Our minor league baseball team here in Charleston — the Riverdogs — has a beautiful stadium not far from the Citadel campus. It’s a terrific little ballpark, full of family-friendly fun. Friday night homegames, for instance, come with a dazzling fireworks display at the end, win or lose. And this is no small fireworks display. I’m talking about a minutes-long sequence of big boomers and flourishing fountains of color that light up the night sky. The whole business is quite extraordinary.
I should know. Our house backs up to a gorgeous expanse of tidal marsh off the Ashley River, and on the other side of that wildlife-filled marsh sits, in all its resplendent glory and firework-launching preparedness, the ballpark. We have one hell of a view when the ‘crackers start going.
The downside? Well, for starters the boomers tend to hit late at night — it’s 11:10 here, and this week’s rendition just finished up — so they tend to wake up wee hobbits trying to sleep hereabouts. The second problem is Sydney the Wondermutt, who is trembling afraid of fireworks, thunder, and — we had to move to The Citadel to find this out — cannons. Poor pup.