Latest news with #EmilyCole
Chicago Tribune
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Chicago Tribune
Savannah Bananas come to Chicago for the 1st time: ‘It's the hottest sporting event you can go to'
The Chicago White Sox stadium will be filled this weekend, but not because of Luis Robert Jr. and company. You won't see black jerseys but a splash of yellow instead. The Savannah Bananas come to Rate Field on Friday and Saturday for a pair of sold-out games as part of their 2025 Banana Ball World Tour. It's the first time the viral, groovy baseball team will play in Chicago. 'Chicago is actually (on our) top-five list of interests from fans,' team co-owner Emily Cole said. 'It's a very highly anticipated city for us. The White Sox have been wonderful to work with.' The games start at 7 p.m., but game day can be an all-day affair. Fans can meet players, mascots and team officials at 2 p.m. at the 'pregame plaza' located in the parking lot north of 35th Street. The 'Before the Peel' show begins at 3, and those with tickets to the game can get autographs from players, sing karaoke or dance to the Banana Pep Band and a DJ. Fans can choose their own adventure, and Cole believes they get their money's worth. 'It's the greatest show, the greatest party and the hottest sporting event you can go to,' she said. 'It will bring family and friends together so that they can all enjoy something at the same time.' Bananas games are competitive and unscripted — this weekend's games are against the Firefighters, one of three touring partner teams — but they look different from what baseball fans are used to. The teams play by Banana Ball rules, which have a goal of keeping fans entertained. A prominent one is the two-hour time limit. When the Bananas began in 2016 as a wooden-bat college summer league team, Cole and her husband and co-owner, Jesse Cole, put cameras on fans to track behaviors: when they left for the bathroom, when they looked at their phones, etc. They realized when fans zoned out and wanted to minimize fans leaving early. 'If we start at 7 p.m., we were shown that folks got up to leave at around 9 p.m.,' Cole said. 'Fan habits were showing us that two hours was about the limit.' Among the other rules: Cole sees these as an 'evolution' of baseball. 'Look at the game of baseball, what parts don't add excitement? Let's do the opposite,' Cole said. 'We're developing Banana Ball behind closed doors, working toward it and twisting it around.' In the development of Banana Ball, there are no bad ideas. Jesse Cole — perhaps while wearing his yellow tuxedo — has thrown some wild pitches in brainstorming sessions. 'The wildest idea that I continue to shoot down is that Jesse would like all of our players to skydive to a position,' Emily Cole said. 'Maybe it will happen, but that's a wild one. If that's our limit, then we've got a pretty wide berth of things we can do.' If you've been on TikTok, you've probably seen the Bananas dance numbers. In a 3-2-2 — third pitch to the second batter in the second inning — players and umpires will bust a move. On a scale of one to 10, Cole said the dancing will be at an 11. Bananas players put immense effort into the dances. Starting pitcher Ryan Kellogg said the team spends the hour before first pitch rehearsing, as well as sessions during the week. The team has danced to various artists such as Morgan Wallen, Taylor Swift and Mariah Carey. Kellogg, who stands 6-foot-6, said he's improving at the dance breaks. 'I am not a good dancer,' he said, 'but I will say that I've gotten better.' The Chicago trip will find Kellogg in familiar territory. The 31-year-old was drafted by the Cubs in the fifth round in 2015 after a successful career at Arizona State. In six minor-league seasons he posted a 20-28 record, 4.12 ERA, 1.36 WHIP and 316 strikeouts in 137 games. 'I'm very excited to be back in Chicago,' Kellogg said. 'My parents are there and it's always a good time.' Kellogg's major-league dreams were cut short when the Cubs released him in 2021. After one season in an independent league, he was without a team in 2023. While on vacation with his wife in Mexico, he contacted a friend to see if there was a baseball opportunity in that country. That's when he was pointed to Savannah, Ga., where the Bananas needed an arm. 'When the Cubs didn't renew my contract at the end of '21, I thought it was going to be the end of it,' Kellogg said. 'Having this opportunity now, I'm getting to do it in a fun way that brings the fun back to the game.' It required a slight transition to the new rules — especially the no-walks rule — but Kellogg was on board with the Coles' vision. While it's still competition, the emphasis on fun is a nice change of pace. 'Don't get me wrong, I love baseball, but this is a different way (where) not everything is about performance like it was in the minors or college,' Kellogg said. 'It frees you up a little bit and allows you to have fun and be a kid again.' Added Emily Cole: 'We're at a point now where people are choosing to play with us over other opportunities, and that speaks a lot to the idea that they just have fun playing Banana Ball. We got into baseball for the love of the game, but then it gets too competitive or it becomes a job and we lose some of that love. 'Our goal is to go out there and have fun (being) around the game we grew up loving. I wish everyone in the world could wake up and have a job they're excited to go to.' In the minors, players get fined for signing autographs during a game. The Bananas not only give out autographs, but also interact with the crowd in other ways. Fans should expect to be involved with the game, including dancing and even the chance to use a fan challenge to reverse a call. 'One of our main focuses is to break down that barrier between athletes and the fans,' Emily Cole said. 'So (these rules) are a great way to do that.' Jesse Cole was born about 25 miles south of Boston. He had a childhood dream of playing for the Red Sox, but a shoulder injury in college diverted his baseball path to coaching. He was sitting in a dugout when he developed an unexpected feeling. He was bored. Cole went to North Carolina to run the Gastonia Grizzlies — a team in the Coastal Plain League, a summer league for college players — and decided to shake things up. When Emily saw Jesse for the first time, she saw something she never had before. 'He's the general manager of the team, keep in mind,' Emily said in a '60 Minutes' interview. 'He's on the field teaching his players how to do the 'Thriller' dance.' They were married three years later. Together they launched a new Coastal Plain League team in 2016 in Georgia, naming it the Savannah Bananas. Concessions were all you can eat, and the focus was fun over competition. They won three championships in seven years but left the league in 2022 to pursue Banana Ball year-round. The Bananas have three touring partners — the Party Animals, Firefighters and Texas Tailgaters — and they sold out most of their 2025 tour, including some NFL stadiums. But popularity often comes with disdain. Some see Banana Ball as an embarrassment to baseball, a silly version of the sport. The Coles hear the criticism — but not over the love from the Bananas faithful. 'Whenever you do something different in life, society has taught you to look down on that thing,' Emily Cole said. 'There are a lot of people that don't agree, and that's OK. We are true to ourselves and we believe that there are plenty of people out there that want to be entertained like this.' This weekend's games will be full of home runs, dancing and a version of baseball Chicago will see for the first time. Kellogg said there's a 99.9% chance that fans will want to see the Bananas again. 'You will not be bored for any period of time while you're at the ballpark,' he said.
CBS News
09-08-2025
- Entertainment
- CBS News
Savannah Bananas celebrate foster families with Bananas Foster nonprofit
The Savannah Bananas craze has officially hit Colorado. Banana Ball debuts at Coors Field in Denver this weekend, featuring sold-out, fast-paced, creative baseball games, entertaining fans of all ages. While crowds are dazzled by their performances on the field, co-founder Emily Cole says the team is honored to give back to the communities they visit in other ways as well. During games, the Bananas celebrate foster families and encourage others to get involved with their nonprofit extension, Bananas Foster. Having spent years highlighting youth living in foster care here in Colorado in weekly Wednesday's Child stories, CBS Colorado talked with Cole prior to their Denver visit. "My husband Jesse and I are foster parents," said Cole. "We have adopted our two daughters out of foster care, so we've seen first-hand the struggles that are going on in the system, and we've been doing it for about six years now. We started Bananas Foster in 2023." The Coles got into foster care in a non-traditional way. "I was looking at adoption with my husband, not because we couldn't have children. We have a biological son; it was just something that was on my heart, and I was thinking about adoption and there is such a beautiful space for private international domestic adoption. In my research, I learned about foster care. It made me stop in my tracks and say, rather than wait for a baby to be born to adopt, there are 400,000 children right now in America who need a mom figure." Cole knows that being a foster family is a triumph. That's what keeps Bananas Foster going. "We say, 'Hey, this incredible family is doing this right in your community.' And they get standing ovations, and my favorite part is when we walk them off the field and the crowd is coming into the stairwell and people are hugging and high-fiving and saying I had no idea this was going on in my community." "There are probably people like me who just need to hear about it," continued Cole. "And people who have the love to give and who have a home and want to share it with kids who need them. So here we are, shouting it from the rooftops." To nominate a foster family to be recognized at an upcoming Savannah Bananas game, click here.
Yahoo
03-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Why the Savannah Bananas — not the Dallas Cowboys — are America's Team
SAVANNAH, Ga. — It's hours before first pitch at historic Grayson Stadium, and a swirl of strange and disconnected activity covers the field. Down the right-field line, two ballplayers in banana-yellow jerseys are getting loose, firing easy warmup tosses at one another with more velocity than you've ever thrown anything in your life. At the netting behind home plate, a young girl holds up a sign proclaiming in multicolored lettering that she's here to celebrate her '9th b-day.' Overhead, speakers play a rotating sequence of singalong songs — 'Shout,' 'YMCA,' 'Don't Stop Believin'.' So far, a normal enough scene at a lazy-summer minor-league ballpark. But look in another direction, and you'll see two players rehearsing a complicated handstand-into-a-faceplant onto air mattresses. Near the visiting dugout, two players are standing in front of an iPhone on a tripod, pressing play on a video and mimicking the dance moves onscreen, again and again. Out by home plate, a dozen players are following a choreographer's moves, kicking, dipping, twisting and spinning as the Black-Eyed Peas' 'Imma Be' plays overhead. This is Bananaland, and strange as it seems, this is now the territory of conquerors. You probably know the basics of the Savannah Bananas, the minor league team-turned-traveling extravaganza that combines baseball with theater, sport and performance art colliding in a frenetic, high-energy show. Built by owners Jesse and Emily Cole on the bones of a collegiate summer league, the Bananas play 'Banana Ball,' a version of baseball with its own set of rules — whoever scores the most runs in an inning gets a point, for instance, and if a fan catches a foul ball, the batter is out. The Bananas have starred in documentaries, sold out minor-league stadiums, even hosted an ocean cruise. And they've almost certainly turned up on your social media feed, players dancing to 'The Greatest Showman' or 'Thunderstruck' in between pitches. We're for the fans, and fans come for an escape from everything. We don't have a political ideology. We don't have a religious ideology. We're just Bananas, you know. We're here to make people happy. Zack Frongillo Somewhere along the line, though, the Bananas broke contain. They graduated from minor-league parks to major-league venues, selling out legendary ballparks like Fenway Park and Camden Yards. During a recent weekend in Los Angeles, Bananas tickets sold on the secondary market for more than tickets to an actual Dodgers-Yankees World Series rematch. And now, this cavalcade of dancing goofballs has leveled up again, selling out straight-up NFL stadiums. Banana Ball has invaded places like Tampa, Nashville and Charlotte, selling out all the way up to the upper-deck light fixtures. It's fair to wonder how in the world the Bananas could draw tens of thousands of people to a football stadium to watch baseball … provided, that is, you've never seen the Bananas yourself in person. If your entire experience with the Bananas is a steady stream of goofy dances on your feed, it'd be easy to slag off the entire enterprise as silly and inconsequential — and, this being 2025, many social media cranks have done just that . But look a little deeper. We're in an era where major sports franchises, in their perpetual quest to improve profitability and valuation, now treat their fans as either perpetual ATMs or irrelevant nuisances. It's damn near impossible to follow your favorite team on a daily basis without shelling out hundreds in streaming service subscription costs. Professional athletes are more walled-off than ever before from their fans, throwing crumbs of social media postings while remaining resolutely distant. Arrogant, angry blather dominates sports media, the strongest remaining connection between teams and their fans. At every turn, teams, athletes and media all exploit fans' love and devotion for their own petty, selfish, short-sighted, profit-taking ends. It's never been more expensive to be a fan, and it's never been less fulfilling, either. Is it any wonder, then, that a group of goofballs who are clearly enjoying themselves has found an unexpected connection with fans? Everyone else, it seems, has lost the plot on what sports ought to be, a diversion and an inspiration. By both happy accident and deliberate design, the Bananas have stepped into this void left behind by misguided major professional sports leagues … and they're TikTok-dancing all the way to the bank. The Savannah Bananas do a line dance on the infield at Fenway Park. (Boston Globe via Getty Images) This isn't a hack 'journalist goes to small-town ballpark in search of a vanished America' story, but if it was, Grayson Stadium would be an ideal starting point. Nestled among long avenues of oaks draped with Spanish moss, the park has hosted everyone from Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth — who beat the Georgia Teachers College 15-1 here back in 1935 — to John Smoltz and Chipper Jones. 'Grayson's great, because this is our home,' says Andy Archer, a surfer-turned-pitcher for the Bananas. (Every player here has a wild backstory.) 'This is where we get recharged, this is where the game of Banana Ball was created, this is where the most intimate interactions with fans are, because this is our smallest venue.' That's a hell of a humblebrag, but it also happens to be true. About five thousand fans will pack Grayson on this warm night in late June, chattering, stomping, eating and drinking their way through two hours of gameplay. Some of them will be dialed in to the game, some of them will be more focused on their nachos, but all of them are going to get an experience unlike anything else in sports right now. I've come here to see if I can understand how the Bananas are building deep fan connections while other franchise fan connections are fraying, expanding their tent while other teams are plotting ever-more-complex ways to soak their existing customers. And it all starts with the free food. We could raise prices, but … why? If we can build a sustainable company and take care of people, then that's enough for us. Bananas co-owner Emily Cole Yes, free. Augusta National justifiably gets praise for its $1.50 pimento cheese sandwiches, and the Atlanta Falcons have a fan-friendly menu that lets you fill up on gameday essentials for about $10 a head. But the Bananas have them both beat; every ticket entitles you to as many Cokes, hot dogs, burgers, chicken sandwiches, and cookies as you can cram down. (Ice cream, alcoholic beverages and other items actually do require payment, but a reasonable one.) 'We would rather people feel like they're getting just outrageous value, and tell others about that, than try to nickel-and-dime them in the short term, and they feel like, Ugh, I just don't know if I could do that ever again,' team president Jared Orton says. That little tweak — fold the food into the price of a $35 ticket — is part of what's making the Bananas so popular. Consciously or not, the Bananas have become a de facto antidote to so much of what modern American professional sports have become — money-focused, arrogant, distant, corporate. Sure, you may not be a big fan of a pitcher dancing to 'Time of My Life' after a strikeout, but you've got to admit … it's a lot better than paying $18 for a beer after getting nailed for $40 in ticket service fees. (That $35 ticket is the total price, by the way. Fees included. You're welcome.) Of course, the free food only goes so far. The Bananas have to deliver on the field as well, and that's where they've cracked the sports-entertainment code. The players on the Bananas — and their 'rival' teams, the Party Animals, Tailgaters and Firefighters — are ballplayers first, entertainers second. 'What makes the game of Banana Ball pretty strong is that it's rooted in baseball players,' says Danny Hosley, a former college ballplayer who left a masters program to suit up for the Bananas. 'If you just got a bunch of entertainers to come out here and jazz everybody with all this stuff, to a baseball fan, it would just [be], I don't want to watch that, it's not real baseball.' You can't fake a fastball. And you can't script a home run. The run-of-show bits — and there are so, so many, throughout the entire two-hour game — don't get off the ground if the players fail to commit, and then execute. 'The game changes a little bit, but ultimately there's a guy on the mound trying to get you out, and you're trying to take the guy deep,' says Jake Skole, one of the black-and-pink-suited Party Animals. 'There's still the competitiveness there, which is cool, and at my age (33), we get to put on a uniform and compete every day. … It's the best part.' Skole is perhaps the best example of what the Bananas offer to potential players. He's a former first-round draft pick of the Texas Rangers — he was picked a few spots after Bryce Harper and Manny Machado — who later played college football in the late 2010s at Georgia. (He was part of the team that was on the wrong end of Alabama's 2nd-and-26 national title.) He jumped at the chance to join the Bananas family, even though he admits to some trepidation early on. 'When I first showed up and we were walking into rehearsals, I'm like, 'Rehearsals?' I'm still not the best dancer on the team, but I'm more open to getting goofy and doing things,' he says. 'You have to lose a bit of your seriousness when it comes to some preparation, understanding that in one of your four at bats, there might be a ball on fire coming your way.' The Savannah Bananas greet fans under the grandstands of Fenway Park before the game. (Boston Globe via Getty Images) That hypothetical 'ball on fire' is the second element of the Bananas' talent + entertainment equation, and it's a key reason why the Bananas have eclipsed the current statistically-driven game in the key metric of 'fun.' Pro baseball swung so deep into the realm of analytics — multiple pitching changes, interminable at-bats, fielding shifts — that the sport needed a fundamental come-to-Jesus moment to save baseball from itself. The Bananas understand that baseball fans don't come to a game to watch dueling executions of probabilities. They come to the ballpark to see dingers and strikeouts, executed by players who look like they actually enjoy playing a kids' game for money. 'What makes a good Banana Ball player is, in a weird way, the ability to compartmentalize the entire experience,' Orton says. 'The ability to be great on the field, off the field, with fans, with kids, create content, be great on video, be willing to not take yourself too seriously but still take your craft very seriously in what you do. That's what it takes.' That balance — being serious about having fun — is at the heart of the Bananas experience. From the moment the ropes drop — and that literally happens, the team drops ropes to welcome in its first fans — you're in the center of nonstop spectacle, everything from a New Orleans-style second-line march to a receiving line of players for every fan entering the park to singalongs in the courtyard in front of the stadium … and that's all before the first pitch. Once the game begins … strap in, friend, because you're in for a ride. The Bananas have stripped down every element of the current sporting experience to the studs and rebuilt it with a new emphasis on the fan. Games are 120 fully-packed minutes, no more. Costs are up-front and obvious. Parking and concessions, at least at Grayson, are fixed, controlled and cheap-to-free. The players are fully committed at every moment, whether they're on the field or right there in the stands next to you. There aren't long, dull TV timeouts or interminable video reviews. There's no advertising on the walls at Grayson. The focus is entirely on the production in front of you — the production you've paid for once, so there's no need to keep squeezing you for more. It's all literally like a live-action TikTok scroll. There's barely time to take in one moment before another bit of spectacle comes rushing in. For example: major-league ballplayers have one walkup song playing as they approach the plate. Bananas players will have three or four different songs playing while they're at bat. You get started singing along to one tune, bang, here comes another right after it. The entire experience is whiplash-quick and frantic, but then so's a rollercoaster, and nobody boards one of those expecting a leisurely ride. 'We're taking inspiration from WWE, Cirque du Soleil, Instagram, YouTube, TikTok,' says Bananas entertainment director Zack Frongillo. 'We're being very intentional, watching what people are enjoying, and figuring out how to take that and implement it onto a baseball field. … As long as we can move fast and jump on trends, it's super-easy for our creative muscles to work.' Tonight's of-the-moment celebrations include references to the Jell-O shot competition at the College World Series and the notorious escaped Tennessee zebra. (A Party Animals player dressed as a zebra scampers across the infield between innings before being swept up in a net and carried back to the dugout.) Throughout the entire chaotic endeavor, in-uniform players from both teams make their way up into the stands, shaking hands, signing autographs and posing for selfies as the game goes on behind them. There's a brief recognition of the military — players in the stands shake servicemembers' hands — but the Bananas' focus is decidedly apolitical. 'We're for the fans, and fans come for an escape from everything,' Frongillo says. 'We don't have a political ideology. We don't have a religious ideology. We're just Bananas, you know. We're here to make people happy.' It's OK to cast a cynical eye at that; in an era defined by for-us-or-against-us, we're all suspicious of anyone who proclaims to stand outside it all. But that's our fault, not the Bananas; there really was a time in this country where we didn't run every single public or social interaction through an is-it-OK-to-like-this? political lens. The Bananas are, in that sense, a throwback, and it's clear that fans are reacting positively. 'What we try to do is bring in people who every single person in the audience can look at and say, I aspire to be that person,' Emily Cole says. 'Maybe for the little girls, it's Princess Potassia, right? Maybe for a young middle or high schooler who plays the tuba, maybe they're watching the Bananas Pep Band. For Dad, maybe he's watching the Mananas, the Dad Bod Cheer Squad, and he's like, Someday I'm going to be out there with them. For Grandma, maybe she's watching the Banana Nanas and saying, That's who I aspire to be. … Regardless of your age or your background or your interests, there should be something at our shows that will make you excited and make you want to go meet that person.' That connectivity — the bond between performer and audience, between player and fan — is at the heart of the Bananas experience, a bond that simply can't exist on opposite sides of a phone screen, or at the end of an algorithm. Not only that, the players seem like they're having a heck of a lot of fun, too. They fist-bump fans upon arrival to the park, they pose for pics, they sign anything and everything put in front of them. In a world where so many Baby Kobes are trying so hard to look hard , that openness and willingness to engage on the fans' level, isn't just refreshing … it's necessary. A sold out Bank of America Stadium sports a baseball diamond during the exhibition game between the Savannah Bananas and the Party Animals. Nearly 150,000 fans showed up for two games at the stadium where the Carolina Panthers play. (IMAGN IMAGES via Reuters Connect / Reuters) Which brings us around to those massive NFL stadiums. Pretty much the only element of the Bananas experience that's more difficult for the average fan than a 'real' baseball game is the actual purchase of tickets. There's a waiting list and a lottery and a whole lot of hope and prayer involved … and for a team that prides itself on delivering a reliably enjoyable experience to its fans, that's a real chokepoint. The departure from Savannah was a necessity for the Bananas to keep serving their legions of fans. Grayson only has a capacity of 5,000, and with a waiting list of 3 million, the math wasn't mathing. The calendar also works against the team; August in Savannah is not a delightful time. So on the road they went. The Bananas began with trips to Mobile, Alabama, and then some spring training facilities. They scaled up to major-league stadiums, and now, as of 2025, they're scheduled to hit 17 major-league stadiums and four football stadiums, taking a crew of 220 on the road. 'The goal was never, 'We want to play in football stadiums,'' Cole says. 'What it comes down to for us, and what it will always start with, is 'What is Fans First?' That is our guiding light, that is our northern star. That is how we try to answer every question or friction point that we have.' It's a rock-solid philosophy in theory, but how exactly do you put fans first when you're looking at a three- or four-tiered football stadium? Simple: You take the show to the fans, no matter where they are in the house. Cast members -– Emily's term — will rotate in and out of the lineup and into the stands. Pitchers done with their stint on the mound will head into the crowd to present roses to girls, dance with kids, bro it up with the bros. All the while, there's still the game happening on the field. 'It can still be a highly competitive, highly talented game with the trick plays, the showmanship, the excitement,' Orton says. 'But also the person in section 421 or whatever still gets a fantastic experience, still gets to see some of the characters face to face in their section, still gets to get a few autographs, still gets to sing and dance and laugh as much as the person sitting in section 101 right behind home plate.' Every Bananas date through the end of August — when they'll visit the Pittsburgh Pirates' PNC Field — is sold out. The demand is there, so how much longer will the Bananas hold off the forces of capitalism? How much longer can this experiment in fan service continue? For heaven's sake, how much longer will they give away free food at Grayson? 'There are people every single day who reach out and say 'You guys are crazy. Your tickets should be triple the price they are,'' Cole says, laughing. 'When you have over three million people on a wait list, the demand is there, you could say. We could raise prices, but … why? If we can build a sustainable company and take care of people, then that's enough for us.' Still, the growth is coming. Starting next year, the Bananas will add two more teams, bringing the total to six … meaning there are enough teams to create a full-on Banana Ball League, with three games happening simultaneously in different cities around the country. Beyond that, the Bananas are looking to prepare the next generation with Banana Ball camps, plus there's the Banana Cruise, plus … who knows? 'I don't know where we're going to be in three years,' Cole says, 'because it probably hasn't even been thought of yet.' One element she promises won't become a part of the Bananas' future: external funding, and all the strings attached thereto. 'Bringing in outside investment is just not on the horizon for us. It's not in the plans, and we don't want it to be,' she says. 'And if that means maybe not taking a certain step a certain year because you need more capital, then that's OK with us. We would rather grow more slowly and more intentionally than bringing in outside dollars, because at that point, we feel like we would be answering to somebody besides the fan. We'd be answering to the shareholder or to the investor.' Still, perhaps one day fans will decide they've seen enough of the Bananas' spectacle. Perhaps Jesse and Emily will sell to an owner who cuts a corner here and there. Perhaps the allure of private investment will become too strong to resist. Perhaps what makes the Bananas special will be sacrificed in favor of what makes the Bananas money. And perhaps not. There's no law that says every American success story has to end by selling out the fan — it sure seems that way, yes, but there actually isn't a law — so maybe the Bananas are showing a new way for teams to connect with fans. On this night, the Party Animals pretty thoroughly outplay the home team, but thanks to the rules of Banana Ball, the Bananas are still in this right to the end … when they lose 3-2. It's their fourth loss in five games, further proof that this isn't a pre-scripted show against a Harlem Globetrotters-style weak opponent. The fans file out into the Savannah night, some clutching souvenir yellow Banana baseballs, some wearing brand-new Bananas merch, at least one still snacking on a garbage can lid full of nachos. I get to my car and, despite the throngs of thousands filing out of the stadium into the narrow streets, I'm still on the open road barely a minute later. It's just one more fan-friendly magic trick in a night full of them.
Forbes
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Forbes
To Play For Savannah Bananas Takes All Sorts Of Special Skills
*This is the second in a multi-part series on the Savannah Bananas. The Savannah Bananas are a lot of things: a traveling circus; a close-knit group of players, performers, team members (not 'employees'); a family affair; and the best night you will have at the ballpark all year (non-October division). What they are most decidedly not: a way-station for ballplayers trying to find their way back to organized baseball. The Bananas are a social media phenomenon. There is a multi-part documentary on ESPN; reports on 60 Minutes; and a YouTube series, 'Bananaland: The Road To Cooperstown.' Not to mention that they maintain an active presence on TikTok. But while watching at home is interesting, the Savannah Bananas need to be seen in person to be truly experienced. If you are unfamiliar with the team and their story, my colleague here at Candace Oehler wrote a great piece about the team and their owners, Jesse and Emily Cole. But when this writer visited the team in Arizona, I wanted to learn a little bit about the stars of the show: the players. Research showed that a great many hail from the minors or independent baseball. The team actually started in 2016 in the Coastal Plains League, which is a summer collegiate league, so the first batch of players came from that cohort. But what about today? As a quick review, the Bananas are made up of roughly 25 players. And they play against the Party Animals, the Firefighters, the Visitors, and the Texas Tailgaters. While at first blush it would seem that each opponent is the baseball equivalent of the Washington Generals (with the Bananas serving as the Harlem Globetrotters), that could not be further from the truth. As Jesse Cole told me, there are two ways in which Banana Ball is different than the nearly 100-year old basketball traveling roadshow: (1) The Bananas put on a different show every night (at least 15 different routines each game); and (2) There is real competition on the field. The outcome of each Bananas game is not pre-ordained; the players on both sides are out there to perform, and to win. Because of that, I wondered if the players were putting their best foot forward every time with the hope of catching (back) on with a team in organized baseball. But in interviews with more than a dozen players across multiple teams, only one even considered the possibility. One pitcher (who shall remain nameless to protect his anonymity), cut by two different professional organizations, said he would at least answer the phone if a professional club were to call; but he doubted he would take the offer if one came. He was having too much with this group. Jesse, and his wife, Emily, run the Bananas as a team, as a business, and as a family. And, to that end, they work overtime to make sure everyone is taken care – financially as well as emotionally. Unlike professional baseball (including the major leagues), the Bananas work on year-round contracts. That means everyone in the organization – most specifically, the players – are guaranteed income for twelve months, not just six or seven as is the case in other professional ranks. The players are well-renumerated. While no one – not the players nor the owners – would divulge what each gets paid, it was intimated that the players make considerably more than typical minor league salaries (even taking into consideration the new minor league collective bargaining agreement that was introduced in 2023), but well below big league money. It is, without question, a living wage. Further, each player has full health benefits. As in organized baseball, all contracts are individualized based on what the player brings to the table. Baseball skills, fans-first focus, ability to create unforgettable moments, level of fan engagement – both on and off the field, including on social media – are all components of what a player may get paid. Social media, in fact, is a massive part of the equation. The Bananas have more than 10 million followers on TikTok (up from 8.4 million this time last year), nearly three million on Instagram (up more than 10% since last year), but a mere 216,000 on X, formerly Twitter (which may say something about the age of their followers). With so much of their fan engagement done via the socials, the club is always looking for players who have – or can create – a huge following. Currently, infielder Jackson Olson is the leader by a mile, with 1.9 million followers on TikTok. But many of his teammates clock in with hundreds of thousands of followers, including Alex Ziegler, who has about 630,000, and was discovered by the club doing his bat tricks on social media. The Bananas want their players 'out there' hyping the game, the team, and the whole Banana ethos. Jesse and Emily operate with the mantra: 'Fans First. Entertain Always.' So, when the Bananas first formed to be the team(s) they would become, the vetting process for players was thorough, but tricky. Would a collegiate or former professional baseball player be willing to rip off his shirt and stand topless in the batter's box? How would he feel about twerking his way from the on-deck circle to the plate? Could he break out into dance on the mound, and then make a competitive pitch? What would these players do to give the fans the time of their life? At first, Jesse and Emily and their staff had to work extremely hard, looking all over the world to find the right balance of players who had the skills – both baseball and entertainment – to be part of this group. Now, with the organization's global success, they receive 'thousands' of submissions each day that they have to cull to see who will make a good member of any of their teams. While the pool of potential players has gotten larger, choosing the right players has not gotten easier. At the end of the day, the Coles want to make sure they have a competitive game and an unparalleled show. The competitive aspect is what I was dubious about. How could a guy who does a backflip while catching a flyball really care about winning? How does a team truly set up to play defense behind a pitcher standing nearly 11-feet tall wearing stilts? Would a player who could steal first base on a wild pitch really take the game seriously? Would players really chase a ball from the pitcher's mound to the warning track to keep a runner from scoring in what we would call 'extra innings' but they call a 'showdown?' The answer to each question is: MOST CERTAINLY! The competition is very much real. Pitchers are trying to strike out batters; batters are swinging for the fences; runners are trying to take the extra base; and fielders are trying to get outs – even if they add a whole lot of flair to the process. In the concourse after a game in Mesa, Arizona, one Banana player told me that he was happy they had won that night, as they had now won the series, which took a little pressure off of the next day's game. Another remarked that last season's seven-game losing streak to the Firefighters still stuck in his craw. When a Banana hit a hard shot into hole at short, he busted down the line, and was none-too-pleased when the throw beat him by half a step. You could see the player's frustration from the press box. Just because he was wearing a bright yellow uniform and the game had a clock and the first base coach was breakdancing, doesn't mean that the competitive zeal with which he has played the game his entire life went away. But, within seconds of heading back to the dugout, the frown was gone, and his smile was back. There was no thrown helmet or pouting on the bench. In fact, by the time he was back among his teammates, he was once again part of the party. But while in the batter's box and while running down that line, his fire burned just as hot as if there were twenty scouts in the stands judging his every movement. [It should be noted that no one actually sits in the dugout. Every coach and player is in front of the dugout enjoying the party as much as the fans in the stands.] Jesse and Emily have grand plans to grow their game. This summer they will be in 40 cities covering 28 states plus Washington, D.C. They currently have five teams, and are looking to add a sixth. The resumes and videos keep pouring in. There is no longer a dearth of players to choose from. But, as they have from day one, they will be persnickety and exacting, discovering players that are 'genuinely positive, happy, and outgoing…who understand that you know our job is to bring joy.' Never resting on their laurels, they continue to be on the hunt for the perfect bunch of Bananas.
CBS News
13-04-2025
- Entertainment
- CBS News
How the Savannah Bananas celebrate foster families
The Savannah Bananas are all about family. Sure, this exhibition baseball team is also about the game. Its players demonstrate incredible athletic ability — tossing their gloves aside and catching pop-ups with their bare hands while performing a backflip, connecting with a pitch and running to first base on stilts, catching balls in the infield and bouncing it between their legs before throwing it to first. But for the Savannah Bananas, the game is about more than the final scoreboard. For them — and the other teams who play the derivation of the game they have branded "Banana Ball" — baseball is about bringing together people of all ages and entertaining them. "There are so few things in life that you can bring multiple generations to and they can connect over," said Emily Cole, wife, business partner, and co-owner of the Savannah Bananas with Jesse Cole. "One of the most fulfilling things for us is hearing from a family that the toddlers came, mom and dad came, and they brought their parents or they brought their in-laws. And they all sat down for a few hours together and connected." Banana Ball certainly has found an audience: the games have sold out Major League Baseball stadiums, including Fenway Park in Boston and Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia, where they played to a completely sold-out, standing-room-only crowd of 45,000 last fall. In between the action of trick plays on the field, Banana Ball has programming for everyone. Before a pitch is even thrown, the players honor the Banana Baby, a local infant dressed in a banana costume who's lifted aloft while players kneel around and "The Circle of Life" plays. During the game, the Banana Nanas showcase grandmas on the field doing choreographed dance routines. As players step up to the plate to bat, their walk-up routines include elaborate lip-synching to artists like Kendrick Lamar, the Village People, and Taylor Swift. Owner Jesse Cole says it is all in service of bringing generations together. In an interview with 60 Minutes correspondent Lesley Stahl, Cole recounted a man who approached him at a recent game. "He goes, 'You gave me something that my daughter and I can bond over together. you have no idea how much this means to me,'" Cole recalled the man saying. "And for me and, you know, with two daughters, you're always trying to find those things you can connect with your daughter." The Coles' own family has influenced what they use Banana Ball to put a spotlight on — including foster children. Licensed foster parents themselves, the couple had one biological son when they were called to take in a two-year-old girl. A year later, another call and another placement — this time, a newborn baby girl who had tested positive for illegal substances in her system. "The goal of foster care is to just walk alongside these kids and these families until they can reunify safely with biological family," Emily Cole said. "So that was always our goal, was to just help these kiddos and welcome them into our family, but then, you know, send them home when time was ready." In the Coles' case, the time to reunite the foster children in their care with their biological families never arrived. Jesse and Emily have since permanently adopted both girls. Now, to honor other families who foster kids in need, the Coles have created "Bananas Foster," a nonprofit that celebrates and educates about foster families. At each Banana Ball game, a foster family is called to the field to be recognized. Often, the crowd gives them a standing ovation, recognizing foster parents that are otherwise likely seldom thanked for their work. "We believe we have a responsibility to just do good things in the world," Emily Cole said. "And of course we're creating joy every night for people, but we know about this need in foster care, and fortunately we have this platform now, that we saw an opportunity to be able to use our platform to talk about something that is a topic in society that's not touched on a lot." The video above was produced by Brit McCandless Farmer and edited by Scott Rosann.
