To be honest, I’ve probably been aware of Bananaball for the better part of two years. As someone who regularly watches college sports via ESPN+, there was an interstitial screen for when they ran out of commercials. They would highlight the various 30 For 30 docs they had produced and did their best to give incentive to press play when your event was over. By itself, it’s an effective ad that’s hypnotic and dazzling in all the ways that flashy colors on a Jumbotron tend to be. However, it would sometimes play for minutes on end with a looping track underneath to the point you wanted to risk checking back in 10 minutes.
Somewhere in the montage was this baseball player holding a banana. It stands out for a myriad of reasons, but mostly because it’s a fruit that I haven’t often seen. Where was this magical “Bananaland” that the title card alluded to? The more that it appeared, the easier it was to become fixated on this image and question its origin. As someone who doesn’t follow any MLB team (or the minors) during their regular season, I was willing to believe it was somebody from the Midwest. Some colleges had ears of corn as a mascot and a bushel of wheat. There were some weird decisions out there. I’m not sure why anyone would choose a banana, but it’s not my business to delegate those decisions.
Cut to 2025. The summer is starting up, and everything is getting into that lazy haze as the sun beats down and everyone pulls out the coolers. It’s a time when everything is taken less seriously, and the carefree attitude becomes the code of the people. On ESPN, they have the ever-delightful “The Ocho,” which produces a fine array of offbeat competitions that make you believe in human ingenuity. Put it on during the weekend, and you’ll likely find your new favorite hobby, provided you have the funds to pay for trampolines and basketball hoops.
And then there’s Bananaball…
One afternoon as I was looking for some way to pass the time, I saw those words appear again. The Savannah Bananas were on a supposed “World Tour” where they were scheduled to play The Firefighters. Without anything better to do, I decided to tune in and see what Banana TV was all about.
The term I would use to describe what I witnessed is something akin to “culture shock.” Even to look at the stadiums that The Bananas played at is to feel like you’re living in a different world. These are the stadiums where some of MLB’s most beloved teams play. They’re going to Fenway Park and selling to near capacity for two teams that I had never heard of until an hour ago. There was this whole culture that felt tribalistic and presented something innovative within one of the oldest pastimes. People were yelling catchphrases and playing along with the announcer.
Bananaball is a relatively new phenomenon that is the sport’s equivalent to The Harlem Globetrotters. Even if the athletes are versatile and play a legitimate game, there is this showmanship that you can’t help but zoom in on. There is something unexpected in watching an average pitch because there’s a chance third base will toss to first from behind the back or the outfielder will do a “trick play” where he catches the ball while doing a backflip. By the later innings, they play into the pageantry by having the “tallest athlete” in sports come out on stilts to throw a few pitches. There are celebrity guest hitters and, in the case of the Fenway Park game, a concert by The All-American Rejects. It is as much a spectacle as it is something to take in for a fun afternoon with family and friends.
After watching my first game, I reached out to others to discuss what they knew about The Bananas. From what I gather, it’s not dissimilar from the film The Bingo Long Travelling All-Stars & Motor Kings (1976) where a small, no-name baseball team is struggling with attendance and decides to rebrand by infusing the game with eccentricity. As far as I know, The Bananas have far fewer behind the scenes hijinks to account for, but otherwise promise a similar experience. There’s clowning around as prizes are handed out, and the outfield does elaborate dance routines between innings.
This has apparently caught on so much that demand is high. In my conversations, I learned that people I knew were trying to get tickets for their stop at Angel Stadium in Anaheim, CA. While the prices were relatively cheap, they were often in the nosebleeds. This was a place that sat over 45,000 patrons. For a sport that was silly and ephemeral, it was being treated like Beyoncé hitting SoFi Stadium. People who did attend admitted to having a great time, and I think that I can see why.
As of this publication, I have fallen back on watching games whenever I have free time on the weekend. Part of it is to try and understand the larger operation, but it’s also an incredible novelty that I haven’t seen elsewhere. Not since Holey Moley has a humdrum sport gotten an addictive, radical reboot. This was an institution like no other. Even the away teams (or those not playing) had audience members sporting their gear. With talks of a championship bracket coming in future seasons, I’m convinced this will be a big deal further down the line.
For now, I want to compliment their impeccable branding. In a three-hour broadcast on ESPN, you can expect to find a pregame show along with the actual game. While a lot of the pregame is the familiar interviews, there’s also behind the scenes footage of players getting ready for the game or introducing viewers to the world of Bananaball. I’ve heard the rules a few times now, but it all seems so at odds with MLB standards that it’s still hard for me to process. Apparently, there is a difference between points and runs, and I’m not totally sure why.
A lot of the pregame is action-driven, with segments finding anchors walking around the field as they take account of attendance. Elsewhere, they find the rituals starting to unfold, including a group of older male cheerleaders who may be the most body-positive dancers I’ve seen anywhere. There is encouragement that makes things as silly as tying a shirt above your belly not be frowned upon. There’s also a very fun segment in which they pick a child from the audience to peel a banana before the game and taste it. A “good” banana means a good game, and likewise for bad. When announcing the starting line-up, The Bananas tend to have a lengthy introduction as certain players run between different positions to show just how many roles they’ll play by the end of the night.
If there is one feature that I greatly appreciate about a Bananaball game, it’s the time limit. If traditional baseball has had any valid complaint, it’s that the games are unpredictably long and sometimes feel much longer. This has been remedied a bit thanks to a pitcher's clock, but casual fans will notice the weight of a sixth inning as they await the final three. Maybe they will matter. Maybe they won’t. Having no time limit means the risk of leaving might come at the expense of missing a greater reward.
By having a time limit, Bananaball feels more purposeful. There is urgency to get as far into the game as possible before the bell dings. While I haven’t seen a game fail to reach the ninth inning, there is still that thrill of the unexpected happening. Maybe there’s something last-minute that will happen and suddenly The Bananas aren’t a surefire deal. Even if most people go to root for the heroes, there’s still the idea that they don’t win 100% of the time. Another amazing thing about Bananaball is that the structure allows for innings to be done in the blink of an eye. Some innings could be over by the time you get back from pouring yourself a drink in the kitchen. Everyone is locked in and ready to make the game as intense as they can.
My sample size is based only on two games and thus may not reflect the larger season. Part of me wants to believe that they have teams other than The Bananas headline the game once in a while. However, these summer games create the perfect promotional materials for attending a game in the first place. There’s constant chatting. It may be baseball, but there’s an intensity that makes it closer to more interactive sports. It’s pure pandemonium, and I love the infectious culture around it. There are delightful moments you see on TV, and it somehow becomes your dream to see them in person.
I know that I could break down the larger sport in more critical detail, but it feels like it goes against the heart of what bananaball is about. It’s about having a good time and watching people do some of the craziest baseball that you’ve seen. The first time you see an outfielder catch a ball amid a backflip will distort your reality. It makes you ask if MLB is really as professional as they say, or if these wild risk takers are just as valid in their pursuit of a good time.
All in all, it feels good to have stopped by Bananaland and see what they have to offer. Much like the promo I saw hundreds of times in a weekend for years, I don’t know that a banana makes sense as a symbolic fruit for a sport. If anything, the comedic nature is up there with The Santa Cruz Slugs or Reese's University. It shouldn’t make sense, but it does, and it makes you want to believe that the world will continue to embrace new ideas that push our potential into further absurdities. I wouldn’t say that I’m its biggest fan yet, but this summer has definitely made me a convert who will probably tune in a few more times before they close up shop for the year.
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