Dugan Arnett: PORT CHARLOTTE — At any given moment, the dugout of the Murdock Little League Yankees smells like a mixture of sweat, bubble gum and farts.
It is a cramped space — you can't walk more than a few steps without tripping over a loose helmet or glove or bat — and it is hectic, filled with 11- and 12-year-old boys in plastic cleats, click-clacking their way back and forth, digging in their bags, checking the batting order, trying to find some bubble gum to pack inside their cheeks.
It is loud, the result of an endless stream of chatter emanating toward the field. It is hot and it is rowdy and it is a headache waiting to happen.
It is also, as it happens, the greatest place on earth.
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