THE WYMAN WEEKLY

Unemployed. Unattached. Unimpressed.

Issue 6 March 14,1996

 

 

 

Here I go with the all-Milwaukee, all-WCHA Final Five issue with my apologies to you non-puckheads out there. I will avoid discussion of forechecks, head man passes and defensive breakdowns. Hats off to the Golden Gophers, who won the tournament in an arena where nine out of ten people were cheering against them. Keep this issue to shut me up in ten years when I’m telling everyone I was at the Saint Paul Civic Center watching the state high school hockey tournament.

 

THE RAMADA

 

I pulled into Milwaukee midafternoon Thursday and checked into the Ramada. I went to my room on the sixth floor, threw my bags on the bed, cracked open a Leiny (bought a twelve-pack in suburban Milwaukee and yes Wisconsin prices are cheaper though the selection was abysmal but that was only one store) and opened the curtains to see my view of downtown. What greeted me was a HUGE Miller Lite sign on the roof of a building a block away. Not a good omen but off in the distance I could see what I believe was the Pabst Brewery so I left the curtains open.

 

We all know what the best thing about hotels is: the ice machine. Don’t you wish you had one of those babies at home? Shit, in my kitchen I’d put one of those where the fridge is now and just fit one of those little dorm fridges into a corner somewhere. At the Ramada, I was fortunate to have the ice machine right down the hallway. I proceeded to put some Leinys into a waste basket and cover them with lots of ice. Somewhere during this I had major Walsh Hall flashbacks...

 

The lounge in the hotel was pretty lame but the barmaid carded me and I took it as a compliment.

 

BARS

 

Before Thursday’s game I decided to venture out and grab a burger somewhere near the Bradley Center, where the games would be played. I ended up going to a bar called Major Goolsby’s, which I can best describe as being a cross between McGovern’s in Saint Paul (seemed to be the hockey fans’ hangout) and William’s Peanut Bar in Uptown (a wide-open room and atmosphere.) The beer selection at this place was questionable: High Life, Lite, Special Ex, and Special Ex Light on tap. Real fucking cool. That didn’t stop me from having a couple of Special Ex taps along with my burger. My waitress was personable and friendly. The classic Wyman moment was when I was paying my bill and I asked her where the Bradley Center was. She gave me directions and I said “Oh, that building...I walked right past it on the way here.” “You only had beer on your mind.” was her reply and she was of course right.

 

Friday night I ended up at a bar called the Milwaukee River Club, which seemed like a newer place or maybe recently remodeled. The clientele were all preppy and younger than me, as were the bartenders. I made a mistake by telling the bartender I was from Minneapolis. I then had to go through the Whole Story of My Life about how I originated in North Dakota and do not cheer for the Gophers. Because I cheered for Wisconsin and ordered a Leiny (a Miller product) I got on his good side. He introduced himself and his rather cute female friend sitting next to me did the same. (And this was the only time I touched someone of the opposite sex in Milwaukee and will remember it forever.) He then left to tend the upstairs bar but made sure the other bartenders looked out for me. This was a touching moment for me and I knew to prevent the tears I would have to do a shot of Jagermeister, which they had on tap. Seriously, a tap on the counter behind the bar that poured Jag! Well, I ordered one and knew it would be an early evening once I drank it as I’m a big time lightweight these days. The shot glass sat in front of me and I wished my bartender buddy would come back and give me some words of encouragement. Suddenly, Stealers Wheel’s “Stuck in the Middle with You” came on and I shot the Jag, the whole time thinking of Michael Madsen in Reservoir Dogs as Mister Blonde saying “Do you ever listen to K-Billy’s Super Sound of the Seventies?”

 

THE GAMES

 

The people sitting next to me at all the games were a couple of college kids from UW-Milwaukee by the name of Eric and Joan. Eric looked like Adam Sandler, but was ten times funnier (an easy thing, I know) and a hockey player. Which was good, as it spared me the burden of sitting next to some yahoo who blames all goals scored on the goalie. Joan (who I thought was Eric’s girlfriend, but turns out she was just a female friend) was a tall blonde with high cheekbones. A real doll from Eveleth and a Finnlander to boot. (Hey Berg - what would our kids look like?) But alas, she was a Gopher fan. In light of her other qualities I didn’t hold it against her.

 

I told my Gopher hockey joke (as related in TWW #1) twice on this Friday. The first time I yelled it to some cheeseheads sitting in the next section. They cracked up, as did Eric. This officially made me his hero. Before the third period I told it in the men’s room and all the UW fans laughed out loud, but one told me it was “too cruel!” Like who the fuck am I? Bob Dole?

 

The hockey on display at both of Friday’s games was impressive. This day was the most crowded at the arena and between periods I impressed myself by combining Mike Crowley-esque moves and Brian Swanson-like speed getting to the concession stand to order those 16 oz. Pabst taps - the best beer I had in Milwaukee.

 

I wandered out of the arena Friday night wondering where my next beer would come from. Then suddenly, I saw DOUG WOOG walking right in front of me! Holy shit, the Woogster...the guy I pick on all the time for not winning the big one...the man I say is overrated as a coach...yet he has a plus .700 winning percentage. But you know what? I maintain that Woog is an overall good guy. His players obviously love him and when I hear him in interviews he seems like a Regular Joe. So I’m walking behind him and all I can think of is that Woog seems like the type of guy who would fit in at my parent’s lake. Yeah, the more I think of it I could just see having him as a neighbor. Woog refusing to drink the Schmidt I offer him because “its not made in Minnesota” but then he pulls a Grain Belt from his cooler and we drink ‘em up. Woog bitching about the officiating in our jarts match and my dad teases him about it all summer. Woog having me over for a barbecue as long as “you don’t wear that UND shirt.” But anyway, Woog went one way and I went another, and it wasn’t until the next morning that I realized he was suspended for the championship game because he pissed off the referees.

 

Hangovers and third place games go hand in hand. Saturday’s games were blowouts, so I drank coffee and sneaked peeks at Joan.

 

IN CONCLUSION

 

I drove home Sunday with sore ribs. Don’t know where those pains came from, but I think it had something to do with jumping from bandwagon to bandwagon. On the way out of Milwaukee I passed County Stadium and made a point of flipping it the bird. This was payback for all of those Brewer fans who show up at Metrodome and boo Kirby Puckett. The finger was also intended for Brewers owner Bud Selig, who is to blame for the last baseball strike. But even though Milwaukee is home of two forces of evil, Selig and Miller Lite, I think the good easily exceeds the evil and I plan on returning, if only to see the Pabst Brewery and get me a PBR ME ASAP tee-shirt.

 

 

[Back to The Wyman Weekly Archive] [Exiled on Main Street] [Other Writing] [Poetry] [Contact Bill Tuomala]