A gloomy mist settled around us as we got off the plane in Boston, just
two crazy kids with a slobbery ball, a dream, and hearts as big as
Massachusetts. The Red Sox were our last hope. 2012 had not been their year,
and we felt sure we could help them improve their game if they’d just give us a
chance. But were they willing to trust us? To pin their hopes on a dog who
could hold two balls in his mouth at the same time, and a high-achieving Border
Collie batting .327? With everything riding on this final chance, we hailed a taxi. "Fenway
Park," barked Shadow.
Fenway smelled of old
shoes and hot dogs. I am a conosieur of hot dogs, and these were the best I'd
ever smelled.
Manager John Farrell was very impressed with both of us and recruited
Shadow and me right then and there.
Fortunately Dr. Juriceck,
the in-house vet for the Red Sox, was an ardent proponent of canine athletics. A
brilliant human, he worked as hard and as enthusiastically as any Border
Collie. He fitted Shadow and me with special mouthguards for batting. They
protected our teeth as we clamped on to the bat, and distributed the force of
the bat connecting with the ball throughout our whole mouth. (I was willing to share, but Shadow wanted his
own mouthguard.) Now free of pain and without the distracting fear of losing
all my teeth, I was able to get impressive distance and accuracy each time at
bat.
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