Baseball's Gone Bananas

I'm bradley and it's my job to keep you from being the sucker at the table. 

So here we go - a bunch of unhappy, unsatisfied and undersexed jerks are once again jumping on social media trying to kick the Savannah Bananas. 

Not that the Bananas care. From what I see, they have the kind of fun we used to have when we'd go down to the local park and choose up a game, then make the rules up as we went along. 

Now, for those who live in the community of the perpetually uniformed, let me clue you in. The Savannah Bananas are baseball's next incarnation of Max Patkin, the original clown prince of baseball (Google the name, millennials). And it's not traditional baseball - it's a show called Banana Ball with its own rules, pace and game plan. Mostly, it's silly, lazy day family fun with a big dose of exceptional athleticism mixed in. And just like Max, they're not to be taken seriously. And - if their show just happens to make a new baseball fan or two, where's the harm?

The harm, according to the crowd who sit in their moms basements, is the game itself. It doesn't meet their standards of what baseball should be. So there they sit, munching bags of Doritos Nacho Cheese flavor, waiting for the new Bananas video to come out, so they can vent their frustration with the whole concept. 

Me? Could care less. What I don't understand is,  what ever happened to, if you don't like something, just keep your mouth shut and move on. Who told you that your opinion was important. It's not. It's not asked for, it's not relevant - even if you have 5 followers online. What it does, is show how completely shallow your life is.

The only reason I'm even blogging on this, is because, well, I never really cared for the idea of combining comedy and baseball. But I'll be damned if I'm going to criticize the idea. If it makes people smile, if it makes kids happy and they somehow do it all at reasonable prices, then go for it. The fact that some bozo who doesn't shower very often and can't get dates,  is somehow bothered by their exhibition - well, that's just too damn bad. Go upstairs and ask mom to explain once again why life isn't fair and why Heidi Klum isn't slipping into your DM's, begging for a night in a hot tub with you.

So when the Bananas come bouncing into your town, and they will, check out their videos before you go. Straight up, it's not my idea of a good time, but it's clean, wholesome family fun and there's nothing wrong with that.

You know, baseball used to be described that way. But that was before hundred million dollar player contracts meant $75 box seats, $10 beers, $30 stadium lot parking and $175 replica jerseys, along with fans who come to the game with the vocabulary of their local street hustler, and a voice loud enough to make sure everyone can be offended by their four letter word combinations. Consider yourself lucky if you're also not near, involved in or the unfortunate victim of, a full scale brawl, all because someone got drunk and hates the hat you're wearing. 

Yeah, I'll take the Bananas for the good they do. And if you think it's not real baseball and you hate the show, just shut up. No need to vomit out your opinion. And I suggest when mommy puts you bed tonight, ask her to read you a bedtime story about how baseball used to be. Then check your calendar - it's 2026. Time to grow up.  

I'm bradley and I'll do my best to keep you from being the sucker at the table.