4 days ago
Savannah Bananas: A family night at baseball heaven in St. Louis
For me, there's no place on earth quite like Busch Stadium. It's sacred ground. A cathedral of baseball. The place where generations of memories have been made. I've seen alot here since I was born in 1982.
But on Friday, the game we know and love transformed into something else entirely, not a traditional nine-inning showdown, but a whirlwind of Banana Ball madness, joy, and showmanship, courtesy of the Savannah Bananas.
I went with my wife and our 14-year-old son, and while I've seen some unforgettable games at Busch, this was something unique, and yes, still unforgettable.
Pre-Game: The greatest show in sports begins before first pitch
The moment we approached Ballpark Village, the energy hit like a wave. Never mind the fact it was approaching 100 degrees, with humidity rising by the minute. Crowds had been gathering since early afternoon. Some were dressed in full banana regalia, earrings, hats, stuffed banana headbands, and yellow from head to toe. We arrived about three hours before first pitch, and it already felt like a festival. Fans were tossing around beach balls, forming impromptu conga lines, and dancing to the beat of a live brass band. We had dinner at Salt n Smoke at Ball Park Village across the way. That was a request from the teen-ager, and when he wants anything other than chicken fingers and burgers, you do it!
We wandered over to the merchandise tents, which were doing a roaring business. Even Party Animals merch was flying off the racks. The pre-game antics were just the beginning: the "Man-nanas" cheer squad, Dad Bod cheerleaders, and even a guy resembling Mr. T were working the crowd.
As the sun began to drop behind the stadium lights, a brass rendition of 'I Wish I Was an Oscar Mayer Wiener' played from a barbershop quartet perched near the first baseline. I had to remind myself we were still technically at a baseball game, but the Bananas don't just play a sport, they stage a carnival.
The game itself: A new kind of baseball
Banana Ball isn't really baseball. It's a cousin, or maybe the fun-loving alter ego, of the game I grew up watching. The rules are wild: bunting gets you ejected. Fans catching foul balls? That's an out. Tie games get settled in one-on-one, showdown-style duels. And somehow, it all works.
The Bananas were matched up against their chaos-loving rivals, the Party Animals, and from the first pitch, the game was pure theater. Music blared between pitches. Dancers burst out of dugouts. Pitchers performed backflips after strikeouts.
But through all the antics, there was genuine talent on the field. Outfielder Reese Alexiades smashed a moonshot into the left-field bleachers. Shortstop Ryan Cox pulled off a no-look, behind-the-back assist on a grounder that had the crowd gasping.
And then came Adam Wainwright.
A hero returns to the mound
Waino. The legend. The heart of the Cardinals for so many years. When his name was announced as the starting pitcher for the Bananas, Busch erupted. I felt chills. Here I was, standing with my wife and son, watching one of my all-time favorite players, a St. Louis icon, take the mound in a Savannah Bananas jersey. Of course, his walk-out song? God's Country.
He pitched with his usual poise, even while a cheerleader did jumping jacks behind home plate. He allowed a base hit, but got the next guy to fly out to center, mixing that signature curveball with just a hint of showmanship. He smiled at the crowd, tipped his cap, and soaked it in. Wainwright dancing between pitches? Yes. And it was glorious.
At one point, he even joined a conga line in the dugout between innings. Who knew the man could move like that?
In-game antics & fan interaction
Banana Ball thrives on interactivity. Fans in the stands caught foul balls for outs. The in-game entertainment never slowed. There was a baby race on the field. Yes, a literal baby race. Crawling babies are making their way to their parents on the other side of the diamond. It was both hilarious and oddly touching.
There was also a hilarious sprint showdown between 'Clyde and Dale', two grown men who stopped midway to carry women piggyback across the infield to the finish line. Get it, "Clyde and Dale" for the Clydesdales.
Every inning brought something new: synchronized dugout dances, juggling, karaoke battles, and mid-inning backflips.
The crowd and the culture shift
This wasn't just a show for kids. It was packed with baseball die-hards, families, first-timers, and old-school fans like me who, surprisingly, found themselves clapping along to 'Baby Shark.'
The Bananas are changing baseball, one backflip and fan-caught out at a time.
Jesse Cole - a man of the people
No review of a Savannah Bananas game would be complete without a tribute to the man behind the madness: Jeese Cole, the team's exuberant founder, owner, and master showman. If Banana Ball is a circus, Jesse is both the ringmaster and the heart beating behind the scenes. On Friday night at Busch Stadium, he was more than a behind-the-scenes executive; he was the engine driving the experience forward, every second from pregame to final curtain.
Decked out in his signature bright yellow tuxedo and top hat, Jesse Cole didn't merely observe the spectacle he created; he was in the thick of it. He worked the crowd like a seasoned performer, leaping onto dugouts, dancing with fans, tossing t-shirts, and narrating the energy of the night through a megaphone with all the charisma of a Broadway emcee.
At one point before first pitch, Jesse climbed onto the first base dugout, leading the crowd in chants, pumping his fists, and launching shirts into the upper decks. You could tell he wasn't just doing it for show, he thrives on connection, and he understands that sports, at their best, are about joy and community. You could feel it every time he leaned into the microphone or locked eyes with a fan in the front row.
What stood out most was how accessible he made himself. He wasn't hidden behind a glass box or suite. He was walking the concourse, laughing with fans, taking selfies, giving fist bumps to wide-eyed kids and grateful parents alike. During one inning break, I watched him lead a conga line of fans, kids, grandparents, even a guy in a banana suit, from right field to home plate, arms linked, music blasting, smiles all around.
When a particularly well-executed trick play brought the crowd to its feet, Jesse didn't stay still. He sprinted toward the players, joining the celebration like a teammate, high-fiving them like a proud parent. That blend of executive energy and childlike joy is part of what makes the Bananas feel so alive.
And maybe that's Jesse Cole's magic: he doesn't feel like an owner. He feels like the world's biggest fan who just happened to get the keys to the clubhouse and decided to throw a never-ending party for everyone else.
In an era when pro sports often feel cold and corporate, Jeese Cole is a throwback to the showmen of old and a vision of something brand new. What he's built isn't just a team or even a league; it's a movement. And at Busch Stadium, in front of 44,000 fans and the ghosts of baseball legends, that movement was in full, glorious, ridiculous swing.
They're back tonight – Saturday's encore
The Bananas return to Busch Stadium again Saturday night (also a sellout). After Friday's chaos, I can only imagine what's in store. If you're reading this and wondering if it's worth going, it is.
Final thoughts: A night to remember
In a city where baseball is religion, the Savannah Bananas delivered something new, not a sacrilege, but a celebration. For a few hours, Busch Stadium was transformed from a major league park into a playground of joy, where Adam Wainwright danced, babies raced, and baseball's soul felt lighter.
The Bananas didn't just win the game. They won us and 44,000 other fans over.
