Greetings From Milwaukee

I'm in Milwaukee, which reminds me of Louisville in that it's a city of people who really like to drink. If pressed to find differences, Milwaukee is a little bigger and the accents are different. I'm quite the social scientist, huh?

Another big difference is MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL. On Saturday I went to Miller Park to see the Brewers play. The Brewers' old ballpark, the imaginatively named County Stadium, was known for a mascot sliding into a giant mug of beer for every Brewer home run. They don't have that at Miller Park. I guess kids were trying it at home and drowning; I don't know.

The new stadium features, in my humble opinion, the greatest baseball attraction since Harry Caray used to sing at Wrigley Field. That attraction is The Racing Sausages.

For those who thought the Sausage Race was the frantic scramble to pick up skanky bar whores right before closing time, you're only half right. The Milwaukee Brewers Sausage Race is all about grownups dressed as tubular meat ethnic stereotypes, racing around the field at the top of the seventh inning.

They are, from left to right, the Polish Sausage; the German Bratwurst; the Mexican Chorizo; the Italian Sausage; and the All-American Hot Dog. My only complaint from an authenticity standpoint are the clearly visible Old Navy cargo shorts they're all wearing.

I think the minor league team in Louisville should do something similar, but replace the sausages with representatives of common Kentucky vices. Every game a bottle of bourbon, a cigarette, a bag of crystal meth, a jaded Seventh Street stripper, and a pitcher of Bud Light would race to the finish line. That's fun for the whole family.