So, the 4th of July in Fairbanks is not the same holiday as it is in New Cumberland, PA. For one thing, there’s no fireworks. Because, well, the sun doesn’t go down. At least, not ALL THE WAY down. Until like midnight, and then only until 3:30 a.m., and then the sun rises again.
Also, it’s unwise to set off explosives when the state is generally on fire.
Anyway, the Fourth is my personal favorite holiday. It’s really the only holiday that doesn’t have ANY stress associated with it. A close second is Halloween (my second-favorite holiday), but even then there’s the whole question of “What am I going to BE????” and “Will this be offensive????” or “Will anyone ‘get’ this costume????” Ugh. And then as an adult you have to worry about how the neighborhood kids will judge your handouts. Too little? Will full-size candybars be seen as ‘trying too hard’?
Look at me reading too much into Halloween handouts.
Thus my affection for the Fourth. Nobody judges your hotdogs and beer. They just enjoy.
Anyway, so I faced 4th of July in Alaska wondering, “What do I do to celebrate this holiday here without pyrotechnics?”
Welp. Thank God for baseball.
Don’t know how I know, but I guess it’s the sportswriter in me. I can smell a dugout from miles away. Sure enough, Fairbanks has a summer collegiate league team, the Alaska Goldpanners.
They actually play a game on the Summer Solstice, the Midnight Sun game, that has quite the history. I had arrived in Fairbanks too late to get tickets to that game. But I heard all about it.
Before you laugh into your hand and roll your eyes, let’s look at what ESPN has to say about it…
Yeah, gets the baseball blood going, doesn’t it?
I was bummed I had missed the solstice game, but I’m always up for baseball. So I went to the July 4 game by myself, the way I used to go to Penn National racetrack north of Harrisburg on a lazy summer day, just to watch the horses and bet a few dollars on the card. Sometimes competition only needs a solo witness.
The day was pretty hot by Fairbanks standards, up into the 80s. And the smoke from the wildfires was brutal; the constant air tankers flying overhead reminded all of us of the battle going on in the forests around the central region.
But I a grabbed a cold beer and a hotdog, and settled on the steel bleachers. The game was competitive; the Goldpanners were down 10-4 at one point and came back to win 12-10. The “crowd” (I estimate 150, give or take), was enthusiastic, and — more importantly — the players were all in. These are 20-something kids staying with local families, but they were playing like the pennant depended on it. Most ambitious amateurs play like that, I’ve found.
A guy a few rows away from me got a foul ball and tossed it to a kid, he was about 10 or 11. The kid promptly finds his way to the visitor dugout and starts asking the players to sign the ball.
This is no different than any ballpark. Why it made my heart clench, I can’t tell you. It was just so very basic to baseball. To the 4th of July. To summer.
I get that the 4th of July doesn’t hit the same way up here as it does in the Lower 48. But it has its own vibe. And its own traditions.
Like this one…
I’m gonna have to hit that car launch next year.
All in all, I did have a good holiday, and I loved the baseball and the sunshine and the stress-free vibe, as always. But I missed the fireworks. I mentioned that to a co-worker.
“Oh, yeah, we don’t do fireworks on the Fourth,” he said. “Now, if you’re here for New Year’s Eve, well, that’s a different story altogether…like 20 hours of darkness, 20 below zero and nothing else to do…”
Say no more, pal. I’ll be there.
