By Tim “Shoe” Sullivan

July, 1993. I was the sports editor of the Plover Profile, a tiny newspaper in Plover run by Trey and Mary Foerster. It was a fun little weekly paper, and the folks there let me write about darn near anything.

So one day I was talking to Jodi Ott, the editor. I said, “Hey Jodi, since I’m in your sports department, don’t you think I should be allowed to cover a Brewer game?”

She thought about it and replied, “Check back with me in an hour.”

When I checked back, she said, “Yup. You’re good to go. I called the Brewers and they said you will have a media pass waiting for you at Gate X on Tuesday. They also said you can take along a photographer. So good luck. Have a great time and don’t do anything stupid.”

My next call was to my pal Doug “Doogie” Berry. I said, “Hey Doogie, ya wanna go to a Brewer game? They’re playing against the Texas Rangers. I got some free passes. All you gotta do is take a few pictures.”

Doug jumped at the offer. So on Tuesday morning, we were on our way to Milwaukee for our first game ever as members of the media. I packed my small green suitcase. Inside it was a spiral notebook, a pen, a sharpie for autographs, two Dean Palmer Starting Lineup figurines in their original boxes, a baseball glove for foul balls, some ketchup, sunglasses, and a six-pack of Point beer. I also wore clean shorts, a t-shirt, and dress pants. Gotta look respectable, you know.

Thirty miles from County Stadium, I asked Doug, “Uh, where’s your camera?”

He slapped his head and said, “Damn! I forgot to bring one.”

We stopped at a gas station and Doogie bought a couple of disposable Kodak Instamatics for about $2 a pop. He was ready for the show.

We pulled into the County Stadium parking lot at 10 a.am. The game would start at 1:15. We found Gate X and sure enough, there were a couple of media passes waiting for us. The media passes allowed us to go anywhere we felt like going. You’ve heard about kids in a candy store? That was us.

We walked around the stadium for a little bit and finally found the Brewers Clubhouse. Trying to look as official as possible, we entered. Maybe five players were in there. Infielder Kevin Reimer was by his locker in the corner. I brought out my notebook and Doogie loaded his camera.

We were about to conduct our first “interview” with a real honest-to-goodness major leaguer. We approached Kevin. Doogie set his beer down on a table underneath the sign that said “NO CAMERAS ALLOWED” and took a few pics.

I said, “Hi, Kevin. I’m Shoe from Point. Plover Profile reporter. Uh, Kevin, what was your favorite sport when you were growing up?”

Reimer mumbled, “I didn’t like sports.” I wrote that down.

Thought some more and asked, “Uh, Kevin, what’s your favorite music?”

Reimer mumbled, “I don’t like music”.

We were getting nowhere fast. Doogie pulled me aside and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

He took a few more pictures and we left.

As we were leaving the Milwaukee clubhouse, an injured player on crutches walked past us. He was with his little daughter.

Doogie said, “Hey — that’s Pat Listach! He was the American League Rookie of the Year last year — let’s try our luck with him!”

So I said: “Hey Pat, can we do a little interview with you?”

Listach answered, “Sure, but we’ll have to go outside in the hallway. And tell your buddy over there that he can’t bring his camera in here. He can snap some pics out in the hallway.”

Listach was super. He gave us about 30 minutes of his time, answered every question, and posed for a bunch of pictures. Couldn’t have been nicer.

Then we headed for the Ranger clubhouse. We strolled in there and there were about 10 players just chilling. Outfielder Juan Gonzalez walked right past us. He looked like an NFL defensive end. Gonzalez was listening to a boombox he was carrying around. Doogie spotted a table near the door that had a bunch of sandwiches on it.

He grabbed a liverwurst and started eating it. I saw that and said, “Uh Doug, maybe that aint such a good idea.”

But it was too late. Doogie walked up to a Ranger pitcher and asked him where the mayo was.

Meanwhile, I noticed that their third-baseman Dean Palmer was sitting in front of his locker way in the corner. Backup catcher Geno Petralli had the locker next to him. I set my suitcase down and opened it and pulled out one of the Starting Lineup figurines.

Palmer looked at it and said, “Wow, where did you get that?” I told him I collected them and had a deal for him. Told him that if he’d autograph one of my Dean Palmer figurines, I’d give him the other one.

He said, “Hell yeah; where do ya want me to sign it?”

Then Petralli grabbed the figurine and started waving it around. He yelled, “Hey everyone — look at this; Deano has his own doll!”

Palmer grabbed it back, signed it, and put the other one I gave him into his locker. Then I asked Palmer about 10 questions and he answered every one. He was in a great mood and had hit two homers the day before. Then I asked Palmer if I could have his wristband which was hanging in his locker.

On the other side of the clubhouse, Doogie was taking pictures and eating a cookie he plucked from the Rangers’ food table.

And then came a strong tap on my shoulder. I turned around and saw a big guy about 6’5” just glaring at me.

I asked, “What’s up?”

He said, “I’m the visiting clubhouse manager, and you and your buddy have 10 seconds to clear out of here.”

This would not do. I said, “Well, I don’t care who you are. We’re in the media and I just did a deal with Dean Palmer over there.”

The big guy was not impressed. He replied, “Well, I’ve been watching you two. You’re getting autographs and your buddy is eating sandwiches and taking pictures. Can’t you read the sign? Now please leave before I call security.”

We left…but were not happy about it.

Our next stop was the Brewer dugout. When we walked into there, Bob Uecker was way down on one end talking to manager Phil Garner. We certainly didn’t want to bother them.

An older gentleman — a reporter — was sitting near the entrance. On the bench next to him was a somewhat ripped batting glove.

He saw me staring at it and said, “Oh, that’s Robin Yount’s batting glove. He ripped it last night. Take it. He’s got plenty.”

So I glanced over to Uecker and Garner. They seemed busy. I opened my suitcase, downed a can of Point beer, and stuck that batting glove behind my sunglasses.

We looked across the field and saw three Texas players sitting in their dugout. They were All-Star catcher Ivan “Pudge” Rodriguez, starting shortstop Mario Diaz, and rookie centerfielder Dan Peltier. We walked over — media passes are great — with our copy of the Plover Profile.

In it was our story about softball player Bobby Busa and how he walked about 10 consecutive times in a softball league. We approached the player in the middle (Diaz). The guide said Mario was from Puerto Rico. We had no idea if he even spoke English.

I said, “Hi Mario. We’re from Plover and wanna show you this.”

Diaz read the story about the 5’6” Bobby Busa and said, “Geez, that guy must’ve had a great eye.”

His command of English startled me. This guy was from 2,000 miles away.

Then he said, “Plover? The town next to Stevens Point?”

That floored me. He smiled and said, “I played in Wausau for two years.”

Those Rangers in the dugout were fantastic. Mario and Rodriguez posed for about 10 pictures. Peltier gave me an autograph.

But then…uh oh. While I was showing Peltier Yount’s ripped batting glove, Doogie was down at the other end drinking out of their water bubbler. Then Julio Franco, the American League’s batting leader, walked out onto the field.

He saw that Doogie was standing next to their ball bag. He yelled over to Doogie and told him to throw him a ball.

Peltier saw that and said to me: “Hmmm. Your buddy is gonna throw Franco a ball.”

I said, “Uh, that might not be a very good idea.”

But it was too late. Doogie wound up and threw a knuckleball at Franco and hit him right in the knee.

Franco immediately told him to throw another one. Doogie hit him in the foot. Two other Rangers saw it and were into hysterics.

I was just envisioning the headline: “A.L. Batting leader sidelined by Plover photographer.”

And then came another tap on the shoulder. And again, it was the same big guy, and he was very angry.

“We can’t have that,” he yelled. “I thought I got rid of you two — now you’re getting autographs yet again and your buddy there just threw a baseball at their designated hitter. Get out — you’re not even from the media!”

“Oh yeah?” I countered.

Then I stood straight up in the dugout and took off my dress pants, which I dropped to the floor. Underneath I was wearing my dress shorts. I started pulling out my media pass from one of the pockets.

The big guy yelled, “Jesus, put your damn pants back on.”

I casually pulled out my media pass and waved it in the air for all to see. Those Ranger players were laughing like crazy. I thought coach Mickey Hatcher was gonna fall over the ball bag. Peltier was doubled over. The big guy told us to leave — and he meant now.

Doogie didn’t want to go. He yelled at the big guy, “Where the hell are we supposed to go? You already kicked us out of the clubhouse, and now we’re getting the hook from this dugout…and by the way, your cookies suck.”

The big guy looked up at the net behind home plate and said, “Go up there to the loge where you won’t bother anyone.”

That sounded good to me. Doogie left the dugout. I departed a few minutes later. Geez, the loge. What could go wrong up there?

We found out pretty quick.

I walked up and up for a good 10 minutes before I finally found the loge. Just got there and almost got hit by a baseball, but there wasn’t any batting practice that day. The thought crossed my mind…how in the hell did a baseball get up there? I looked down at the home plate area (Doogie was already up in the loge). Dean Palmer and Geno Petralli were down there and they were obviously throwing a baseball to Doogie, but he didn’t have a glove.

Another ball zinged over my head and rolled down the net. I opened the suitcase and grabbed my baseball glove. The next throw would be caught.

Well, not really. They threw the ball again. This time it sailed right over my head and hit the announcer’s booth dead center, causing a huge bang. Then it rolled back down the net. Maybe two seconds later, Bob Uecker’s head poked out of the booth. He was about three feet above me.

Man, it wasn’t pretty. The “Uke” was white with rage. I thought he was gonna jump out of the score booth. He looked down at Palmer and Petralli and shouted something like, “I’m doing an interview here; you clowns just hit my booth!”

The players ran back to their dugout in about two seconds. I stood straight up against the wall. Then Uecker’s partner Pat Hughes leaned out of the window. He said, “Boy, I never saw Bob that pissed before.” The problem was, he was talking to me. Yikes.

We never did get that ball. Right before the game started, the loge started filling up, and we were pretty happy that nobody actually had us arrested yet. We walked into the big press room cafeteria. Doogie asked a guy for a bratwurst, the guy gave him a brat.

Doogie asked, “How much is it?”

The guy laughed. He said, “It’s free. You’re in the media.”

We made a mental note of that and went back for another bratwurst every inning. Got free drinks, too.

The Brewers won the game on Yount’s 9th inning single. We went back home. A few months passed. Then one night I was at Frank & Ernie’s bar. The owner, Frankie Jurgella, likes to take a bus to Brewer games.

It was now in the winter, and Frank said, “Hey, come out here next Tuesday. The Brewers are sending someone to give a little talk to the fans.”

I asked, “Who are they sending?”

Frank answered, “Some guy named Big Jim Ksicinski. He’s the visiting clubhouse manager.”

I was the first one there.

This was the same guy who kept kicking us out. Now he was on my turf. I was gonna blast him.

The front door opened at Frank’s, and in walked the big guy — with his mother. I held off.

Big Jim gave a great speech to the people in the bar and his mom was delightful. After his talk, I sat down with him and asked if he remembered our day at County Stadium. He said that he didn’t.

Before Jim and his mom went back to Milwaukee, my buddy Randy Wievel and I interviewed him for Sports Collector’s Digest. Big Jim wrote a fantastic book about his 30 years as the visiting clubhouse manager and wrote a beautiful personal note in the book he sent me.

Turns out he was a super guy all along.

But the Brewers never sent us any more media passes.

Sullivan can be reached at [email protected].