On the other hand, the team slated another special event for the very same night: an Independence Day celebration advertised as the "ultimate fireworks show."
All things considered, it was a curious conjunction: a fireworks display in close proximity to countless canines — a species that isn't exactly renowned for its love of high-decibel blasts.
To be fair, the team had alerted the human fans who turned out for the event that the fireworks show would commence 15 minutes after the game ended, and that any skittish pooches should be escorted out before then.
Unfortunately for one local hound, who consented to an interview on the condition that we refer to him only as "Buddy," that wasn't enough time to escape the
"It started out as a lovely day at LoanDepot stadium, looking out over the diamond, just snuggling up with my human and watching America's pastime," Buddy barks to New Times via an interpreter. "We sat down along the first-base line. I snacked on some doggie treats and watched my owner nearly catch a foul ball!"
When the game ended, Buddy and friend headed toward the exit, with a detour to the restroom. Just that morning, Buddy clarifies, he'd begged for those week-old empanadas, but his owner insisted on eating them all himself and was now dealing with the repercussions.
Minute after minute passed, as Buddy patiently waited. Little did he know that an elaborate explosive procession was about to take place (apart from the one to which he was already bearing witness).
Suddenly there was a dog-earsplitting Boom!...Pop!...Boom!
Buddy cowered beside his owner as they hightailed it for the exit.
"It was brutal, like I felt I was in the middle of an apocalypse," the dog barks. "I mean, I can hear a pinecone drop half a mile away. This felt like the Battle of Cerignola inside my flopping earholes."
Buddy says he's been waking up panting and terrified in the wee hours of the night, haunted by the sights and sounds of Independence Day 2023 (artist conception).
Photo by fusaromike/Getty Images
Amid the uproar that followed the booking of a candlelight ceremony to coincide with Highly Flammable Liquids Appreciation night, the department installed a new vice president of marketing, Thaddeus Wilikers, who insisted he had "big plans" to revamp the department's promotion strategies.
Buddy says he has not received an apology from Wilikers but is in contact with the Marlins.
"The front office has been in touch and they've made some overtures," Buddy adds. "Season tickets, merch for my owner — let's just say they're willing to throw me a bone or two."
A Marlins official declined to comment beyond asserting that dogs don't have the ability to communicate in full sentences and that this story is a fabrication.
Online, however, the outrage was palpable.
"Whoever scheduled this must be a cat person," one real-life, presumably human baseball fan actually wrote after a tweet from Because Miami brought the situation to light.
"This is by far the stupidest thing I've heard of all week, and boy, have there been some dumb things going on this week," observed another.
