Yankees Mag: My Life in Baseball(ish)

I can see why it wouldn’t make much sense to someone watching for the first time. I raced all the way to the warning track in left field, almost 250 feet in a dead sprint from where I’d started, just in front of second base.

I love sprinting. It’s one of my favorite things about what I get to do, besides the incredible friendships I’ve made, the interactions I’ve had with fans of all ages and the chance to keep playing some kind of baseball. It doesn’t look like what any of us grew up with -- I’ve never seen a big league second baseman run from his position to chase down a ball in the deepest reaches of the outfield, then heave it back toward the infield to catch a runner and win a “Showdown.”

You might not have any idea what I’m talking about. That’s cool. But more and more people are learning every day. The Savannah Bananas have become one of the most reliable sellouts in the entire live entertainment industry, to say nothing of the millions of fans who see snippets of our show on TikTok or Instagram. Nowadays, we roll four teams deep -- we have the Bananas, and also the Party Animals, the Texas Tailgaters and the Firefighters. I’m a Firefighter. It feels weird to say, but also pretty awesome.

A few years back, it was mostly small Minor League parks. Last year, we played some games in Major League stadiums for the first time. This year, we sold out football stadiums. And we finally played in Yankee Stadium. So, you might be confused now. But you probably won’t be for long.

Anyhow, back to that drag race to the outfield. I don’t need a glove, so I chuck it away and break into a sprint. I’m just a greyhound running to the spot where it will eventually land. When I’m running after a ball, all I can hear is the fans. It starts as a low roar, and it gets louder and louder as I close in on the ball. I throw it in and hope and pray. It’s a seed to my pitcher, one of just two teammates I have on the field for the tiebreaking scheme. He whips it home, and the play at the plate isn’t even close. The runner’s out by a mile.

There’s no better feeling in baseball.

Any version of baseball.

***

I’m kind of a natural for Banana Ball. I’m from a small town in North Carolina -- Four Oaks, just me and about 2,000 other people. One of them is my brother, Zachary. He plays with me on the Firefighters. It’s crazy because we’re all like brothers in this clubhouse and on the field. But I’m the only one with an actual blood brother. I keep going back to how lucky I am; that’s just one more example.

But the bigger Banana Ball gets, the more I lean on the things I learned in a small town. I know how to talk to people. That’s what we do in small towns. You love each other, and you interact deeply. People show up to see the Bananas play the Firefighters, and they’re hoping to see something incredible. We deliver, I can promise you that. But we also try as hard as we can to reach each person there, and do it on an individual basis. We talk to the kids, talk to their parents. Throw a ball with them if we can. Jesse Cole, the guy who created Banana Ball, constantly pushes us to try new things, to make the experience even better for the fans. And sometimes that means bringing out a really special guest, or sometimes it means a ridiculous acrobatic feat while you make a catch. But often it’s just saying “Hi,” asking a kid his name and doing your best to remember it. Later, you call that kid by his name, and his mind is blown. Stuff like that is really easy, but it means everything.

That’s what we’re out here to do: Make everyone’s day. How many people get to say that their job is just to make people happy? I didn’t start playing this game to become a dancer or an entertainer or any of those things. But that’s how it turned out. And I have no regrets.

Again, I think it comes down to the small-town thing. I’m just a comfortable guy. I came to baseball late -- I was more into arts and stuff, while my dad and brother played sports. But when I turned 15, I shot up. I must have doubled in size that year. By the time I was playing college baseball at UNC Wilmington, I was attracting attention from pro teams. I was spending my summers in the Cape Cod League, and more than holding my own both in those showcases and during the college season. My junior year, I was second in the nation in stolen bases. But then COVID hit, and the Draft was shortened from 40 rounds to five. Teams told me they had me somewhere between the sixth and eighth round on their boards. I got offered a chance to sign a free-agent deal after my junior year, but my coach warned me that I would be on the shortest leash imaginable. Strike out twice, he told me, and they might just send you home. So I went back to school, but I didn’t get drafted again. I was older, and I heard through the grapevine that teams were worried about taking a chance on me after I had decided not to sign the year before.

Which is how I found myself patrolling center field for the Wilmington Sharks, playing in the Coastal Plain League against the Savannah Bananas. At the time, the Bananas were still playing standard independent baseball, just with a bit more character and fun thrown in. And it just so happens that in Wilmington, the broadcasters are behind the center-field wall, so I was able to interact with the voices of the Bananas the whole game when they played at our park. They were having fun on the broadcast, and I was trying to banter right back at them. After we played a few games, some folks with the Bananas had noticed me, and they told me, “We have some games coming up after the season when we’re going to be playing with our own twist on the sport. You should join us!”

I went to play six games with them and just fell in love with it. They threw me into the fire completely. I had to dance on ESPN for the first time! I didn’t know what was going on, but I enjoyed it and bought into it. And they loved me. The fans loved me.

At the time, it seemed like pro teams were done looking at me. Meanwhile, the Bananas were treating me like family. Eventually, they offered me a contract for the 2023 Bananas season. Amazingly, right after that, a big league organization reached out. They told me that I was the top outfielder on their board in 2020, and they wanted to know if I was still playing and still in shape. I told them that I was in the best shape of my life, playing better than I ever had in college. But I had just signed a deal with the Bananas. Forget about how tough it is to make it as a minor leaguer; how could I turn my back on the people who had believed in me? The guys from the MLB team were professional on the phone, but I can only imagine the way they rolled their eyes when I turned them down to play for what they saw as a glorified barnstorming circus act.

That’s the impression a lot of people have about what we do. And that’s fine. If they see the TikToks and the clips and don’t take us seriously as baseball players, we’ll live. Hopefully, they enjoy the show anyhow. But I’m telling you, the baseball is legit. I played against some top competition in college and on the Cape. Guys who went on to big league careers. It’s different here, no doubt, because what we’re trying to do is different. But this past year, the clubbies in the big league parks have been telling us at almost every stop that we’re blowing their minds with the skill that we show.

The best way I can describe what we do is that we play backyard baseball for millions of fans. Every guy I play with and against is a brother to me, even the guys who aren’t actually my brother. We love each other, and we really love beating each other. Think about the way any of you wanted to beat your brother or sister. That’s us. We’re trying to put on a wholesome show and make the fans happy, but we want to win. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about my stats, and I’m not sure what our record is. But every time I’m on the field, whether when I was playing for the Bananas or now when I’m playing against them, I want to win so bad.

But the thing is, the fans here, they just don’t care that much. And that’s absolutely incredible. They’re in it for the show. During the first game at Yankee Stadium, for my first at-bat, I was walked to the plate by Sam Tinnesz as he sang his song, “Legends Are Made.” Seriously, it was a pretty awesome way to take the field.

Then I struck out on three pitches. Noah Niznik … I face him all the time. He’s never thrown me a curveball. I’m like, “You choose now to break that out, bro!?” And we can laugh about it, because it was time to move on to the next moment. We don’t dwell on failure when everyone all around us is smiling. We try to put ourselves last and focus on everyone around us. It’s incredible.

***

Sometimes I can’t believe the opportunities I’ve enjoyed by getting involved with this sport and, I guess, showing some skills -- even unconventional ones. I had a coach tell me a long time ago that baseball is not the destination, it’s the vehicle. Let it take you wherever it’s going to take you. I’m a Christian, and a bunch of us have a team Bible study together. We get into the Word together and make each other better. I don’t take for granted the platform I have by being part of this operation.

But there’s so much that goes beyond that. Earlier this year, I got a chance to participate in MLB’s Home Run Derby X, an incredible competition that mixes MLB legends, top female players and some other folks, including guys like me. I was representing the Yankees, and Nick Swisher -- who loves showing up at Bananas games and had an at-bat during the Sept. 14 game at Yankee Stadium --- was one of my teammates. I can’t get over how much he made me feel like a brother, a teammate. I was wearing a Yankees jersey, No. 9. One of my favorite baseball players ever is Roger Maris -- I promise, I’m not just saying that to pander to Yankees fans! -- and I couldn’t believe they gave me his number. I’m thinking, Uh, I’m pretty sure this number’s retired. I can’t wear this! Nick was like, “No, man, that’s your number!” It felt a bit like stolen valor.

And I’ll be honest, there’s times I feel like a bit of an impostor when I’m wearing the Firefighters jersey. I play Banana Ball for a living, and I’m proud of what I do, but let’s not kid ourselves. We have a few actual firefighters on the roster, but I’m not sure I’d ever even been to a firehouse before I joined this team. So, it wasn’t lost on me that we were playing in New York City the weekend after the 24th anniversary of 9/11. I was just 2 years old on that terribly tragic day, but I know how much it impacted so many people. I know what it means around New York.

The plan was for us to take the field, each of us accompanying a New York firefighter, many of whom were at Ground Zero on 9/11. We walked out holding the “WE WILL NEVER FORGET” banner that was hung over the wreckage. We unfolded it, held it together, then were each introduced along with a real hero, in my case Lt. Erik Lahoda, who was on the scene on that awful day. That was some of the rawest emotion I’ve ever experienced. I shook his hand and gave him a hug. Said, “God bless your soul, man.” And I saw a look on his face that’s hard to describe. It gave me chills. The next day, we got a message from the group; they said that the experience of having everyone in Yankee Stadium go wild in support of first responders brought them back to the immediate aftermath of 9/11, when this country showered respect and affection on the people who devote their lives to service and sacrifice. It was special to be a part of giving them that moment.

But believe it or not, that wasn’t the most memorable part for me. It was immediately after. We folded the banner back up, but it’s so big, so we couldn’t see the guys on the other side. It was like there was a veil between us. And all the firefighters -- the ballplayers and the real heroes -- kept joking about all kinds of things during that whole walk back into the tunnel. It was hilarious, some of the funniest things I’ve ever heard. It was exactly like the normal banter we have together in the clubhouse or on the bus, and they said it’s the same way they interact in the firehouse. It really helped me understand the brotherhood of firefighters, and as a rep of Bananaland’s Firefighters, it’s the most I’ve felt connected to the word on the front of my jersey. I will never forget it.

***

There are a lot of great moments during every Banana Ball show. We had plenty at Yankee Stadium, from legends such as Swisher and Joe Torre showing up, to Eli Manning cosplaying as an umpire, to Damian Priest throwing the Golden Banana. We had some epic music performances, including all the Bananas singing “My Shot” from Hamilton with Miguel Cervantes, who played the role on Broadway for years. There was also the “normal” stuff we do, as ridiculous as that might seem. The dances, the celebrations, the nonstop party.

Every night, though, after the eighth inning, wherever we are, we get the whole crowd to sing “Yellow” by Coldplay. At night games, the ballpark gets lit up by cellphone flashlights. I’m telling you, it knocks me out every single time. I’m in awe of the scope of this whole thing now, how much bigger it has gotten, how much bigger it can still get. I can’t even imagine what’s in store for next year or beyond. I just know that Jesse Cole and his wife, Emily, and everyone involved in creating this thing are geniuses. Legit masterminds.

I feel it in my heart and my soul during “Yellow,” but when I’m running 250 feet to chase down a ball during a tiebreaking “Showdown,” I feel it in the rest of my body. Man, I was gassed. But there’s no feeling in the world like gunning down a runner from the outfield wall.

When they told me about the Showdown rules, I was like, “Yes. This is my jam. I will dominate this.” A play at the plate is one of the most high-impact, high-energy plays in baseball. And in a Showdown, you’re going to get that moment every single time. And that’s what we want. We want the highest energy.

It might not look like anything you’ve seen in a baseball game, but it shouldn’t; this is Banana Ball. It’s its own thing, which is awesome. It’s massive and it’s getting bigger, and I can’t say enough about how lucky I am to be a part of it. It’s incredible when we put on those jerseys and get to make thousands of kids smile. It’s awesome to see their parents’ cynicism wash away, as they buy in to everything we’re doing, even when they have no clue what popular meme we’re spoofing or who we’re satirizing. Maybe some of them didn’t know any of the special guests at Yankee Stadium other than the Yankees players. I feel pretty confident that we still gave them more than enough to make it one of the most memorable days they’ll ever have at a ballpark.

It’s what we try to do every day, and it’s what we’re going to keep doing. I hope to see you down the road, in your home or ours. I hope to do enough to make you remember my name; I promise to do my best to remember yours.

Jon Schwartz is the deputy editor of Yankees Magazine. This story appears in the October 2025 edition. Get more articles like this delivered to your doorstep by purchasing a subscription to Yankees Magazine at www.yankees.com/publications.