On a sunny June afternoon the Dodgers let the dogs in, opening their gates to the great danes, the pugs, the shepherds and retrievers of Los Angeles for a day game against the Giants.
No caption necessary, really.
As close as I will ever get to my childhood dream.
Over the course of the 2015 baseball season over 2 million Dodger Dogs — 10 inch frankfurters wrapped in a steamed bun, ketchup, mustard, relish and onions optional — will be consumed by hungry fans watching the Boys in Blue. We ate about half that.
The Dodgers lost, but who was there for the game? The whole thing was as good as it gets and as ridiculous as it sounds. Hundreds of dogs barking in the bleachers, dressed in clothing they don't need, watching a game they don't understand in seats paid for by people pretending to be their parents — this is not the best way to watch a ballgame, just as unlimited Dodger Dogs, nachos, popcorn and peanuts is not the best way to start a juice cleanse. But on the far side of the absurd you can sometimes find the silly joys, simple pleasures and undying hope our dogs show us every day. Give me beer, give me baseball, give me sunshine, give me summer.
This is a man’s world, but it's going to the dogs.