Juuuuuust A Bit Outside

“I’m not afraid of dying… I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” – Bob Uecker, as told by Robin Yount

A couple of years ago, I had the opportunity to attend a somewhat indescribable week-long event at a castle in Poland called The College of Extraordinary Experiences. I wore a wizard robe, survived a week of vegetarian food (which was delicious!), took a workshop on forest tracking, learned how to use a sword from a Japanese samurai, sang in public for the first time in decades, did some late-night dancing, and had a roommate (other than my wife) for the first time since college.

I also did an exercise I’d recommend to anyone… I wrote my own funeral.

If you think of your funeral as the story of your life, as told by the people closest to you, it’s a weird thing to think about… Not just what the service would be like, but, more importantly, what you think the people you care about would say if it happened today.

If you’re ever looking to take a clear-eyed assessment of where you’re at and the choices you’ve made, let’s just say that this will have an impact. The difference between what you’d want them to say and what they’d probably say right now is, if you’re anything like me, going to feel like a chasm.

I thought about that exercise a lot this weekend.

One of the great privileges of my professional life has been to become family-adjacent at the Milwaukee Brewers organization, and the cherry on top of that professional cake has been that I got to spend a little time with Bob Uecker. On Sunday,the Brewers threw Bob a celebration of life at American Family Field, and I was blessed to be there.

In case you’re less familiar with Bob Uecker, here’s how his professional career is summarized on Wikipedia:

Uecker signed with his hometown Milwaukee Braves in 1956, spending several years in the minor leagues with various affiliate clubs before making his major league debut in 1962. As a backup catcher, he played for the Milwaukee Braves, St. Louis Cardinals, Philadelphia Phillies, and Atlanta Braves from 1962 to 1967. He won a World Series with the Cardinals in 1964.

After retiring, Uecker started a broadcasting career and served as the primary broadcaster for Milwaukee Brewers radio broadcasts from 1971. Uecker became known for his self-deprecating wit and became a regular fixture on late night talk shows in the 1970s and 1980s, facetiously dubbed "Mr. Baseball" by talk show host Johnny Carson. He hosted several sports blooper shows and had an acting career that included his role as George Owens on the television program Mr. Belvedere and as play-by-play announcer Harry Doyle in the film Major League and its two sequels.

That’s a pretty good summary of his professional accomplishments (though it leaves out the Miller Light commercials with the line “I must be in the front row” and his stint as a wrestling announcer). But it barely scratches the surface of who he was and what we could all learn from him.

The story of Bob’s life, as impressive as it is professionally, is really the story of someone who cared more than anything about how he made you feel.

Bob Uecker epitomized the Japanese art of Kintsugi (he would probably think that comparison is pretentious, but it works), in which the flaws and breaks in a piece of pottery aren’t camouflaged but are instead celebrated, bound together with gold so that they become a highlight. Kintsugi transforms the repaired piece into a unique and beautiful object that celebrates its flaws.

That’s what Bob did with his life, and it’s an example we should all try to live by. He turned being a mediocre baseball player into the point, and then used that “failure” as a way for anyone to feel like they could relate to him. He lived the idea that your weaknesses and flaws are your super-power. You just have to be vulnerable enough to show them.

Bob was also a legendary example of something I tell students whenever I’m invited to talk with them – walk through the doors that open. You never know what’s on the other side. His entire 70+ year career was built on that idea. Just give it a shot – from broadcasting to appearing on The Tonight Show almost 100 times to performing on his own sitcom, Bob allowed himself to “be ready to be lucky.” And what a life that led to.

And finally, Bob lived by the creed “make everyone your friend.” When he started broadcasting, he made it clear that he would never speak badly about a player. He became a mentor to young players, hanging out with them in the clubhouse and imparting life lessons and wisdom through self-deprecating humor. That led to so much loyalty from players 60-70 years younger than him that when the Brewers made the playoffs last year the team voted to include 90 year-old Bob with an equal share in their playoff earnings.

I don’t know what Bob would have had in mind for his own send-off, but I’m pretty sure it would have been close to what he got on Sunday. Imagine having 41,900 people show up to say goodbye. 41,900 people who considered you a part of their family, even though most of them had never met you. An entire team with the name Uecker on their backs. And a stadium full of people in t-shirts that said “Uecker. The power of friendship.”

That’s what Bob got.

It was a gift for everyone at American Family Field, and I hope it was just as Bob would have imagined it. There were a ton of laughs, a lot of tears, and a real sense that we could all stand to live a little more like Bob Uecker.