The Miz Deserved Better

The mullet was flowing.

The fastball was humming.

The Miz looked like he was about to take the mound, strike out Seattle, and order his own burger from George Webb by the eighth inning.

And then… we took him out.

Sixty-four pitches. Not even four innings.

"Part of the plan,” they say.

Whose plan?

Certainly not the plan where we get free cheeseburgers.

Certainly not Tom’s plan.

Tom’s my father-in-law.

He doesn’t ask for much. Just a quiet afternoon, a good Brewer run, and a burger you don’t have to pay for.

We were at eleven wins.

One more, and George Webb was buying.

You know how rare that is? That’s Milwaukee folklore. That’s a religious holiday in burger form.

But no.

Instead, Cal Raleigh hits one to Canada, and next thing you know I’m calling Tom with the news like I’m breaking up with him.

Six seconds of silence.

Then he goes, “Well… there’s always next time.”

That’s dad-speak for “I’m emotionally devastated but too proud to cry over meat.”

And me? I’m sitting there, channeling Wimpy.

“I would gladly pay full price today… for a cheeseburger the Brewers refused to win me yesterday.”

We got two hits.

Shut out. Again.

No burgers. No glory. Just the distant smell of grilled onions and disappointment.

Still...

The Miz? He’s the real deal.

We’ll be back.

The Crew’s still leading the NL Central.

And the Cubs?

They’re trailing our boys, just like they should be.