It is purely the stuff that legends are made of . A dark secret in folklore which is passed by word of mouth from superstitious Phillies fans of all ages. Or maybe just an exaggeration not worthy of competing with Bigfoot, the loch ness Monster and other great fabled myths. It is the famous Philadelphia Phillies dollar hot dog night and ticket stubs should clearly warn to enter at your own risk.This was never my intention, to brave this famed event, as I pondered another Phillies victory and chance to once again grab a strangle hold on the NL East title. As I pounded beers and Jagermeister in the parking lot, the last thing on my mind was the allure of a cheap meal and the opportunity to buy hot dogs in a bag by the dozen. But my life was destined to change forever, as my glossy eyed brother in law spilled the beans on Broad Street's dirty little, dastardly secret.
"You know this is dollar dog night, right?", he exclaimed with an eerie feel of uncertainty. I stumbled to the side, shook my head and responded in an apathetic blubbering that sounded much like who the hell cares. He responded with nervous grin and a chronicle of events that had been marked in infamy during past occurrences of this warped ballpark holiday.
Lets start with Monday, May 3rd,2010. The Phillies were at home and all seemed quiet until around the seventh inning. It was at this fateful time, that a fan dashed into sight from the right field area. He proudly sprinted around and made his way in a frenzy toward center. He evaded security like a swift moving tailback and seemed to feed on the confusion and fan frenzy reaction. That was until his act was rudely disturbed by the sinister taser of an unamused member of security. This highly publicized chase and apprehension? Dollar dog night, my friends.
I yawned with boredom as my ballpark companion moved to exhibit two in his bizarre, spooky tale. The scene was once again Citizens Bank Park on April 14th, 2010. A course of events was about to unfold that was described by many in attendance as one of the most vile, disgusting things that they had ever seen. A 21 year old man, who was obviously intoxicated, stuck his fingers down his throat and vomited all over an 11 year old girl. The case immediately became a media hot bed as the unfortunate drunk man had made the awful mistake of spewing chunks on an undercover police officer's daughter. His subsequent arrest with charges filed for aggravated assault and resisting arrest, brings about a simple question. Why did this disgusting young punk feel such an urge to pull the trigger at such an inopportune time? Could this have anything to do with the fact that it was once again dollar dog night?
As we reclined in our stadium seats amongst a playoff atmosphere of waving white towels and World Series aspirations, I almost questioned the accuracy of my brother in law's misguided legend. The night seemed perfect with not an unplanned occurrence in sight, before a man draped in a skintight red, body suit sprung to the field in a gallop of glory. Thoughts of terror and disbelief raced through my pickled mind as the cream of the crop in stadium security, known as Brave's outfielder Matt Diaz, tripped Redman's racing foot and crashed him to the turf. I tried to blurt out an obscenity but unfortunately, I had a dollar hot dog, permanently lodged in my throat.
Nothing disturbs me more than admitting defeat or even that I may have been wrong. So I furiously tried to explain why this dollar hot dog night had taken on the characteristics of a Halloween witching hour. Are the dogs laced with some type of psychedelic drug? Does the average fan have that much money left over for beer, that he grows a full coat of fur and begins to howl? I don't think that it will ever be explained nor will I ever doubt the mysterious haunting factor of the ballpark frank ever again. And as I fired up my grill and prepared the meat for a serene Tuesday night cookout, one thing was blatantly apparent. I would be enjoying nothing but a juicy cheeseburger for dinner that evening.
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