Another addition to the scoreboards is a list of the results of each player's at-bats as the game progresses, which really helps me keep track of the action without pestering Dave, the guy who sits in front of me and keeps score by hand.
Having Robin Yount and Dale Sveum on our side feels like the return of the Prodigal Sons. I have this fantasy that one night just after the game ends, Robin will take a lap on his Harley for old time's sake.
At one of the Braves games, the man sitting on the other side of my husband was wearing an Atlanta Braves shirt and hat. When we teased him about it, he turned to my husband and said, "You grew up in Milwaukee, didn't you? And you were a Braves fan? Well, I still am."
When I said I'd dumped them after they deserted us for Atlanta, his answer was quick. "Bartholomay deserted us. My team didn't."
I admit I've never been a fan of facial hair, which is too bad, because wisps of hair continue to spring from the chins of Brewers. If there are fashion police in the locker room -- and that's a big if -- I wish they would demand that Hardy, Davis, Fielder, Hall and Weeks either shave it all off or grow a real beard. Their patches of fuzz look wimpy, as if they couldn't manage more.
On the subject of style, cute Ben Sheets is looking scruffier by the day, maybe even by the pitch. His long, curly hair isn't too bad, but combined with the two-day growth on his face and his preference for baggy pants, he's lucky he can get past security as he enters the park.
Now that I think of it, if the look helps Ben pitch the way he did against Atlanta, it's fine with me if he grows a pony tail. And if some chin hair gets a guy around the bases, I'll be quiet -- starting now.
I wouldn't change a thing about Derrick Turnbow. The hair, the hat, the stride and a uniform that could fit a man twice his size are all simply perfect. And when he trudges from the bullpen to the mound, the roar begins somewhere along the third base line and spreads like the wave until we all find ourselves on our feet, worshipping this giant with the magic arm. With each pitch, I find I'm holding my breath. I can't really breathe normally until he's bagged the last guy. Now that's entertainment!