Voyage to the Bottom of the Barrel of the Bat....

Wowsers. This workweek's  blown by in a blink, probably because of the day off.  Also, because two of the three workdays since involved virtually useless drives to Rochester- one beginning too early and turning out to be utterly unnecessary, today's beginning later  and proving at least mildly profitable.  But it's mostly because I (not Eleanor) did not have to go into work on  Monday, and after spending our morning working a bit on the Big Dig after I'd passed on a ballgame trip with friends the day before, that afternoon turned out to host the final home game of the year for the Batavia Muckdogs- in terms of talent  and experience, almost literally the  lowest of the low.

I've now seen at least one ballgame at every level of official major and minor league baseball- The Show more times than I can count, equally countless (oxymoron?) games in Buffalo and Rochester at the one-step-away AAA level, and last year my first step into the AA world of the Mets'  Binghamton affiliate christened that year as the  Rumble Ponies. (Could be worse- the Mobile (AL) team in AA minor league ball just rebranded for next season as the Rocket City Trash Pandas.) But until this week, although I'd been by the Batavia ballpark tons of times, I'd never been inside for a taste of the rawest of rookies playing what is known as short-season A-ball.

Part of my motiviation is that Monday's game could quite possibly have been the last ever played in the small city at the center of Western  New York that was the birthplace of this long-standing low minor league:



Of those Original Six, none except Batavia remains. Niagara Falls held on into perhaps the 80s, the Jamestown Jammers (their final incarnation) stayed as a Bison-owned farm team until a few years ago, but most of the league is now scattered through the northeast from  Vermont to Ohio and south to  West Virginia.  Batavia's team was known primarily as the Clippers from that 1939 founding  onward, but occasionally taking on their MLB affiliates' names and, in an odd move, going as the Trojans for most of the 70s and 80s- until 1998, when they were one of the first minor league teams to cash in on the Goofy  Name Wot To Sell Merch Wit trend that has since given us the Rumble  Ponies, Trash Pandas, Pizza Rats, the Macon Whoopees, and the Rochester Garbage Plates.  "Muckdogs" somehow relate to the onion fields that dot the towns surrounding their Genesee County home. They're well, MUCKY. And presumably dogs poop in them or something.

That "Plates" name, though, would refer to the AAA Rochester Red Wings, a historically located and named franchise, which last year, and several nights this past year, switched uni's in honor of the city's most iconic (and ipepac-worthy) food dish. The Wings took over management of the  Batavia team several years ago, running its promotions and staffing its front office and stadium employees (in minor league baseball, the big clubs pay for the players, manager and coaches, but the franchise owner covers all the other costs and makes or loses the money).  Over the past few years, the Muckdogs lost quite a bit, but the Wings held on based on the promise of a one-shot recoupment when and if the team was sold. Even low-minor franchises often sell for fairly big bucks, particularly when an MLB team wants to locate one closer to its home, as both Mets and Yankees did in setting up A-ball shops in Brooklyn and Staten  Island.  Two years ago, a Maryland ownership group was ready to move the Muckdogs to near Baltimore, but objections from the Orioles, Nationals and some higher minor leagues kiboshed that. 2017 was the last year under Red  Wing management, and the league itself operated the franchise this past year, with not much in the way of organized promotions.  I'd checked repeatedly to see if they'd be repeating their very popular Bark in the Park game to meet up with Rochester friends of two- and four-legged persuasions, but they never announced it until my friend  Scott saw it on their promotion board the day after  it had happened:



And who is Dwyer, you ask?   There's a plaque about that, too:)

 

 

The former ramshackle structure of that name on the same site was torn down in the 90s, part of a statewide upgrade to and additions of ballparks to meet new MLB standards for their employees.  The field itself is the same one that just ended its 80th year, and it seemed to be in decent shape.  It's a nice enough stadium, although definitely low-rent:



The Muck-Marlin logos on the hometown clubhouse.   Marlin as in Miami, currently the worst team in the National League and without much talent coming up from this level any time soon.

Still. As the Bisons slogan went ages ago, it's real, it's fun, it's family.  It's also ridiculously cheap.  An over-55 entry to the venue?



Five bucks, baby.  I got there just as the anthem was  finishing, and first sought out refreshment.  Hot dogs ranged from three fitty to five bucks, depending on toppings, and you could not top this stand for damn decent craft beers for another four dollars:



It was a damn hot day, with rain forecast, but that five-dollar admission got me a roof-covered spot eight rows behind home plate with perfect views of everything.  This game even had playoff implications, although not for the home team: if the Mets' affiliate in Brooklyn won their final game (they did!) and the Muckdogs beat the visiting Auburn team, the  Cyclones would make the NY-Penn postseason.

Alas, the outlook wasn't brilliant for the Muckdog nine that day. They were down 4-0 before me, my dog and my beer even got to my seat.  But Batavia fought back for much of the afternoon, eventually closing an 8-2 deficit to 8-5 when the rain finally arrived and that was that.  But the moments of the day will last as much as seeing the big kids playing at Citi Field or the somewhat older ones battling in Buffalo:



They keep track of all of their alumni from the past 80 seasons. I counted four former Mets on that list, none of any great note for their play in New York, and two (or three, depending on when and how you count) who were still active players in the majors.



My view from eight rows up, and my first sight of a two-person umpiring crew  (they have four in the majors, three in AAA and AA), the rover shown just to the pitcher's right.  This also made it easier to keep track of the wild pitches and hit batters, which are common occurrences at this level.



The Muckdogs of course have a Mucks-cot, this year named Dewey.  He wears number 48, presumably for the  Thruway exit.  He's new, and may not be stadium trained, which would explain why he seems to be crated  between innings.

But the two moments, having nothing to do with the game itself, I will remember the most:



Near my departure, the promotions gang went around the stands (all 2,600 capacity, paid crowd of 657) shooting  t-shirts into the crowd. One bounced off  the hand of that little guy a row down from me and my beer. I caught it- and of course immediately handed it to him. That's mom displaying it.  Then, the final sideline promotions of the day were filled with the kids (most of them 16-20) who make up that promotions team.  It was fun seeing them getting to run the stupid races and get the cheap prizes for their season long efforts:



The drizzle that got me out of my seat turned to Outright Pour by the time I made it to my car (free parking just past that "HOME" clubhouse door), and their radio affiliate bailed before I could hear the son of former Mets pitcher Kevin Tapani record the save for enemy Auburn. They're selling season  tickets for next year, but the team itself remains on the block, and if the Blue Jays decide they want a team in Oakville, or the Red  Sox in Pawtucket (after they move their AAA team now housed there to greener-money pastures), we may never pass a ball this way again.

And then everybody who never made it out here will cry, as we did for the local rib joint chant:

Aw man, now I want Muckdogs!