In a time of great need, the team has turned to a shadow world they may not fully understand.
Like knuckleballers, submariners exist as a tribe in the baseball wastelands, migrating from region to region, briefly surfacing to sign minor league deals, make major league appearances, or pillage and set fire to once-peaceful hamlets.
"Whatever happened to that nice little burgh a few miles here?" people ask each other over coffee.
And their friends all look down and mutter something along the lines of, "We don't talk about that place. Submariners got it."
Then maybe a cantankerous old man who has been coming to the cafe for years breaks the silence with an outburst like, "Damn under-throwers just want to turn the whole world upside-down so it matches their weird bodies!