level, including seven years as head coach for the University of Notre Dame baseball team and fifteen years at Arizona State University. The Brewers took a chance on Murphy, promoting him from bench coach to manager after Craig Counsell, one of the best managers in baseball, left Milwaukee for the Chicago Cubs after the 2023 season. Murphy is a man who loves to joke around and tease his players. It is his way of showing he cares and helps keep the players relaxed in what can be a pressure-filled game. Entering the 2024 season, most baseball analysts predicted the Brewers to finish near the bottom of the NL Central due to Murphy’s lack of managerial experience and the loss of key players from the Brewers’ roster. Ho hum. The Brewers won 93 games in 2024, fourth-most in baseball, and Murphy won NL Manager of the Year honors. So much for predictions.

I do not know how the postseason will work out for the Brewers. Not surprisingly, most analysts predict they will not advance far and almost no one thinks they will win the World Series. It may be that most people still think of Milwaukee as the setting for Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley. Ever since millions of Americans watched friends and roommates Laverne DeFazio and Shirley Feeney work as bottle-cappers in the fictitious Shotz Brewery of the late 1950s, the city of Milwaukee is mostly an afterthought. It is after all, only the 40^th largest metropolitan area in the country, which means there are more than a dozen metropolitan areas larger than Milwaukee that do not have a major league team. But anyone who takes them for granted may come to regret it.

I hope the Cardinals front office is taking notice. They are in a needed rebuild period with a new president of baseball operations (Chaim Bloom) taking over this offseason. They would do well to emulate the organizational strengths of the Milwaukee Brewers, their skillful style of play, efficient use of payroll, smart player and instructional development, and a belief that they can win against anyone and prevail in an uphill battle against the odds makers and fancy teams with the big money superstars. The descendants of Laverne and Shirley, Richie Cunningham, and the Fonz will be rooting for them, as will an enthusiastic fan base of a small market city with a rich history. So, here is a reluctant appreciation of the Milwaukee Baseball Club, a tip of the hat from a Cardinals fan wishing you well, even if I cannot cheer with any degree of enthusiasm. Take it while you can, because next season, and every season thereafter, I will be back to disliking you.

Discovering Appalachia Through Fiction

The wonder is that you could start life with nothing, end with nothing, and lose so much in between. – Barbara Kingolver, Demon Copperhead 

Kafka once wrote, “In man’s struggle against the world, bet on the world.” In most avenues of life, this is depressingly true, for there are so many things beyond our control. Our life trajectories are mostly determined by the circumstances of our birth, the places we live, and the people we encounter along the way. It is not surprising, then, that these experiences and the cultural influences around us also shape how we perceive people and cultures that are different from our own.

For each of the past 35 years, I have driven by car to visit my mom (and dad until he died in 2015), in western North Carolina. When my dad retired in the early 1990s, my parents relocated from the DC suburbs of northern Virginia to the towns of Etowah, and then Fletcher, in the heart of the Blue Ridge mountains, a part of the Appalachian mountain range. It is a region of majestic beauty, with mountains and trees all around that surround small towns and villages, each with their own quaint character. To get there from Pennsylvania, I drive south on I-81, through a small slice of West Virginia, the Maryland panhandle, and the entire length of Virginia, finally weaving through northeastern Tennessee until I cross over the border of western North Carolina.

Most of the drive is in Appalachia, and as I pass through southwestern Virginia and cross into Tennessee, I witness the rugged beauty of the physical landscape. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of trailer parks, rundown farmhouses, and pockets of poverty nestled into the mountainsides and valleys below. The people here speak with a rural, southern accent, and there is no doubt that some folks I have interacted with at gas stations and mini-marts along the way have historically had the terms “hillbilly” and “hick” applied to them.

For years, this scenic drive provided a brief respite from my busy, more cosmopolitan life in Washington, DC, and Philadelphia, and I often looked wistfully and admiringly at what seemed like a simpler lifestyle in this part of the world. But, if truth be told, I have occasionally harbored pre-conceived and unflattering notions about the people of rural Appalachia, prejudices reflected in snide remarks by an “educated” friend or colleague (or myself) that painted southern rural culture as backwards, bigoted, and unsophisticated. Indeed, if you pay close attention, you will frequently hear such sentiments reflected throughout American higher culture.

Conversely, the educated elites of coastal America are frequently disdained and perceived as arrogant snobs by people from other social classes. It is a stone that flies both ways, a vicious cycle that feeds misunderstanding and America’s political and social divides. But the more you get to know people, spend time with them, and learn about their struggles and life challenges, the more you understand that these stereotypes and assumptions are often false and tell you nothing about the character of the individuals involved.

I have written previously about how an artfully crafted book can help us “experience life from someone else’s shoes. To understand where other people come from, to learn of their dreams and aspirations, their hopes and fears, [and] expose our common humanity.” (See “An Act of Quiet Contemplation: Why Reading Matters”). Concerning Appalachia, I can think of no better example than Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver (Harper Perennial, 2022).

The Pulitzer Prize winning novel, which is modeled after Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield, explores themes of child poverty in rural America, the scourge of opioid addiction fueled by the pharmaceutical companies in the 1990s and early 2000s, and the economic and social challenges faced by the people of Appalachia following the decline of the coal industry, tobacco farming, and the timber trade. Kingsolver tells the story brilliantly with great humor and heartbreak. It is one of the best novels I have ever read, and has opened my eyes to the struggles, resilience, and resourcefulness of the people of Appalachia.

Kingsolver’s novel dives deep into the heart of Lee County, in the far southwestern corner of Virginia, which along with parts of eastern Kentucky and Tennessee, make up a section of the country that many have derisively called “flyover country” where the uneducated, uncultured “hicks” of America congregate. Before becoming one of the “cultural elite” as a successful author of ten critically acclaimed novels, Kingsolver was herself born and raised in a small Appalachian town in eastern Kentucky. She understands viscerally the people and culture of the region and knows first-hand the wide-spread and subtle prejudices people from other parts of the country entertain about the people she grew up with (and currently live among).

The protagonist and narrator of Demon Copperhead is Damon Fields, born to a single, teenage mother in a trailer home. We learn quickly that Damon, who everyone calls “Demon,” began life way behind the starting gate, his mother struggling with opioid and alcohol addictions and his father having died by accidental drowning in a local watering hole months earlier. Kingsolver sets Demon’s trajectory early in the novel, describing how Demon was born, fighting his way from his mother’s womb as she lay passed out on the bathroom floor of her mobile home. Demon’s narration implies we should not be surprised how this story progresses:

…If a mother is lying in her own piss and pill bottles while they’re slapping the kid she’s shunted out, telling him to look alive: likely the bastard is doomed. Kid born to the junkie is a junkie. He’ll grow up to be everything you don’t want to know, the rotten teeth and dead-zone eyes, the nuisance of locking up your tools in the garage so they don’t walk off, the rent-by-the-week motel squatting well back from the scenic highway. This kid, if he wanted a shot at the finer things, should have got himself delivered to some rich or smart or Christian, non-using type of mother. Anybody will tell you the born of this world are marked from the get-out, win or lose.

In his early years, Demon spends time with the Peggots, the kind family next door who take Demon in and provide him with stability until his mother recovers sobriety. Later, when Demon is back with his mom, she has married Stoner, a mentally and physically abusive trucker who makes Demon’s life miserable until Demon’s mother dies of an oxycontin overdose. The rest of Demon’s childhood is a tale of survival and neglect; of an overburdened child protection agency that places him in exploitative and abusive foster homes, his case assigned and re-assigned to social service workers who are underpaid and overworked and who lose files and don’t conduct proper follow-up. “I thought my life couldn’t get any worse,” he says at the age of ten. “Here’s some advice: Don’t ever think that.”

Demon’s first placement is at Creaky Farm, owned by a cranky and neglectful tobacco farmer who takes in foster kids for the $500 monthly payments from the state, which he uses to pay his debts while barely feeding the kids and making them work for free (and miss school) tending to his small tobacco farm, a dangerous and backbreaking form of hard labor that I knew nothing about until reading this book. A year later, the state places Demon with the McCobbs, a neglectful family that has Demon sleep in the dog’s room in the basement. Mr. McCobb insists that Demon must help with expenses (he is eleven), and he finds work for Demon at a local gas station, whose owner lets Demon snack on the junk food and hot dogs in the station mini-mart. But Demon’s labor is needed for the garbage disposal business run behind the station. Demon’s job is to dig through the dirty, filthy trash bags in the dumpsters to salvage anything that could be useful or valuable for the operators of a suspected meth lab next door. When Demon later discovers that his foster parents have been keeping all of Demon’s money earned at the gas station, he steals the money back and runs away.

Although much of the story is dark and depressing (made more so because you really care about and root for Demon), it contains doses of wry humor. In an implicit nod to David Coppefield, Demon references Charles Dickens, an author he discovered in school. Dickens, he says, is “one seriously old guy, dead and a foreigner, but Christ Jesus did he get the picture on kids and orphans getting screwed over and nobody giving a rat’s ass. You’d think he was from around here.”

And there are moments of hope and uplift when Demon is finally getting his life on track. When he runs away from the McCobbs, he makes it (after being robbed along the way) to Murder Valley, Tennessee, the birthplace of his father,  whom he never met and knew little about. There, we meet Demon’s paternal grandmother, Betsy Woodall, a hardy, no-nonsense woman who lives with her disabled brother Dick, a kind and wise man who bonds with Demon. Betsy passionately believes in education and, upon learning of Demon’s circumstances, contacts the football coach of the Lee High Generals, who agrees to take Demon in and look after him. So, back to Lee County Demon goes. Although Coach is a flawed man and struggles with alcoholism, he has a nice house with a housekeeper and recognizes Demon’s potential as a football player.

High school football, as anyone who knows anything about America, is all the rage in southwestern Virginia (and throughout the south and Midwest), and for a brief couple of years, Demon becomes the star tight end for the high school football team. He is no longer society’s loser. He becomes popular and, for once in his life, is someone who counts. But when Demon severely injures his knee playing football during his sophomore year, the team doctor puts him on oxycontin to help with the pain. “What’s an oxy,” Demon asked the doctor. Back then, Big Pharma was marketing oxy as a shiny new miracle drug.

OxyContin, God’s gift for the laid-off deep-hole man with his back and neck bones grinding like bags of gravel. For the bent-over lady pulling double shifts at Dollar General with her shot knees and ADHD grandkids to raise by herself. For every football player with some of this or that torn up, and the whole world riding on his getting back in the game. This was our deliverance. The tree was shaken and yes, we did eat of the apple.

Before long, Demon becomes addicted to pain killers, an addiction not at all helped by his girlfriend, Dori, whom he met while working at her father’s farm store. What starts out as a sweet high school romance soon develops into a darker story of mutual addiction, as Dori’s own abuse of fentanyl and other drugs propels Demon in an even worse direction, until they are both hard core drug addicts. For me, this was where I had to put down the book occasionally, as Kingsolver credibly describes the sickness and suffering an addict goes through, and the resulting desperation to do what is necessary (i.e., finding a new supply of pills) to alleviate the sickness and pain. The drug high becomes irrelevant and leads eventually to tragic consequences.

Somehow, Demon survives against the odds, for buried within his soul was a hint of optimism: “I got up every day thinking the sun was out there shining, and it could just as well shine on me as any other human person.” And that may be the most inspiring aspect of the novel, a tale of resilience, resourcefulness, and survival. Demon, who could have given up and drowned in the ocean of neglect, abuse, addiction, and self-inflicted wounds, somehow stays afloat, reaches shore, and lives to talk about it.

Throughout the story, Demon’s biggest obstacle in life is his lack of self-esteem. “You get to a point of not giving a damn over people thinking you’re worthless,” he says at one point in the novel. “Mainly by getting there first yourself.” He considered himself a “low life” in part because he had heard messages all his life telling him that he and others like him were society’s losers. When people call you a “hick” and “redneck” and laugh at you enough times, you begin to believe it. “You get used to it, not in the good way,” says Demon, as the world oftentimes feels “like a place where you weren’t invited.” But Demon offers a word of advice: “This is what I would say if I could, to all the smart people of the world with their dumb hillbilly jokes. …We can actually hear you.” 

Although Demon correctly perceives America’s condescending derision, he is wrong about his own worth. Fortunately, there are people at various points in Demon’s life who see his full potential as a human being and try, with differing degrees of success and failure along the way, to help him. The novel introduces us to terrific characters that show the rich diversity of Appalachia. Demon gains the notice of two teachers, Lewis and Annie Armstrong, an interracial couple who take a liking to him. Lewis Armstrong is a highly educated Black man from Chicago who teaches middle school English. He first came to Appalachia as part of the Volunteers in Service to America (VISTA) program, where he met Annie, a “hippie” high school art teacher who recognizes Demon’s exceptional talents as a comic sketch artist. Ironically, Mr. Armstrong attempts to teach the middle school kids about the history of the region (one tidbit I did not know: Lee County fought for the Union during the Civil War) to help them counteract the stereotypes and ridicule that are societally apportioned to Appalachia’s mostly poor, white students. Annie, meanwhile, nurtures and develops Demon’s gifts as an artist, and recognizes his potential for greatness.

We also get to know the coach’s daughter, Angus, a wise soul who avoids all the bad temptations and influences of the high school while taking her education seriously, and she offers Demon positive encouragement and support, becoming his most trusted friend. There is also Tommy Waddell, a fellow orphan who Demon first meets at Creaky Farm, a kind and gentle boy who reads books and shows Demon what resilience and self-reliance are all about, eventually becoming a copy editor at the local newspaper. Finally, the conscience of the novel is the Peggots’ daughter, June Peggot, an intelligent and resolute nurse who resists the irresponsibility and criminality of the pharmaceutical industry’s drug pushing and the medical establishment’s complicity. June has witnessed far too many overdoses, suicides, and fatal accidents as an emergency nurse in Lee County and repeatedly warns, mostly to deaf ears, about the dangers of opioids.

Kingsolver writes credibly about the horrific struggles of opioid addiction and the troubled state of child protection services, with overworked and underpaid case workers. The system’s failures result in thousands of children in need overlooked and forgotten, and nobody seems to care. These are real problems that continue to persist today. She explains how Purdue Pharma targeted and exploited Appalachia to push OxyContin and fentanyl, intentionally taking advantage of a region where people were frequently injured and in pain due to work-related injuries from mining coal, farming tobacco, and other back breaking labor.

But Kingsolver also helps us better understand a region that values community, resourcefulness, and neighbors who look after each other. When someone dies, neighbors chip in, make meals, and give shelter to those in need. Women get together and make quilts for girls who are pregnant. Everyone knows everyone else, and for all its bad connotations, they know when someone is hurting.

In David Copperfield, Dickens’ protagonist had asked “whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life.” In Demon Copperhead, Kingsolver suggests that, when you are a child born into a life without choices, being a hero consists simply of surviving against all odds. In the end, Demon Copperhead is a hopeful story, best summed up by Demon’s resilience:

I've tried in this telling, time and time again, to pinpoint the moment where everything starts to fall apart. Everything, meaning me. But there's also the opposite, where some little nut cracks open inside you and a tree starts to grow. Even harder to nail. Because that thing's going to be growing a long time before you notice. Years maybe. Then one day you say, Huh, that little crack between my ears has turned into this whole damn tree of wonderful.

It would be difficult to imagine anyone coming away from this book without a heightened sense of empathy and compassion for those born without the advantages that many of us take for granted. Although a piece of fiction, Demon Copperhead allowed me to feel more connected to the common humanity all of us share. The need for empathy to better understand and relate to the people of Appalachia applies equally to the struggling poor of our inner cities, to the undocumented immigrants trying to survive in a version of America hostile to their existence, and to the many broken communities throughout the United States that have lost their way, victimized by globalization, the loss of manufacturing, rising inequality, and all of the things that leave some people behind while the rest of us go on with our lives. Before we judge others too harshly, we should strive first to understand from where they come, the challenges they face, and the struggles they have overcome.