On the Offseason
There’s a Ballers game actively going on at Raimondi Park about 2.5% of the year. That’s with a generous average of four hours per game and a full championship playoff run. While 20th and Willow might occupy our hearts and heads full-time, what do we do with the rest of the days on the diamond itself?
Every venue faces some degree of this problem. Sports are seasonal, games end, and players, much to my dismay, cannot play continuously and forever. A major league season is long, but even the Rogers Centre, which hosted two game sevens this playoffs, only saw its Blue Jays on the bases for a little more than 4% of the total year. My hometown Denver Broncos are building a $4-ish billion privately-funded new stadium (who knew that could be done?) for a team that will be playing on that field half of a percent of its lifespan.
You can put butts in seats with other stuff, of course—the largest North American stadium, my also-beloved graduate gridiron Michigan Stadium in Ann Arbor, just hosted the largest ticketed concert in U.S. history—and my undergrad underground, the LA Coliseum, will host its third Olympics in 2028 and finds time to shoot every commercial on television there. But that’s renting; it’s not building. That’s playing a part for someone else. That’s not the B’s and that’s not Raimondi.
I signed my son up for the Lil’ Ballers baseball camp with full knowledge that he a) had never played baseball b) is shy in groups and c) would be coming down from an epic Halloween sugar high. He made it briefly onto the field before spending most of the time in his favorite place on earth, the Scrappy Town playground, and later in the stands watching the other kids. He, very much like his father, may end up a far better fan than player. In true Ballers form, though, the camp had as much if not more emphasis on the culture and people than the game. The coaches closed the morning leading the kids in the dugout in a series of self-affirming cheers—to love themselves and each other—and each age group took turns leading and being led, eyes closed, across the infield to build trust and teamwork. The only real competition this Saturday was between the camp and the migrating geese who had taken up strategic gaggles in the outfield. I am pleased to report that a few skeins will be headed south sooner than they expected.
We came back at night for the first Town Flicks to watch Pixar classic Coco up on the scoreboard. There was a line to get in and a line when we left—to get Pixar movie posters. In between, there was facepainting, food, and gorgeous traditional dancing from the Cal State East Bay Folklorico Group. The unsung heroes of the night were the staff who cleaned “at least five pounds” of goose poop off the field, surely revenge from the gaggles displaced earlier. As always, the vibe was warm and easygoing: members of the 68s could leave their drums at home, kids chased the generously game Cal State East Bay mascot Perry the peregrine falcon, a couple parents snuck in some work on laptops, and even your co-founder Paul, the championship won, parade wrapped, and latest Raimondi first up and running, was trying on the strange feeling of relaxation.
As any parent will tell you, the success of kid-friendly events is having room to run. Little ones in Day of the Dead makeup and Other (my son selected Princess/Lady Gaga Backup Dancer) watched Coco when they wanted and could scamper away when the urge struck, all the way from the chain link fence where Michael O’Hara made his catch of the year to the outfield wall where Davis Drewek made his. When the B’s Game 5 hype video played as a nostalgic trailer before the movie, my son turned to me and said, “Wait, they won?” This despite me working the season’s glory into half my daily conversations, his declaration then that the parade was the best day ever and holding, in his own two little greasy hands, the trophy no less than a week ago. And that’s just fine. At least for now, he’s a B’s fan who’ll remember glitter on his face and Halloween candy in the outfield far more than scores and breakable glass.
It’s really hard to build a championship-winning baseball team. It’s harder still to save baseball in a town once traumatized by it. I think it’s harder still to create a community that earnestly goes beyond sports, that uses the game as an engine to power all kinds of gatherings, service, and opportunities. Oakland sports fans know that “community outreach” can cover all manner of sins, but Ballers fans have proof of the opposite: this isn’t just a team for everyone, it’s trying hard to find a place for everyone. On this day, my son wasn’t too sure about baseball but sure as hell loved Pixar. One of my favorite things about Coco is that the afterlife isn’t dark and scary but lush and beautiful. It isn’t perfect—the dearly departed still have to work and worry and struggle; the powerful still cheat and lie their way to the top—but it imagines a richness in all that comes after. The end isn’t the end but a chance to see the world anew with a purpose and gratitude you didn’t have before.
Get your tickets for the next Town Flicks, Pixar’s Inside Out, on November 29th here.
