Go seventeen miles north of Joplin, Mont., turn left at the blue house, drive four miles on the gravel road, and then park in the wheat field on top of the hill. Laid out before you is a very old baseball field with a small creek flowing through it. I would not recommend driving down on to the field. You might get stuck in alkali.

My grandpa built the Little Sage baseball diamond on our land when my dad was a kid. Grandpa Frank was a big baseball fan. He leveled the field out with some of his friends, threw some bases on and put a backstop up, and it was ready to go. To the west is a nice view of the Sweet Grass Hills. In every other direction, it’s pretty much just farmland. My grandpa started a team out there, and ever since, Little Sage baseball has been playing every year. They even won a championship one year.

Growing up, my brother and I were in charge of mowing that field. I know you are imagining some sort of beautiful green field with a butterflies and bunnies. Well that couldn’t be more inaccurate. When I say “grass” I mean little sharp blades of some sort of plant that got stuck in your clothes. And forget the butterflies. You had to get checked for ticks after every game. There were bunnies though, if that makes things better.

Behind the backstop and all the way down the third base side of the field is a rock pile dumped onto the side of the hill. My friends and I used to run all over those rocks, occasionally falling and scraping our knees.

A lot of baseball was played on that field. My dad took over for my grandpa as coach. I played from the time I was barely big enough to hold a bat. Then I got hit in the nose with a curveball at about ten years old, and my stunning good looks and flourishing baseball career were over.

One year, we got a ton of snow in May, followed by a ton of rain, and we had a flood on our hands. The Little Sage creek flooded, and the whole field was underwater. The bleachers were floating around, and the concession stand, a tiny old camper, had finally seen the end of its life. My dad had to get a wetsuit on and go diving in to pull the barbeque out. I think at some point, there was a kayak on the new lake.

Today, the field holds a special place in my heart. After my grandpa died in September, we went out and mowed the field and put up a flag. I will always associate him with that field.

There are stadiums all over the U.S. that are very special to the players and fans. Fenway Park, home of the green monster, CenturyLink Field, home of the 12^th man (boo), or even Washington Grizzly stadium, home of the loudest fans in the FCS. Just to back that up, Tony Romo was quoted saying Wa-Griz was louder than CenturyLink after the Cowboy’s win over the Seabirds this year. I’m not a huge Seattle fan, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.

Whether it’s a field in country or a stadium in the city, people take pride in their sporting venue. I think my “field of dreams” is in the country, surrounded by nature… and ticks.