The Savannah Bananas brand has, arguably, become bigger than the Savannah Bananas themselves. What would seem to be a crucial component of the Bananas experience – the actual team – is increasingly absent from games featuring the showboating version of baseball that the Bananas themselves popularized. By all accounts, however, fans don’t care.

When the Guardian last examined the Bananas in 2023, the organization had only just abandoned its amateur roots in collegiate summer baseball to focus strictly on “bananaball”, a funhouse-mirror reflection of baseball that focuses on trick plays, player antics and crowd engagement. At the time, bananaball was restricted to two teams – the Bananas and their forever foes, the Party Animals – who seemed prepared to follow a well-trodden path to long-term, if moderate success.

Basketball’s Harlem Globetrotters, for example, have been running circles (often literally) around the same, scripted-to-lose opponent in exhibition games since the 1950s. The Bananas could have easily replicated this formula for decades. A bananaball game on a sunny May evening at Richmond’s CarMax Park, however, reveals the many ways that the Bananas organization is doing things its own way.

When asked, most fans outside the ballpark answered with versions of “I’m going to the Savannah Bananas game tonight.” But they were actually on their way to see the Firefighters take on the Indianapolis Clowns, two of the six full-time, professional bananaball teams touring the US. While the Firefighters and Clowns faced off in Richmond, the Party Animals were simultaneously playing the Loco Beach Coconuts in Las Vegas. Elsewhere, the Bananas drew more than 100,000 fans in College Station, Texas, against the Texas Tailgaters. What was once a pair of barnstorming exhibition teams has become a small but growing league. The Globetrotters never made this jump.

The eccentric team names are part of an effort to broaden banana ball’s appeal to a wider audience. The Texas Tailgaters lean into good ol’ cowboy imagery. The newest team, the Coconuts, appear to exist somewhere at the intersection of Jimmy Buffett and the South Pacific. The Firefighters are composed of square-jawed hunks. The team name most familiar to baseball ears, the Clowns, also appears to have the most organic origin story. The original Indianapolis Clowns were one of the best-known Negro League teams in the early to mid-20th century.

There is also a lot of merchandising. Stalls at games flog everything from caps to koozies. This is not a flaw in itself – even coffee shops double as merch stands nowadays – but it is indicative of a larger change within bananaball. When the Guardian last encountered the Bananas, there was an enjoyable “everybody’s here” element. Happy Rockwellian families were seated alongside raucous bachelorette parties who themselves sat by pairings of older baseball fans breaking down every pitch. Bananaball in 2026 feels less like a baseball game and more like a day at Disney World.

The target demographic is clearly children. Nearly everyone at the Richmond ballpark was either a child or accompanying one. Music sets the ambience, and gen Alpha poultry-themed anthems Chicken Banana and Steve’s Lava Chicken blare from the stadium’s speakers.

The Disney comparison is not necessarily a coincidence. Multiple players mention an overlap between Disney fandom (including Disney adults) and bananaball fandom, and Jesse Cole, founder of the Bananas, identifies Walt Disney as a key influence.

Not that bananaball crowds are solely families with young kids. Plenty of other groups are scattered throughout the stands in Richmond, including hardcore baseball fans. Heather Albrecht speaks from a place of deep baseball knowledge – she and her sister have attended games at 29 of the 30 major league ballparks – part of a bucket list trip with their late mother.

“Seeing the crowds and seeing the hype, I think bananaball could overtake MLB in popularity,” she says. “They’re selling out MLB parks that, when we went to them [for MLB games], were empty ghost towns.”

MLB need not worry just yet; the average major league crowd last season was 29,386, a figure that has held pretty steady for the last decade. But perhaps MLB could take some pointers from bananaball as it frets about attracting younger fans. If bananaball’s TikTok dances, pyrotechnics and heavy crowd work were stripped away, the on-field product may make for an interesting side competition within the world of professional baseball. Bananaball could, for example, be the T20 cricket to MLB’s test counterpart.

The preference for showmanship sits at the heart of bananaball. Whether intentional or not, Cole’s bananaball is maybe best understood through the lens of comedy – the game’s outcome is less important than the laughs per minute on the way there. And, if a competitive element emerges, all the better.

It is interesting to note that, despite the Bananas’ achievements in baseball, there have been no significant attempts to replicate their process in the worlds of American football, hockey, soccer or cricket, or even tennis, golf or boxing. This lack of banana-ization in other sports persists despite the fact that format-innovation continues to occur within baseball. Just outside Richmond, for example, another amateur collegiate summer team is pioneering “cosmic baseball“ (baseball played with UV-reactive gear under black lights). The team behind cosmic baseball, the Tri-City Chili Peppers, openly namecheck the Bananas as an inspiration (both the Bananas and the Chili Peppers have their roots in the Coastal Plain League). Cole welcomes the competition.

“I commend anybody that’s trying to do something different [and] unique to make their sport fun and bring joy to people. I think it’s good – we’ll see a lot more [competitors emerge].”

Cole is similarly thoughtful when responding to critics who denounce bananaball as a passing fad, something he says he thinks about every day.

“I see the comments,” he says. “‘This will be done in a year. It’ll be done in a few years.’ I see it and, if you look at history, that would be a strong bet to make. If you look at the And 1’s of basketball and the different leagues that have come and gone – that would be a strong bet to make ... There are only a few companies that have sustained creativity over a long time. You look at Disney, you look at Saturday Night Live ... They’re continually creating, trying new things, pushing the envelope on what can be done. And, they’re not afraid to fail. I think we share that.”

And, perhaps focusing on a young demographic is the right way to secure this lofty, decades-spanning goal.

Towards the end of the game in Richmond, two Little-League-aged fans (in bananaball gear) are playing catch beyond centerfield. Before each throw, they pass the ball between their legs or around their backs, copying the trick plays they’ve seen on the field. Both talk about the sport’s teams and players knowledgably. When asked if they want to be ballplayers when they grow up, they pipe up enthusiastically.

“I want to be a Firefighter,” one shouts. When asked which player he most wants to be like, he responds “No, a firefighter. I want to fight fires.” If his dreams come true, it’s pretty clear which team his future family will be rooting for.