Just when I thought all things wholesome had been extinct, I walked into a Banana Ball game and my faith in pure goodness was instantly restored. It was as unexpected as the midgame nod to Magic Mike courtesy of a slew of shirtless firemen dancing on the dugouts midway through the seventh inning.
If you haven’t discovered Banana Ball yet, consider this your new assignment, courtesy of me.
A few years ago, I randomly watched a show called, “The (Improbable) History of the Savannah Bananas.” Perhaps it wasn’t that random as I do love a sports documentary of any kind. The cliff notes? Ten years ago, Jesse and Emily Cole discovered invented founded dreamt up Banana Ball as a wacky collegiate summer league and, frankly, I need to know what they were drinking that day. It is a fans first approach to baseball, similar to the offerings of the Harlem Globetrotters but so much better (sorry, not sorry). In the beginning Banana Ball lived only in a small, east coast league striving to turn a night at the ballpark into an entertaining, interactive event.
While I have only seen one Banana Ball game (thus far), it is obvious that this sport is exploding, much like the pyrotechnics added as a regular to the lineup. Every run was rejoiced with intricate dances, props were present throughout each inning, and any moment that could be made better with a little flame throwing was made better with a lot of flame throwing. T-shirt cannons or home run high fives? Those are for amateurs. Banana Ball quite literally celebrates every single thing that happens on the ball field from ball four to a strike out from a pop-up fly to a stolen base,
The list? It goes on. I know this because I had the list – a lengthy minute by minute account of what to expect throughout my time in the stands.
I attended the game in Richmond, VA to watch the Firefighters take on the Indianapolis Clowns at the city’s brand new Carmax Park, home of the minor league Richmond Flying Squirrels. The weekend’s two Banana Ball games were sold out, jam-packed with fans of all ages who had clearly discovered Banana Ball long before I had. I could tell because the majority of attendees came with gloves, ready to partake in one of the many unique rules: If a fan nabs a clean foul ball catch, the batter is out.
I arrived four hours before the first pitch at the insistence of my “Hey, we should go…” friend. You know that friend, right? The one who signs you up for something but only offers a hint to the commitment, hiding essential details until it’s too late to back out? I assumed our 3:00 pm arrival was timed for a 4:00 pm-ish first pitch. I was wrong. I was also annoyed. The game wouldn’t start until 7:00 pm. I soon learned that I was wrong to be annoyed. The pregame festivities included games, food, music, and players mingling with every person who came through the gates required an early arrival and those extra hours absolutely flew by as I watched interactions between the players and fans that had nary a whisper of phoning it in for a paycheck.
Every single player was genuinely thrilled to pose for pictures, sign anything placed in their hands, and have a conversation that lasted however long was necessary to fulfill each fan’s moment with them.
At 5:00 pm, a select group was led into the stadium to kick off the Backstage Experience. Had I already been there for two hours? I had been warned about this very thing – that while arriving four hours prior to game time seemed excessive, the time would go quickly. Within minutes, I was walking toward home plate, my first steps on a professional baseball field. It was glorious. Soon, we were joined by players and mascots and coaches for even more one-on-one time. We wandered from player to player introducing ourselves and sharing stories.
With time for a more personalized chat (and a bit less noise), I discovered these adult players love baseball the same way that a six-year-old does after stepping up to the plate for the very first time and that they want to share that love with everyone they can. This is not a job for them. Well, yes, they do get paid. But the joy of the game positively radiates from each player as they interact with fans, new and old.
I was a new fan when I walked through the gates, but by the time I took my first steps on that field, I was sold. Banana Ball’s fanbase is growing at hyper-speed, and the reasons are obvious.
As our time on the field came to an end, we made our way to our seats. Had another hour passed already? When? While the stadium filled, the teams got a bit more serious about warming up for the game. For attendees, there was music, games, and a few announcements about Banana Ball’s unique rules until, finally, that first pitch was launched.
One of the questions I’ve been asked the most since attending is whether or not the teams were playing real baseball. Yes, yes, and absolutely yes.
While the rules for Banana Ball are different from traditional baseball, it was clear that these teams were playing to win. The rules are different, the celebrations are different, the between-inning cadence of the stadium is wildly different, but the quest to win? On point. We saw diving catches, sprints to beat the throw, balls fired from the home run fence to home – all the exciting elements of a traditional baseball game. We also saw players signing autographs along the fences throughout the game, in lieu of relaxing in the dugout, happy to continue offering fans their moment.
It wasn’t just young kids lining the field, waving for their favorite player to come over. Teens, young adults, and actual adults were doing the same. At one point, we saw two college age boys (men?) come to the field’s edge. I actually felt a little nervous, automatically thinking, “Okay, what are these guys up to?” What they were up to was making sure that they, too, got a picture with their favorite player. They couldn’t have been more polite or patient as they waded through a crowd of kids two-feet shorter than them.
There was simple beauty everywhere. It was pure bliss. It was the kind of magic this world needs at this exact moment.
Admittedly, by the seventh inning, my brain was tapped out by sensory overload. Admittedly, that seventh inning started past my usual bedtime and I was drained of the unexpected energy needed to keep up with the experience. I’ll be better prepared next time now that I am officially a member of the Banana Ball family.
Maybe that’s just it. Banana Ball is family.
It is not a word you hear often when attending a professional sports event but you do hear it often in Banana Ball. The word is not thrown around performatively. I watched two of my seasoned friends (and several other seasoned strangers) greeted with an “Oh, hey! You’re back! So good to see you!” Could it have all been part of the schtick? Sure. Does it matter? Not at all as those welcoming words brought so much instant joy.
After the game, the stadium’s plaza turned into a post-game party, including more music from singer Sam Tinnez. Much like the pre-game events, I imagine the strategy was to slow down the flow of people, creating a bit of a staggered exit from the parking lot. Honestly? It wasn’t even necessary. How rare is it to enjoy the parking lot experience after an event? Somehow, Banana Ball has even mastered the patient departure. With the previous hours filled with delight, the rush to get to the car was missing. There were no zipper-merge arguments as attendees fought to get to the exit.
It was as if everyone wanted the night to linger just a little longer, knowing that, once that seat belt was locked, they would be leaving Banana Ball’s beautiful bubble.
The following day, my body felt like it had been through a battle. Every muscle ached. I had the fog of an epic hangover, though I’d had nothing to deserve it. My thoughts stayed planted on the previous night, recalling every minute over and over while I pushed through what was an unexpectedly long day. All plans and tasks meant to be checked off were ignored as I realized nothing was actually going to get done. “Whatever, there’s always tomorrow,” became my post-Banana Ball mantra as I nestled into the couch to scroll through the pictures from the previous night.
It was absolute bliss.
I’ll be heading back to Alaska in a few days, which means… a GUEST BLOGGER! Stay tuned for Kathy Crowley’s thoughts on Banana Ball and how she managed to see all SIX teams play this season.
