Back when I was kid, when we played the game with stuffed brontosaurus skins and woolly mammoth tusks, there was a single three-syllable word that encapsulated all of my fondest baseball dreams: Williamsport.

I barely knew that Williamsport was an actual place, let alone how to find it on a map. It was more like a concept whose existence you took on faith. Much like Valhalla to ancient warriors.

You went there only if you persevered, played your absolute best, and had the gods of baseball smiling down on you at just the right time. Every kid that ever played Little League knew that each August, just one All-Star team from each of four U.S. regions (now eight regions) was able to play their way to Williamsport, Pennsylvania and the Little League World Series.
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As cities go, San Diego is dead last in the league of self-promotion. It often strikes me that, despite being the 8th most populous city in the country, most Americans would not notice if San Diego somehow drifted away from the U.S. mainland and floated down the coast to Mexico, re-attaching itself somewhere near Cabo.

Having lived in San Diego, I know that in general the natives are OK with this. The owners of the San Diego Padres have to be somewhat less enthusiastic about this dynamic though. See, they own the most beautiful baseball park (and perhaps the nicest sports facility of any kind) in America, and receive zero publicity on that topic.
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My parents have always claimed that they, like all other parents, did not have a favorite child. It’s in the Parent’s Manual somewhere, I guess. In that same spirit, I maintain that I do not have any “favorite” sporting events. Sure some are more entertaining, but…oh come on now, who am I kidding?

It’s Saturday evening of the July 4th Great Baseball Weekend, and I’m pulling into my favorite off-site, low-cost parking lot just down Gene Autrey Way from Angels Stadium of Anaheim. And I’m excited. My heart is pumping, the adrenaline is surging – it’s Angel Baseball, live and in person! And even though this is officially event #33 in my quest to see the best that sports in this country has to offer, it’s already #1. A little background might help explain…
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It’s Fourth of July Weekend. I’m an American. The way I see it, it is my patriotic duty to: (a) ooh and aah at fireworks displays; (b) eat at least one hot dog and one piece of apple pie; and (c) watch baseball. But so many options to choose from…Minor League ball? American League? National League? So I did what you’ve come to expect of a true Sports Fan: all of the above.

And so it was that on a Friday evening taken directly from a “Visit California” promo spot, The Bird and I set out for The Epicenter.

No seriously – that’s the name of the stadium. But admit it, that sounded dramatic, didn’t it?
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Sometimes a game is destined to be a classic before the first pitch is thrown. You pretty much know it going in. But sometimes a classic sneaks up on you unexpectedly, coming out of nowhere to carve out a particularly hallowed spot in the annals of Fan-dom. Game Two of the NCAA College World Series Super Regional between UCLA and Cal State Fullerton was just such a game.

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