Green Mountain Sketch #1

Boom, Boom, Boom

Baby, you're a firework
Come on show 'em what you're worth
Make'em go oh, oh, oh
As you shoot across the sky
Baby, you're a firework (Katy Perry)

When Darth Vader (born James Earl Jones) tells Costner not to sell the farm, Costner listens. Of course he does; we all know what happens to Storm Troopers who don't follow the Dark Lord's directives. Finding yourself on the wrong side of the guy who's already on the dark side of the Force is not a place anyone wants to be.

When the best badass of all time tells Costner that Iowans will drive from all over the Hawkeye State to his field of dreams to watch their heroes play--and fork over their money without even thinking about it--that's exactly what happens. He builds it and they come, as expected.

So, as I stand on the edge of a sweeping cornfield in Stowe, Vermont on the 4th of July, under a cloudy sky immediately following an impressive downpour, I watch the Green Mountain plates arrive, one after the other. My wife and I take our place alongside locals and tourists on the road's shoulder. Some folks remain in their cars with their windows rolled down. Others unfold their chairs to get a birds-eye view of the fireworks.

I can't help but think that tonight, in this lovely town, on this most patriotic of American days, I just might see some legends emerge from the stalks--Mantle and Williams perhaps--to have a catch. Dang, I wish I had my glove. No sign yet of a heavy breather with a cape and light saber.

This wisp of reverie is soon interrupted by the first BOOM of the evening, and by the conversation going on beside me between a Mom and her daughter.

Daughter: (Boom!) "That one almost hit me."
Mom: "It's nowhere close to hitting you."
Daughter: (Boom!) "That one was even closer to hitting me."
Mom: "They are not going to hit you. They are far away."
Daughter: (Boom!) "Is there a bathroom around this place?"

Of course, Mom was correct--the fireworks were a good 200 yards in the distance. But in all fairness to the young girl, her question was legitimate. The only possible private place to go was in the cornfield! Wandering off among those stalks on this night, and in the dark, risked making her a part of the Show. And I'm not talking about baseball anymore.

Make 'em go oh, oh, oh. As you shoot across the sky. Baby, you're a firework.