I’ve always been the guy who insists that if you’re not an hour and a half early to any sporting event… you’re late.
Admittedly my family members have not always appreciated this sentiment.
A few days ago at Nationals Park, though, they were literally running at full enthusiasm from the train stop to the stadium gate at 5:30 for a 7:00 game.
Calling it a sporting event, though?
Either a stretch or an outright lie, depending on whom you asked or perhaps at what point in the evening.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
This past Saturday night I was at Nationals Park, right down the road from me in Washington, D.C., to witness the inaugural “Banana Bowl,” the title game for the Banana Ball Championship League.
You know, the Savannah Bananas and company.
I’ve spilled much ink about the Bananas before, and all of the analogies and superlatives still hold, though I suppose I’m now calling my evening at Camden Yards last August the second-greatest show I’ve ever seen. Last Saturday topped it by a bunch (that’s banana talk), and short of the Rapture itself I don’t think this one will ever succumb to another. At times it was admittedly too much, a sensory overload that had me thinking not of baseball but of the Emperor in Amadeus… too many notes.
Amidst the dancers and acrobats and sword-swallowers, remember, there was a champion to be crowned.
It had been more than 30 years (I think) since I last attended a championship game in any sport, and I’m using the term sport as loosely as I can. No one was taking this too seriously, and there were so many baseball-adjacent sideshows and noise, somehow it was five or six minutes into the game before I realized they’d started. With no rules but self-imposed ones, and seemingly an unlimited budget, Banana Ball Inc. put on a show beyond the Globetrotters, beyond P.T. Barnum, beyond the Grateful Dead. Maybe if Caligula were in charge of Woodstock.
And he sold togas for 200 bucks a pop.
To be honest I’m not really sure what they sold in those pop-up tents that served as souvenir shops. Every single one had a line a mile long, and this was an hour before the game started. We were through the gate by 5:45 for a 7:00 game and my God the place was already packed. I’ve been to Nats games where most of the stadium is empty and they shut down half the concession stands because there’d be no point. Hopefully Nationals Inc. picked up a few tips.
I can’t even imagine the gross receipts on a night like this for the Bananas. And for better or worse, they’re basically a non-profit organization, because they must put every dime right back into the operation. We were treated to a cavalcade of famous guests from all areas of arts and entertainment, from skydiving paratroopers right down to (literally) John Cena hopping out of an army vehicle. I’d love to know the total number of Grammys, Emmys, Olympics medals, Purple Hearts, and various other public accolades achieved by those who stepped on the field during the game, whether to sing a song, take a few hacks, or just wave to an adoring crowd.
All to the soundtrack of eight-second clips of your favorite rock ‘n’ roll hits. Oh, and there’s a kind of baseball game going on too.
At the end of the sixth inning (I think–it was hard to keep track of the innings) a Banana Ball staff member approached our section and had everyone follow her out of our rows and down into the bowels of the stadium. Past security, passed the National Guardsmen, past Dick Cheney’s bunker (I think that’s what it was), and into… the Nationals bullpen. Seriously. We were standing in the Nationals bullpen. (I was very tempted to pick up the phone, I mean, there it was just sitting there.) Various Banana Ball employees were shouting instructions at us (I was worried it was some kind of coordinated dance routine), all to no avail because by then the soundtrack was up to 11. But one moment we were watching the game and the next we were being hustled onto the field. Down the ramp and onto… the field. (The Bananas are famous for getting fans engaged but this was taking it to a whole other level. Literally.) My first time actually stepping on a Major League Baseball field, and yeah, it and the bullpen were at different grades. Did I mention it was in the middle of the game? Anyway, there I am standing in centerfield, too dumbfounded even to operate my phone’s camera function, and I find myself part of a line of people holding up a thin rope. There were two lines, actually, and we’d made a walkway of sorts for a few folks coming towards the infield from straightaway center. Three young men, actually, and I’m told they are brothers. The Jonas Brothers, who are playing a few tunes as part of a surprise concert.
Holy shit.
The final notes are still ringing and we’re hustling off the field like the Beatles circa 1964. Actually the whole thing reminded me of Beatlemania, and the stories I’ve heard that you couldn’t even really hear the music, just the shrieks of 14-year-old girls. Except in this case those shrieks were coming from your otherwise heimish neighbors now under the Banana Ball spell. The whole thing is a St. Vitus Dance, some of it actually choreographed and involving high-level professional athletes.
Speaking of athletes, remember there was a game to be played and a champion to be crowned.
Fast-forward to the bottom of the ninth inning, and the Bananas have a chance to walk off with a win. Funny that the D.C. walk-off master himself, Nationals legend Ryan Zimmerman, had actually pinch hit for the Bananas earlier in the game (against Jordan Zimmerman of all people), but I guess in such cases one lets the rules maintain some integrity. Bananas don’t score in the bottom of the ninth, meaning the game goes to a “Showdown.” (You can’t make this stuff up.)
The visiting Texas Tailgaters bat first, and secure a point with a successful hit in the one-on-one showdown, putting the pressure on the Bananas to match or go home. Mighty Casey was at bat for Savannah in the person of fan favorite (they’re all fan favorites) Danny Oberst, who, for the second time in the game, had a chance to be a hero. Like Casey he fell behind early, and alas, like Casey, his mighty blow met only the D.C. night air. Proof that they don’t script these things, the Tailgaters won the game and the championship, and a giant-ass chair they get to tote around with them all next season. Yeah, that actually was the trophy: a giant throne very much befitting the evening and the entire Banana Ball experience.
If given the opportunity I’d do it all again in a D.C. minute.
And I’d be sure to get there early.