I posted a link to an article about Miracle Mets catcher Jerry Grote on my Facebook page this morning and someone commented with a mention of Amazins' southpaw Jerry Koosman. That reminded me that Koosman lives in America's Dairyland.

But I couldn't remember the town, so I searched it and up popped not only No. 36's address up north, but also his phone number.

Recently, I wrote a story about Milwaukee musician Eric Blowtorch and his penchant for dialing the phone numbers printed on the labels of his favorite Jamaican 45s. That's resulted in Blowtorch making some great connections in reggae music and has led to some cool collaborations for him, too.

It's been great for him, but I'm a little more shy about it.

A map to Koosman's place near the Minnesota border popped up in the search results, too. Maybe I could combine a trip up there with a stop in Disco, Wis., a place just west of Black River Falls that I've always wanted to stop to have my picture taken (next to the town sign, of course!).

But, what would I say if I dialed Koosman's number (or, egads, showed up at his door)? Would I call him "Jerry" or "Mr. Koosman" or "ace?"

Would I tell him that when I was a kid, he was a god to me?

I know one thing for sure: I'd feel like a schmuck. I just don't have the cold calls in me.

But, hey, if he ever comes to Milwaukee, I'm buying the beer. Can you imagine -- tall boys with Koos? (Unless I can find Rheingold or Schaefer.)