Dusty Baker has lost thousands of baseball games. Some as a player. Some as a manager. They are part of the journey, the one he chose decades ago — he might believe it chose him, and he wouldn’t get an argument — and stayed after.
The losses came and sometimes they’ve worn white and other times gray, and sometimes they’re on a dreary night in June and other times on a sparkly afternoon in October, like Monday in San Diego. After a few decades maybe he learned to live with the losses and maybe he didn’t, and probably it depends on how one defines “live with.