Oakland Ballers Open Tryouts 2026

From the Top of the Mountain, Let the Great Arms Race Begin

By Kyle Robinson

Raimondi Park felt like itself from the start. In typical Oakland fashion, the weather showed out: bluebird skies and what more than one coach called “perfect wind conditions.” It wasn’t a brief window, either. It held all afternoon, giving these young athletes the kind of day where there are no excuses, just reps.

I’ve played baseball my whole life, and I’m still out there chasing reps on any recreational, semi-competitive team that will take me, including a trip back in time with the Bay Area Vintage Baseball League. Deep down, into my core, I’m a baseball player. But standing with the men lined along the far end of the first-base dugout railing, just watching, I knew what we all knew. We had no business hanging with these athletes. Today I’m a reporter, not a baller.

What stood out immediately wasn’t just the turnout. Roughly 40 athletes were already there when I arrived, and signups still had an hour to go. It wasn’t just the tempo and skill. It was the people. Fans leaning on the rail, watching closely, talking baseball, soaking it all in. And in the little pockets of conversation around the park, from staff and coaches to trainers, owners, and players waiting for their next rep, the same message kept surfacing: baseball is back.

And it’s worth saying out loud—this isn’t just a feel-good operation. The Oakland Ballers are the reigning Pioneer League champions.

How the Day Moved

The day began with stretching and warm-ups led by Coach Camilo, setting the tone: organized, serious, and moving with purpose.

From there, players were broken up and put through sprints and various drills, then rotated through infield/outfield work before progressing to groups taking batting practice off the machine.

Cuts were happening throughout, but it never felt cruel or chaotic. It was steady evaluation, station by station, rep by rep, position by position. By lunch, the field had been cut by more than half. The thing was, it came with instruction. Coaching was constant, at every level—staff to players, even competitor to competitor. Guys were fighting for spots and still turning around to help the next guy get a better rep.

When the day transitioned into its final phase, a scrimmage between two squads, the baseball got really, really crisp.

There were slick plays that made you stop mid-sentence, the kind of clean defense that tells you the fundamentals are clearly there. And while pitching ended up being the headline, it wasn’t the only thing that flashed. I’ve always thought the toughest pitch to hit is the one at the bottom of the zone that looks tempting, even for a split second (and for my rec league opponents reading this, don’t use that).

These guys didn’t do what us regular Joes do, and on the occasion they did get fooled, they adjusted fast. Chase a ball in the dirt once? You didn’t see it a second time. Get twisted up by a backdoor breaker? Maybe it happened, but it didn’t happen again. They were making adjustments pitch to pitch and at-bat to at-bat, taking what they were supposed to take, fighting off what they couldn’t drive, and stacking disciplined trips that didn’t give away outs. The swings told the story. If someone swung out of their shoes, they didn’t spiral. They breathed, reset, and came back the next time with a better hack.

Then came the punctuation. The scrimmage’s lone homer. A no-doubter pulled deep into the visitors’ bullpen.

So, You’re the Champs, Now What?

The throughline all day, from every angle, kept coming back to one word. When I asked the team’s general managers what they were looking for, the first word out of their collective mouth was “arms.” Pitching is baseball’s great equalizer, and it showed up once the day tightened into the final group.

One left-hander quietly stole his moment of the scrimmage by living in the zone, working with pace and confidence. He put up a clean 0-for-5 against the hitters he faced, with a perfectly timed double play behind him to slam the door.

Then two right-handers followed, each flashing a sharp fastball/slider mix that played to both sides of the plate. Between them, they kept lefties and righties in check for ten straight batters. It was the kind of stretch that makes evaluators stop talking and start writing.

The Little Moments that Tell the Truth

And woven through all of it were the moments that told you what kind of baseball day this really was.

A small group of young catchers, mostly local JUCO guys, started trading backgrounds between reps, the way baseball players do when they’re figuring each other out. Then one of them lit up and blurted to the group: “Did you know you can get paid to catch pro bullpens?”

It was funny, sure. It also summed up the morning. This was a place where the game still felt open, where opportunity sounded like a new piece of information you couldn’t wait to share.

One other prospective Baller noted, “I was here last year too, and there were more players, but the talent this year is higher overall.” 

It tracked with how the day progressed: fewer wasted reps, better tempo, and more guys who looked like they belonged in structured tryout work.

What’s at Stake (and Why Days Like This Matter)

The stakes here are real. Baseball careers don’t always start under bright lights. Sometimes they start in leagues that are miles from the spotlight, where one great stretch can change everything. Paul Goldschmidt and many others logged early pro reps in the Pioneer League before becoming the game’s biggest names.

We all either are the person or know someone who feels like they “missed their shot.” And we’ve all also heard the variations: luck is where preparation meets opportunity. Today, all those dreams were alive, and the shot—at least a shot—was here. And in Oakland, that “long shot but real shot” idea has felt especially tangible lately. Kelsie Whitmore went first overall in the inaugural Women’s Pro Baseball League draft. James Colyer, who famously showed up to last year’s open tryout, just signed with the Washington Nationals, and brief B’s offseason signing Grant Manning made the MLB jump too.

That’s the point of a day like this. It’s not a guarantee. But it’s not pretend, either.

Oakland Ownership

The thing that surprised me most was how many people were saying the quiet part out loud. Not just staff and fans, but coaches, trainers, owners, and even players between reps. They kept smiling and repeating some version of the same idea: baseball belongs here.

A few guys made it clear they weren’t just chasing an opportunity. They were showing up for something bigger. No matter what happened today, they said, they’re always going to be fans, and would be showing up loud and proud at Raimondi this summer to support the team.  The sentiment between all of these young men, to me, felt the same: This is my team. My hometown.

It landed hardest at the conclusion of the day, when the stakes were finally settled. Three or four players had made it through every station, every cut, every rep, and then got notified they weren’t being selected as invites. That’s usually the moment things thin out. Players pick up bags and equipment. They leave. Instead, it turned into community.

They lingered. They answered more questions, compared paths, traded phone numbers, and started making plans. A bullpen later in the week. A lift. A burger. Something. Anything that kept them connected to the work. Nearby, Coach Miles was still giving tips, still coaching, still nudging them toward what comes next. Competitors a few minutes earlier, teammates in the next breath.

One player did make it: David Clarke. A name we know today. The rest of these players we may know tomorrow. And that’s when the feeling hit, like that shot into the right-center gap. This isn’t just baseball returning. It’s always been here, and it’s hungrier than ever.

Kyle Robinson is a transplanted Texan with a lifelong passion for the game of baseball. Residing in Oakland with his wife Randi, their daughter India, and a menagerie of pets, when he’s not slyly convincing his wife to name their pets after legendary baseball broadcasters (thank you, Milo Hamilton Robinson) he is probably balancing parenthood with trying to cram in as much baseball as possible. Whether it’s keeping the dream alive as a weekend warrior behind the dish, or on the sideline as a coach, volunteering, rest assured he has baseball on the brain. Find him on Instagram: @krob452