A sunburn on your shoulders, a cheap beer in your koozie, a slightly overcooked burger on the grill -- it's time to plan our spring baseball trips.
During my final year living in Oxford, I made it to all but three of the home baseball games that season. The midweek games were my favorite: my brother and I would load up the cooler with whatever we felt like grilling for dinner that night, snag a bottle of cheap whiskey and hike on over to Swayze.
But then my parents told me I had to "get a job" and "support myself" and "stop getting hammered on Tuesday nights," so I moved out of Oxford.