Still, I’ve found it impossible to shake the feeling that I could attend the Dogs’ open tryouts and get called up to warm the bench if the whole team suddenly became stricken with food poisoning. This is part of their charm; it feels like anything can happen at a Dogs game. I’ve seen the Dogs commit more errors than in most MLB games I’ve witnessed, but also a lot more home runs and squeaky plays that left me on the edge of my seat too. Their wins and losses don’t invade my life or time line like with Cubs and Sox, which makes the enterprise of watching a game more fun. I’m not compelled to worry about every play; instead, I can easily find joy in watching people so dedicated to this game they’ll play for a team that exists on the margins of the pros and the city it claims as its hometown. Also, their mascot is an anthropomorphic bottle of mustard that parades around the stadium with a ketchup bottle sporting a trench coat like it’s Ed Burke. This, too, I find joy in.
