Someday, the old man thought, when I’m very old, someday when
the migrating Red Teals soar southward over good old Milwaukee
heading home from the cold, then what? he rocked back and forth.
Smiling an ancient smile, he thought, I’ll join Bob Uecker in the broadcast booth.

I’ll be his silent Brewers color partner, listen to him do both jobs as always.
Someday, when he says, “Well it ain’t time for football season yet,” I’ll make
my one color comment: “Oh, you mean what those Europeans call ‘American football,’
like it’s a disease, and players and fans live on an island of the damned.”

Old Bob will laugh and say, “Right, brother, you said it all right there.”
And he would know because Ueck knows everything there is to know.
He’s a walking Encyclopedia Britannica, except we’ll call it Americana,
and I’ll feel great getting the nod from Bob that I know all things, too.

Someday, he thought, the two of us, me and Bob, we’ll be here in rocking chairs . . .
Then just like that, the old man smiled and welcomed football season in.

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