The Madison Slush Ducks waddled into existence in 1998, when a spring thaw turned the infield behind a State Street bar into one giant mud puddle. A bunch of students, too drunk to care about frostbite, decided it was the perfect night for baseball. With plastic bats, snow-packed balls, and ducks literally waddling through the slush, the Ducks were hatched.
On the field, the Slush Ducks don’t steal bases — they skid across them. Their outfield is a skating rink, their bullpen smells like Miller Lite, and their signature play is the “slush slide” — diving belly-first through ankle-deep puddles just to make a single look epic. Uniforms? Usually damp hoodies and jeans, permanently stained with beer and mud. Their mascot is a frozen duck holding a bat like it owes him money.
At the bar, though, they’re unstoppable. The Ducks drink Old Fashioneds out of pitchers and claim they’re “carb loading.” Their dugout cooler is just a kiddie pool full of Spotted Cow. Their victory parade? Stumbling down State Street in flippers, chanting “QUACK ATTACK” until the cops show up.
The Madison Slush Ducks don’t chase pennants. They chase pitchers — and in their league, that’s the real home run.
