So, the Fourth of July rolled around again. You know how it is, you start thinking about classic American stuff. Apple pie, fireworks, and yeah, baseball. I got this idea in my head, I just had to see some baseball on the Fourth. Not the big leagues, mind you. Too crowded, costs an arm and a leg. I was picturing something more… local. Relaxed.
I started asking around, checking those community Facebook groups, that kind of thing. Found out the town over always puts on this amateur game at the park. Supposedly followed by fireworks. Sounded perfect! Just the low-key vibe I was after. Told the wife and kids, “Alright team, adventure time! We’re hitting a ball game!” Felt pretty good about the plan.
The day came, woke up, looked outside. Cloudy, but no rain. Good enough. Started prepping. Made sandwiches, grabbed chips, waters, you know the drill. Loaded up the cooler. Threw the folding chairs and a big blanket in the trunk. Felt like I had my act together. We headed out mid-afternoon. Map said 30 minutes. Easy peasy, right?
Wrong. Traffic. Just insane. Looked like literally everyone else decided to go to the same darn place. That quick 30-minute hop turned into, I dunno, an hour and fifteen? Maybe more. Kids started complaining from the back seat, of course. “Are we there yet?” Ugh. Started rationing the snacks way earlier than planned.
We finally crawled near the park. Parking was a total joke. Cars jammed everywhere. People parked on grass medians, blocking hydrants… chaos. Circled around for what felt like forever, getting more and more frustrated. Ended up finding a spot maybe half a mile away. Uphill. Naturally. So, we started the trek. Lugging the heavy cooler, the chairs flapping around, trying to keep the kids from wandering off. Showed up to the field looking like we’d just run a marathon. Sweaty, tired, and definitely late.
Missed the first inning or two. Found a little patch of grass on a hill overlooking the diamond. It wasn’t exactly Yankee Stadium, let me tell you. Looked more like a slightly upgraded high school field. But, the guys playing seemed into it. Lots of goofy errors, plenty of laughs from the small crowd. It did have that community feel I was hoping for, buried under the parking nightmare.
Honestly? The baseball itself was just… alright. It wasn’t really about the quality of play. It was more about just being out there. You could smell popcorn, hear kids yelling, people chatting with neighbors. It felt like summer. The game eventually finished up as the sun went down. Couldn’t even tell you who won. Nobody seemed too bothered.
Then came the main event for most folks: the fireworks. They set them off right there behind the outfield. Have to admit, for a small town show, they weren’t bad at all. Kids loved that part, faces lit up. That made some of the earlier hassle feel a bit more worth it. Packing up in the dark, though? That was rough. Carrying sleeping kids and all the gear back up that hill to the car… man, I was beat.
Got home super late, totally exhausted. Was it the idyllic Fourth of July baseball experience I’d pictured? Definitely not. Too much traffic, parking rage, and logistical headaches. But was it memorable? Yeah, strangely enough, it was. It wasn’t really about the baseball game in the end. It was the whole messy, slightly disastrous adventure. Sometimes those are the days you end up talking about later, you know?
