It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
The tale of Jake's wedding reception, where Curt slowly got crushed by Game 7 of the 2018 NLCS.
Happy Tuesday.
Man, was that Bucks-Nets Game 7 crazy or what? Whether a hardcore hoops fan that loved the ebb and flow of each possession, or a casual observer who enjoyed the big-shot and big-name drama or a Bucks fan like a certain co-author of this here newsletter that enjoyed literally zero percent of the game up until the final air ball by Kevin Durant, it was an all-time playoff basketball game.
And it also conjured memories of a different Game 7 not too long ago that didn’t end with the same, um, oomph: the final game of the 2018 National League Championship Series between the Brewers and Dodgers.
That game, coincidentally, was also the same night as Jake’s wedding, where he, Tom and I were all in the same place but experiencing very, very different emotions as the evening went on.
Here’s what we recall from both simultaneously a night to never forget and one to, well, quickly forget.
Let’s converse.
Introducing Mr. and Mrs. Schultz
~All of us
Curt:
This weekend, I had an invitation to a wedding in Minnesota.
I couldn’t attend, as it’s the busy playoff season for spring sports at work and I had to cover a game every day last week.
The timing was a bit unfortunate, as I would have liked to attend said wedding and eat delicious food and then go out to my in-laws’ cabin a couple hours out from the Cities.
The timing was also incredibly fortunate, as I have only ever had horrific experiences of attending weddings in Minnesota while a Milwaukee professional sports team was playing in a Game 7.
Let me tell you about the happiest day of Jake’s life and also one of the most crushing nights of mine.
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On Friday, October 19, 2018, the Milwaukee Brewers won Game 6 of the NLCS to force a decisive Game 7 the next day. Somewhere in Minnesota, Jake Schultz was going through his and his bride’s wedding rehearsal and subsequent dinner.
I was covering high school football that night, which meant that my wife and I weren’t able to drive up to Minnesota for the wedding until early Saturday morning. I spent the five-plus hours of the drive alternating between freaking out that the Brewers were one win in a few hours away from playing in a World Series and listening to Taylor Swift to soothe the nerves. I don’t know how many times I turned to my wife and said to her that the Brewers were playing in the biggest game of my life that night—as if she had forgotten in the 15 minutes since I last mentioned it. Turns out shouting the words to “All Too Well” does not ease the mind with a Game 7 ahead.
I can only figure that Jake saying similar things to his bride-to-be Kate as she walked down the aisle. “I’m crying not only because of how happy you make me but because the Brewers are a game away from their first World Series appearance in 36 years and have their pitching lined up perfectly,” he surely said.
Now, when it comes to watching big, stressful sporting events, one thing to know about me is that I cannot watch them by myself; the toll is simply too great. Yet, it is just as, if not more important, to me to be watching with people who are equally invested in either the sport or specific team I’m rooting for. Large watch parties with non-sports fans or people who just bought that Bucks shirt last week are probably even less desirable than being alone, where I’m having A Bad Time but can at least pace without judgement.
In this regard, the Brewers’ Game 7 was a bit of a conundrum. I did have a couple of people at the wedding reception that, while not exactly Brewers fans, are equally large seamheads who can very much empathize with every emotion that comes along with Game 7 of the NLfreakingCS: my two fellow Rich People, Tom and Jake.
But it was Jake’s own wedding, after all, and while it would have been intrepid and daring for him to watch an entire baseball game at his reception, it probably also would have been an incredibly stupid thing for him to do. And, considering I had to watch on my phone and Tom had a large handful of college friends there, it wasn’t exactly a situation where I’d expect him to be hovering over my shoulder and hanging on every pitch.
And then Christian Yelich hit a dinger. The news had to be shared with the groom. There was no other choice. And it had to include a hug. A big hug. The joy was euphoric and pure, but also very briefly lived.
Tom made his way over to me to catch the top of the second inning. Cody Bellinger came to bat with a man on base. You know what happened next. I hung my head. Tom placed a soft hand on my shoulder. There was a lot of ballgame left, but in a way, the sinking feeling had already started dawning. The Dodgers had their pitching lined up, too. If Walker Buehler ran into any trouble, they had Julio Urias and Kenley Jansen and Ryan Madson and Clayton Kershaw all available.
In the bottom of the second, the Brewers had two on and two outs. They pinch-hit Jon Schoop instead of Domingo Santana or Curtis Granderson, probably wanting to save their better bench bats for a higher-leverage spot. Schoop, or “Prepaid Cell Phone Minutes” as I liked to call him, rolled over. That would be the highest leverage spot the Brewers would get for a pinch-hitter.
I tried to regain some composure and optimism by going out on the dance floor for the next inning. Josh Hader dominated, but I didn’t know it because I wasn’t checking my phone. It was some weird form of in-between, quasi-existence; I was on the dance floor but thinking about the game but didn’t want to know what was happening and the dance floor was the best place to not be tempted to check my phone. It was a strange mental tango.
For the next couple of innings after leaving the dance floor, I watched the game. I went into the photo booth. I gave Tom regular updates on the score. I briefly small-talked. Then I congregated with both my future co-authors for the bottom of the fifth, that treacherous inning.
With two away, Lorenzo Cain doubled. The Dodgers went to a lefty, Urias, for Yelich. The MVP missiled a ball to the left-center gap. I’m pretty sure Jake shrieked. My hopes rose. Chris Taylor dove. Then, just a few minutes later, Yasiel Puig effectively ended all hope with a three-run shot.
At that moment, at a wedding while watching a baseball game on my phone as people surely looked on confused as to why I was sitting on the ground with my head in my left hand, I was happy to be with two folks who knew the pain. They didn’t tell me they were sorry or that it was going to be okay. They knew what this omen was likely saying.
And that, I think is what it’s all about—aside from, you know, making the second World Series appearance in franchise history.
Jake:
I woke up the morning of my wedding day with a lot of things on my mind. How my life would change in a matter of hours, whether the food would be good, how many donuts can I eat at my own wedding, why is my bed wet--you know, the normal pre-wedding thoughts we all have.
Among the things going through my mind, though, was whether Curt would make it to my wedding. Now, at this point, Curt and I were close pals, having traveled all over western Minnesota for high school sporting events, so it seemed obvious he would be there. With the Brewers in the NLCS, though, it felt like uncharted territory. I had seen this man come close to tears during a midweek Big Ten basketball game, and I’d been by his side through the ups and downs of that Brewers season. I thought a wedding and an NLCS Game 7 might actually break my friend.
He showed up, of course, like the good friend he is. I remember when I first saw him that day, his head sitting well above all of the other heads in the pews, I thought about Newton’s third law and karma. If the game was going to go poorly, maybe our wedding would be so good things would balance out for him.
Before we go further, I should acknowledge that this was technically a known risk by booking an October wedding. I just didn’t think there was a chance it would happen. The Twins hadn’t played until Oct. 20 in, gosh, I don’t know, my whole conscious life? We had booked everything for the wedding right before Yelich had been traded to the Crew, too, so it was hardly like we all had Milwaukee penciled in for the NLCS. My real worry at the time was Curt would be stress-watching a Badger-Illini blowout.
I remember talking to Curt four times that night. I’m sure we spoke more, but as anyone who’s gotten married will recognize, I simultaneously remember everything from my wedding night and none of it at all. The first time, I was a married man for all of 15 minutes when Curt and Mrs. Curt came up to me, hugged me and congratulated me. He was the embodiment of the first few bars of “Lose Yourself.”
The second time, we were wrapping up dinner and Curt leaping over tables like a well-dressed hurdler, a big smile on his face. He hugged me tight, the world felt right. Yeli had homered.
The third time, I bounced my way to his table like a seven-year-old’s bowling ball in the 10th frame, and sidled up to my good pal. I asked him how the game was going as he sat hunched over his phone, his wife next to him at an otherwise empty table while everyone else danced. Folks, I saw only one pitch of the 2018 NLCS Game 7, and it happened to be 3-run homer to put the Dodgers up 5-1.
I felt Curt’s soul leave his body. I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t act like the best friend at that point. I passed the moment off like a casual May homer, not addressing the nail-meet-coffin nature of Puig’s bomb. Within seconds, I was at the bartender asking for whatever we ended up serving that night.
It wasn’t long after that and Curt, his whole body seemingly held up by his wife, came to say goodbye. He looked like he needed all of the drinks that my college mates kept swiping off tables.
I can’t say whether the equal and opposite reaction idea held up or not for Curt. In that moment, though, it sure didn’t seem like it.
Tom:
Ahh, Jake’s wedding. A historic event and one for the ages. If I remember correctly, it was one of the first friend weddings I had ever been to.
I grew up despising weddings. Just hating them. I’ve never liked the word “shy” -- I think it’s an insult and not an accurate description of a kid who likes to keep to himself -- but let’s just say #YoungTom wasn’t exactly the first one on the dance floor at family weddings.
Once I grew up a bit and, well, learned about the drink that features cold, blue mountains on the can, weddings suddenly became the best thing ever. And weddings with your friends are even better. It’s the ultimate party. everyone’s happy, looking their absolute best with (hopefully) nowhere to go that night and (hopefully) the next morning as well. When you’re at a friend's wedding, you’ve had the date circled on your calendar for six months and have been preparing your body with H20 and stocking your cupboards full of Tums.
I hadn’t met my now-fiance at this point (our first date was literally three weeks after Jake’s wedding, so I guess he inspired me?), so I was riding solo at Mr. Schultz’s wedding. I squeezed, and I mean squeezed, into a dress shirt and dress pants I bought two years prior while I was running 60 miles per week in college. Oof, Remember how Ron Gardenhire looked in baseball pants? There were some similarities. There’s a classic picture of Jake and his bride happily walking out of the church after the ceremony was complete, just looking like a couple of lovebirds, and in the background is my butt just saying hello in those way-too-tight pants. Gets me every time.
(Side bar: I looked up the word “Butt” on b-ref to see if there were any decent baseball/butt puns. I discovered a guy named Butts Wagner, who played 74 games for the Washington Senators and Brooklyn Bridegrooms in 1898. His legal name was Albert Wagner. Man, he must have had a great set of slabs.)
I cruised over to the reception and, for maybe the first time in my life, got somewhere a bit too soon. I was one of the first people there. Thankfully, a few minutes later, Curt and his lovely wife showed up. We ventured outside to play a game of bags, and you know what? I remember Curt as being composed. Chill, even. Almost too calm before, again, the biggest game of his Brewers fandom. I definitely expected him to be more like Vince Papale in “Invincible” before making his NFL debut or like Jake’s aforementioned roommates after a few too many -- head buried in a toilet.
I missed the Yelich homer. I was probably on the dance floor thinking my two dance moves were holding up through the opening four minutes of the “Cha Cha Slide.” Sweaty already and drink in hand, I joined Curt at his table and tuned into the game on his phone.
Oh no. It happened. Bellinger went boom boom on Noted Ace Jhoulys Chacin, and the smile quickly disappeared from Curt’s face. What began as a beautiful celebration of love between two humans turned into a funeral for Curt and his favorite baseball team. To pay my respects, I should’ve walked up to the DJ booth and requested the next song to be “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M.
Big miss by me.
But really, it was an even bigger miss by Craig Counsell to not slot in Brandon Woodruff as a pinch-hitter against Clayton Kershaw in the ninth inning of Game 7. What was he thinking?
Here, watch some filth.
Apologies, but there will be no HWSF this week unfortunately. There simply wasn’t enough time in the schedule, but rest assured it will return next week!