Going Bananas

Son Boo and I had tickets for the Savannah Bananas.

Sounded exciting, but I wasn’t real sure about going.

For starters, it had been raining all the night before, and on Sunday morning, it didn’t look as though the rain was going to let up. Besides, it was cold, wear your long Johns kind of cold.

And, unless something had changed the last time I looked, Savannah’s historic Grayson Stadium out on Victory Drive and Bee Road was a baseball stadium out in the open.

Yes, the stands would be covered, but they sure weren’t heated. Did I mention it was cold, a London wet cold that sinks into your bones.

The parking lots at the stadium were full. Obviously, the fourteen zillion million fans were already there. Every speck of level grass that didn’t sport a light pole had a vehicle sitting on it. Except for one skinny lil space, so teensie I had to get out of Boo’s truck before he backed in otherwise there was no way the door could open.

It wasn’t that far to the check-in line. In New York City, they’d call it one short block and one long block.

Don’t even think about sneaking in.

They have checkers checking checkers, four young people wearing a crazy kind of very yellow banana costume that covers them from head to hip.

Properly bonafided, we headed for our seats. Up there. Way up there. I knew I should have brought my binoculars.

We were lucky to find a space. Scrooched in, sat, and sighed.

Nope.

You don’t sit at a Bananas ball game. At least not for long.

One participates.

The owners Jesse Cole and his wife Emily make sure that from young ones sitting on their mama’s lap to those eligible for a pension, you have a rollicking good time.

We did.

The game was between the Savannah Bananas and the Party Animals.

There are rules. Sorta.

No bunting, two-hour limit, batters can steal first base, no walks, fans catch a foul ball, it’s out, no stepping out of the batter’s box, and no mound visits.

And a few more rules too weird to mention.

If you think you won’t see an authentic baseball game, forget it.

These players are good, really good. One player, number 34, became my favorite. He could fire that ball over home plate.

They do cut up. They stop playing, line up, and dance, fool around. We get up and wave our hands over our heads, music plays, we sing.
Batter slams a grounder to center field, it’s scooped up and thrown to first. Out.

If you’re female and not dead, you have to appreciate the buff bods.

I ate my cheeseburger, sipped on a Sprite. Food, as much as you like, is included in price of ticket.

The rain had quit long ago, but it was still cold, and I was thankful for my quilted coat.

Jumped up and waved my arms. Participating.

Such a fun afternoon.

Check out their website, thesavannahbananas.com.

Annelore Harrell’s journey is a tapestry woven with fascinating experiences and extraordinary accomplishments. Even at 92 in 2025, Annelore’s energy and zest for life continue to inspire. Annelore Harrell’s story is a testament to living with passion, resilience, and an unquenchable thirst for adventure.