That broke my heart at the time, but it didn't keep me from being a Molitor fan.  What bothered me a bit more was his periodic flirtation with returning to the Brewers in some capacity after his retirement, only to leave them at the altar repeatedly at which point he'd publicly express his disappointment not to be going back to Milwaukee.  After a while, it didn't have the remotest ring of truth.  And that's fine.  He doesn't really owe the Brewers anything.  I just wish he didn't act like he did and then blow them off.

His decision to go into the Hall as a Brewer and to wear a Brewer hat during the greatest players celebration a few years ago were nice gestures though.

But he's not a manager.  Every time a job opening crops up in Milwaukee people mention Yount and Molitor.  Neither has shown any interest in committing to the organization long term, and frankly, neither has done much of anything to prove they're viable ML managers anyway.  The best thing for the organization is to turn the page and bring in someone with no connection to '82.  Bring the old players back for ceremonies or visits, by all means.  But don't pretend they're quality management people just because they have ties to 82.  

I don't think the organization went out of their way to make him out as the bad guy.  I think most people who got there, got there on their own because he signed with the Jays: the team we were regularly outplaying late in 92, but couldn't catch because of our slower start that year.  Molitor's departure (and Bosio/Eldred coming back to earth) took us from being a World Series quality team to a below average one in a single offseason.  Those who still demonize Molitor for his departure do so, I suspect, because the 92 offseason was perceived as the moment when our small-market status began to hold us back from putting the best team we could on the field.  It was a moment that many had feared since the late 80's, and it seemed to become reality at last when Molitor left.  That may not be entirely accurate, given the Brewers last minute contract offer to Molitor, but it felt to many like we didn't have a chance to match the Jays money (though it's hard to thing of them as a deep pocket franchise these days, they were in the Sky Dome's heyday before local TV contracts ballooned for the east coast teams).  Perception became reality to many, and the bitterness settled in and deepened when the downturn in 1993 became more than a decade of terrible baseball.

So Molly took some heat that maybe he didn't totally deserve.  But he did leave the Brewers for their arch-rival at the time, and that's always hard to take.  It was a good business decision for him, regardless of the Brewers attempts to match the Jays offer at the last minute.  Fans are motivated by love, not business, and it's hard to blame them when they realize, in that era for perhaps the first time, that their heroes are motivated by business only.  It's true that Molitor never ripped the organization, but honestly, why would he?  He wasn't desperate to stay in Milwaukee in the winter of 1993.  He'd made that clear.  He went to the place that seemed to want him more and that paid him more because it was good business.  Why should he be bitter about that?

Baseball broke my heart in the 90's, as it did for many fans.  But for me and many other Brewer fans, my heart broke when Molitor left in 92, not when the Series was cancelled a few years later.  My lingering resentment towards Molitor (and yeah, I have some) simmers at a low level.  I don't blame him for leaving really.  I blamed baseball for not adopting an economic system, as other sports were doing, in which smaller market teams could compete dollar for dollar.  I blamed baseball for not having the level playing field it had when I was a kid in the 70's and early 80's.  I still blame baseball for that.  Unfair as it might be, Molitor's departure became the symbol of that inequity for me and many other fans.  I think those that booed him so passionately that summer day in 93 were really booing they reality they knew had arrived, and Molitor just gave them a target to direct it towards.

But I couldn't boo him.  I just stood up so I could see him walk to the plate while people screamed, shouted and catcalled around me.  I folded my arms.  I watched him step in.  I watched that sweet swing.  I watched my boyhood hero wearing a Jays jersey in County Stadium.  

And I didn't say anything.

Ah baseball.  You broke my heart.

You broke my heart.