Open Letter to The Oklahoma City Dodgers: An Official Plea for Greater Goat Acess Consideration to Ensure Continued Success on the Field

By Anthony Pego

Opening day is upon us Okc-based minor league baseball fans (April 9th), and in the name of avoiding spring cleaning we all dust off our fitted hats and foam fingers this time of year. Due to a series of home break-ins over the last year here at Boo Science Labs I’ve felt somewhat cursed, and have become somewhat superstitious. For this reason I have begun researching the best method by which we new OKC Dodgers (formerly the RedHawks) fans may avoid accidentally attracting a curse placed upon our recently rebranded minor-league baseball team.

It turns out a long, long time ago, in a Wrigley Field far away, a man named Billy Sianis, who owned a goat bar, bought himself and his goat both tickets for a Cubbies and Detroit Tigers World Series baseball game. The goat was denied entry at the Wrigley Field gate, and upon being tied to a stake outside, the most controversial and fruitful curse ever placed on a sports team blanketed the Cubs quest for diamond dominance in a World Series.

After much thumbing through old Mad Magazines, the answer has become clear to me: The OKC Dodgers need some level of access to the OKC Dodgers field for goats. In my opinion, we cannot risk denying even a single goat his or her ability to enjoy American baseball, particularly in the beginning days of a franchise rollover. (That’s what we call it when we rename a baseball francise every 10 or so years, right?)

Spring is a special time for families, and for baseball. The two are most definitely not mutually exclusive, barring the few usual local statisticians and cardboard enthusiasts. Recently, in my quest to understand Twitter, I’ve grown to love a herd of goats known as the Hefner Goats, which tend to municipal needs around the Oklahoma City metro area (along with sheep and a Democrat, I’m told). Despite only having one interaction with them on said social medium, I already feel like they are nuclear family. Or at least a rung above my mom’s lazy-eyed King Charles the IIIrd Cousin Dog, or whatever.

Due to my newfound affinity for all things goat, I am considering adopting a dozen or two of the hard working Satan spawns for my personal lawn service, home security, and of course to expand the number of beloved members in my fine Oklahoma baseball loving multi-specied family. As I add goats to my already overly furry family photos, I’ll want to introduce my bearded friends to our favorite family pastime, baseball, and what better than the Oklahoma City Dodgers for their first taste of Americana and non-goat based leather?

As the Dodgers christen their Oklahoma City diamond I ask, nay I beg, them to consider allowing access to, at the very least, a small but premium hillside. Preferably just over left field (the greenest grass grows on the left side). At the very least I think a seat behind the visiting team dugout is in order, reserved for any Okie goat that might want to visit the ballpark with their family, tenders, or their personal herding dogs. Perhaps in the rare occasion that it goes unused it could be occupied by any out-of-town mascots or service animals belonging to active umpires.

Lord knows we all need someone on our side, and in my opinion the proud and all too often blue-collared goat might be just the wooly friend we need right now.

As for the catification of Harry Caray, Twitter follower @Thomas_Reese requested I turn the Cubs and all of baseball’s most beloved voice into a proud feline, and it is my honor to do so. There are some who say Harry Caray was stronger, sharper, somehow better before he sat down to chug beer and sing* songs with the Cubbie fans, but not me. I say the body will do what it may, but being with those you love, or near the field on which they play when you pass away, and having them love you back, is nothing short of a hero’s death. Ladies, gentlemen, heroes, goats and cats, play ball.

AP

@BOOSCIENCE