Brewers Honor Bob Uecker at Home Opener \ Newslooks \ Washington DC \ Mary Sidiqi \ Evening Edition \ The Milwaukee Brewers paid heartfelt tribute to Bob Uecker during their first home game since his passing, honoring his 54-year broadcasting legacy. Fans and players wore plaid jackets, shared memories, and lined up to see his statue, while the team incorporated tributes throughout American Family Field. Uecker’s enduring presence remains a cherished part of Brewers baseball.
Bob Uecker Home Opener Tribute – Quick Looks
- Bob Uecker honored before Brewers home opener vs. Royals
- Uecker died in January at age 90 after 54 seasons
- Fans shouted tributes, wore themed gear, shared memories
- Brewers wore Uecker patches; field featured his signature
- Owner Mark Attanasio donned Uecker-style plaid blazer
- Proceeds from Uecker-themed merch support his favorite charities
- “I must be in the front row” tarp placed in stadium
- Statues adorned with signs, beer cans, and fan notes
- Christian Yelich: “He’ll be with us always”
- Local businesses offered Uecker-themed specials benefiting charity
Deep Look
As the Milwaukee Brewers took the field for their 2025 home opener, the scoreboard read more than just balls, strikes, and outs—it pulsed with memory, emotion, and gratitude. Monday’s game against the Kansas City Royals wasn’t just about baseball. It was about Bob Uecker, the voice of summer, the heart of the Brewers, and a man whose presence transcended the broadcast booth.
It was the team’s first home game since Uecker’s passing in January at the age of 90. For 54 seasons, he didn’t just call games—he colored them with wit, charm, and unmistakable personality. In honoring him, the Brewers didn’t just hold a tribute; they created an immersive celebration of a life intertwined with the franchise.
“He’s always going to be here,” said fan Heather Floyd-Gabrysiak, clad in a Brewers jersey with Uecker’s name. “Even if he’s not here, you’ll still feel him here.”
And indeed, fans did.
From Silence to Shouts of Love
The day began with a moment of silence—a stadium-wide pause meant to reflect and remember. But even silence couldn’t contain what Uecker meant to people. From the crowd came a spontaneous cry: “We love you, Ueck!”
It was unscripted, raw, and perfectly fitting. Uecker was never about solemnity. He was about humor, heart, and humanity—a man who could lift an entire stadium’s mood with a perfectly timed quip.
A Sea of Plaid and Personalized Tributes
Throughout American Family Field, Uecker’s signature style was everywhere—literally. From the plaid blazers worn by players and executives to the “I must be in the front row” banner tucked into an unsold corner of the upper deck, no detail was overlooked. Owner Mark Attanasio paid personal tribute with his wardrobe.
“I did my best to find a jacket he would wear,” Attanasio shared, smiling as he looked skyward.
Outfielder Christian Yelich also honored the tradition, wearing plaid on Opening Day in New York and again Monday, saying: “He’ll be with us for this season and many seasons going forward.”
The grounds crew etched Uecker’s signature into the outfield grass, while players wore patches bearing his name. It was a symbol of unity, pride, and remembrance that will carry through the entire season.
The Stadium Becomes a Shrine
Fans formed long lines at Section 422, where Uecker’s statue became a gathering point, a shrine for selfies, notes, and beer cans—specifically, Miller Lite, a brand forever tied to his hilarious commercials and front-row fame.
A second statue outside the stadium was decked out with signs quoting Uecker’s iconic home run call: “Get up! Get up! Get outta here! Gone!”
“He was the voice of our childhood summers,” said David Horton of Fitchburg. “We had him on in the garage, in the yard, with our dads. We just had to come say thanks.”
Even the beer cans froze and exploded, leading some fans to joke that it was Uecker himself having a pregame toast from the great beyond.
“They said the cans started popping, and we thought it was Uecker getting thirsty,” quipped Paul Stainbrook.
A City-Wide Celebration Beyond the Ballpark
Tributes weren’t limited to the stadium. Across Milwaukee, Uecker’s influence was felt in unexpected ways.
At Kopp’s, a legendary burger and custard spot, fans lined up for the “Mr. Baseball” frozen custard flavor—a sweet mix of beer nuts, chocolate-covered peanuts, and a splash of Miller Lite. In a nod to Uecker’s .200 career batting average, the shop donated 20% of proceeds to the Make-A-Wish Foundation, one of Uecker’s favorite causes.
Even the local culinary scene had found a way to honor “Mr. Baseball.”
Loved by Fans, Cherished by Players
Uecker was more than a broadcaster. He was part of the clubhouse. He shared jokes, gave advice, and grounded even the biggest names in baseball.
Last year, when the Brewers clinched the NL Central title, manager Pat Murphy paused the celebration just to give Uecker a proper team ovation. And when the team suffered a tough Wild Card loss days later, it was Uecker who entered the silent locker room to comfort a grieving squad, including closer Devin Williams, who had surrendered the go-ahead runs.
“He could calm you down,” Murphy said. “He had this beautiful way about him. No ego. All heart.”
Players like Yelich said the hardest part of that night was talking to Uecker afterward and knowing how much he wanted to see Milwaukee win a World Series. He never got that final wish, but he left behind a generation of players inspired by his grace and grit.
A Legacy That Echoes
Bob Uecker didn’t just call baseball games—he taught us how to love them. Whether he was calling a no-hitter, joking about his own .200 average, or appearing with Johnny Carson, Uecker made baseball feel accessible, fun, and deeply human.
He was a constant presence through generations of change, from the days of County Stadium to the luxury of American Family Field, through highs and heartbreaks, clinches and collapses.
And though his voice is now missing from the broadcast booth, his spirit is louder than ever.
“Even if he’s not here,” said Floyd-Gabrysiak, “you’ll still feel him here. Always.”
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