So you went to the ballpark on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon when the roof was peculiarly and thankfully open.

Soon, the peace was outshouted by the boos.

They booed Rickie Weeks, who is killing the Brewers at his spot in the lineup.

They booed John Axford because booing John Axford has become a popular area pastime.

They booed Marco Estrada, who would later say, "I had no idea where the ball was going."

On one particular belt-high, no-movement pitch that conveniently split the plate for Matt Holliday, pretty much everyone in the park knew where that one was headed. Had its orbital trajectory not been impeded by a piece of stadium steel, that baby was on its way to West Milwaukee.

Afterward, the manager gave all four games against the St. Louis Cardinals a Bronx cheer. "We played a bad series," Ron Roenicke said.

Clearly, the Cardinals are a better team. They do all the fundamental things required of a winner. Still, there were no expectations that the Brewers would get swept at home. Not only that, but that they would go down with a 10-1 whimper in the finale.

The only clubhouse positive was seated at a section sometimes reserved for new guys. Alfredo Figaro, generously listed at 6 feet and 173 pounds, hit 98 mph on the gun. The Cardinals inflicted no carnage on him in almost three innings.