Fans at Dodger Stadium are usually discouraged, to put it mildly, from rushing the field.

So the other night, after the second home game of the season, in which our genius Boys in Blue defanged the Tigers in 10 with Mookie Betts’ second dinger of the evening, when the usually hyper-vigilant security team opened up the gates and were literally waving spectators on to the crazily green turf of left field, I misunderstood the reason for the sudden laxity.

“Drum show,” I thought I heard someone say over the roar of the crowd.

Drum show? Taiko or whatever, celebrating Yoshinobu Yamamoto starting the game, celebrating all things Shohei, celebrating Roki Sasaki?

Sounded good to me. Any excuse to walk out onto that hallowed ground. (By the way, the real Happiest Place on Earth right now is in Chavez Ravine. You have never seen so many uniformly joyful, high-fiving Angelenos talking beisbol over a beer and a Dodger Dog in the 60 years since leaving Brooklyn. Erudite columnist Jim Alexander informs us in these pages that the other 29 MLB fan bases absolutely hate us because the game’s greatest players have arrived in L.A. to get rich on the backs of our $19 tall boys. And you know what? After that brilliant Series takedown of the Yankees, after the fun Tokyo games, after this 6-0 start, we simply couldn’t care less.)

I was swiftly disabused of any notion of an ensemble percussion jam at second base by guys in white cloth headbands once I reached the field to find it was a drone show, not a drum show, we’d be attending. I looked up into the Angeleno Heights skies to see an orchestrated light show that, if a little cold and calculating — LA logo Xing out an NY logo — was fun and technically fascinating. I don’t really understand, in other words, how they do it, this flying light show. Fireworks, I understand — you shoot stuff up in the night air and blow it up with gunpowder. And then there’s the creepy factor, considering that robot drones are going to kill us all in the not-too-distant dystopia that is our future.

But in the present tense, the drone show was cool, and no one died.

And so when I read in Tuesday’s paper that the longstanding Rose Bowl fireworks show on the Fourth of July will be replaced by a drone show, I was completely down with the news. And that feeling was not necessarily one easily arrived at. I have lived on one edge or another of the Arroyo Seco above the stadium for over half a century. The Yanks + Franks parties my family gave for decades on Independence Day were a blast — sausages al fresco with a perfect fireworks view.

But there were big downsides to the rockets’ red glare. It was the least favorite day of the year for my beloved collie Charlie, who shook for hours each Fourth, even when we wrapped him in a ThunderShirt, literally retreating to the bathtub, from his fear of the godawful booms. Hundreds of local dog owners are in the same boat. I know some who have to leave town with their pups.

And it’s no joke, the smoke that hangs over the Bowl and the whole neighborhood, like a ‘50s smog, all the next day. As staffer David Wilson reports, Caltech professor Rick Flagan has shown fireworks increase the concentration of elements including potassium, chlorine, sulfur, aluminum and copper in the air we breathe.

As our West Pas Councilman Steve Madison says, given the fire part of fireworks, “I think there’s a view that that would be in bad taste,” for obvious post-catastrophe reasons.

As Rose Bowl boss Jens Weiden says, “A 30-minute firework show, the air quality that we have, and that our neighbors have, and our community has for days leading after, that is not ideal.”

It’s not. I welcome the change. Not that it’s going to stop the fools all around our grand metropolis from blowing the place to smithereens that Friday night of the Fourth of July. It’s going to be a war zone around here even though the official show is being handed off to the ‘bots. May they rule with at least some compassion when they take over completely.

Can’t be any worse than where we live now, since, as Matt K. Lewis noted in Tuesday’s Times, it’s “a world in which our overlords have a collective level of emotional intelligence on par with a Roomba that’s wedged itself under the couch.”

Write the public editor at lwilson@scng.com