April 8: Hot Dogs

• Arizona ------ 3
• Washington -- 1

If it's Easter Sunday, the end of the homestand, and if the weather is again unfortunately cold enough to have groups of vendors walking away before the game even begins, then I'm foresaking the title of Beerman for a day and selling Hot Dogs instead. No freezing fingers this day; I'm selling processed meat by-product shoved into a starchy bun.

Hot dogs appeal to everyone in a ballpark; mooky beer drinkers and families with children, couples and loners diligently filling out a scorecard. Not as much repeat business as beer -- the belly can't take more than a dog or two before suffering a belt-loosening distension, but bottle after bottle of the foamy stuff can disappear down the gullet without abdominal distress. But hot dogs are the closest thing to substantial nutrament sold by hawkers in the stands, so there are plenty of people who are willing to consume them in lieu of actual food.

Serving dogs can be a hassle, though. You're toting around a metal case, heated by sterno tucked in a bottom compartment, with containers on the left (for buns) and right (loaded with dogs), and a center tray with napkins, a couple of plastic gloves of the sort worn in by doctors in an examination room, and packets of ketchup, mustard, and relish (stolen from the condiment stand). And tongs to serve the dogs. Forget just one of these components and you're heading back up to the concourse to retrieve it. It's a lot to remember when you're in a hurry, and the hot dog man is always in a hurry. I managed to cover the whole of the sparsely-occupied upper deck, calling out, "Hot dog!" in a Gee Whiz! cadence and "Hot-diggity-dog!"

The place was evidence that plenty of people have other things to be doing on Easter Sunday. The big bunny made an appearance on the lower deck, leading Teddy Roosevelt astray during the "President's Race," and on a chase around the first baseline seats. The kids loved that. But the team lost again, which has quickly become the expectation.

This is supposed to be a blog about everything but the game on the field, but a digression must be indulged. The Nationals are bad, and have a bad record, but the bad record doesn't fully illustrate the awfulness of the team thus far. When they lose, they've done it by an average of more than a 4.5 run differential. They have gotten behind early -- multiple runs given up in the first, before the team has even stepped up to bat -- and often: they have never played with a lead, and the only lead they enjoyed was at the conclusion of their only win, which was a come-from-behind in the ninth that ended the game. And I missed it, having gone home promptly after the seventh to thaw out.

This analysis is vending-related: a bad team draws poorly, and a poor draw creates less of a market, and fewer potential customers means lower sales, less money, and one distressed Beerman. My back may be to the field, but what I don't see affects my view, as I face unhappy customers who have experienced the thirst-sapping disappointment of supporting a losing team. I might like to consider myself apart from the game but I'm really lashed to this team, for better and for worse.

I'll have to dream of sunnier days. Late in the game the sun broke through and the clouds drifted apart like melting ice floes. Half of the upper deck was delivered into warm light and it felt like the season had just begun again, born on a new day.