Category: Saying Yes to New Things

I hate musicals. I don’t get them at all. They’re so unrealistic and corny. A group of people, just hanging out, suddenly breaks into spontaneous song and dance, with perfect, never-before-rehearsed choreography. Yeah, that happens to me all the time.

If I didn’t know that people actually enjoyed musicals, I would think they were some kind of joke. So when Wicked came out as a musical, I rushed to not see it, just like with all musicals.

But when the blockbuster movie came out to good reviews, out-of-character, I asked my mom if she wanted to see it in the theater, on the big screen. She was up for it.

We did our homework and played it right. The running time of the movie was 2:40, so we purposefully preordered seats next to an aisle for the inevitable bathroom break. And we bought two senior discount tickets. During a matinee. Cha-ching!!

Even though the movie was a musical, we both thought it was really good. (No shit, it grossed over $600 million in its first six weeks of release.) And the time passed very quickly–it didn’t feel like 2:40 at all. In fact, no bathroom breaks were needed or taken, which was also a small miracle.

The other nice thing, besides the movie itself and me branching out a little, was spending some quality time and an enjoyable afternoon with my mom, while we are both–myself included–in good health and in good spirits.

About a year later, I rewatched the movie on TV with my wife, and at more than one point, she remarked, “I can’t believe you watched this.” And yet, here I am, watching a movie musical for the second time. “I know,” I said, acknowledging that I also found it hard to believe. And then, inspired by that moment, we broke into spontaneous song and dance, with perfect choreography.

A friend and former coworker was thoughtful enough to invite me to her baby shower. My usual, default reaction is to say no to something out of my comfort zone. And my immediate, internal response to this was no. Why would I go to a baby shower?  I don’t think I’ve ever been to one before. I wasn’t sure what to expect, what to bring, how to dress, etc. And honestly–dark secret–I don’t really like babies. 

In addition, I was afraid about being the only guy invited. For encouragement, I was told that a few other males would be there. However, they were all relatives of the mother-to-be or the host. They weren’t invited so much as they were conscripted. Their presence was expected, to put it mildly.

I was afraid of looking and feeling totally out of place amongst a group of much younger women and mothers. I was afraid I would bring the vibe down. And I was afraid the shower was just going to be a group of women fawning and gushing over unwrapped baby clothes, ad nauseam.

It was going to be held at a neighbor’s house in Atherton–a very affluent town in the Bay Area, home to tech billionaires. That also made me a little uncomfortable and apprehensive. The one apparent draw to attending would be the opportunity to throw myself down the neighbor’s front steps, hurt my neck and back, settle with their insurance company, and then jump on the gravy train.

But I kept my initial response to myself and didn’t immediately RSVP.

Over a few weeks, I thought about it some more. I don’t currently have a ton of friends and my universe of friends isn’t rapidly expanding. And yet, here is a friend, who was considerate enough to invite me. I should feel fortunate to be invited.

In addition, I would much rather attend a baby shower than a funeral, which in the future, are going to become increasingly more common. And finally, why not? It beats the shit out of what else I was going to be doing at the time, which for the record, was nothing.

So I said yes to the baby shower; I’m going. My wife, also mildly taken aback, chuckled, “I can’t believe you’re going to a baby shower.”

Yeah, me neither. It’s against-type, but I’m going. Why not? I am absolutely going to have fewer opportunities to celebrate joyous events like graduations, marriages, and births. Life is short and getting increasingly shorter. I need to take advantage of things and enjoy experiences while I still can.

I did go and I had a good time. In retrospect, I’m glad I went. Everyone there was very nice and inclusive, which put me at ease. The hosts were very accommodating and offered guests mimosas upon arrival. Classy shit! There was a really good spread of food, I met new people, and had fun playing silly baby shower games. And of course, it was nice to connect with an old friend, especially as her calm, quiet, orderly life was about to suddenly evaporate.

For gifts, I followed protocol and bought gifts from the baby registry. But, for cheap laughs, keeping in-type here, I put them in a prank gift box. The mother-to-be was a good sport and laughed at the box once it was unwrapped. 

What I didn’t expect was the reaction from the other guests. By all outward appearances and social cues, they seemed to be a mature and responsible lot. Which is to say, I doubt there were a lot of juvenile pranks in their everyday lives. So a prank box, which was definitely not on their radar, got really big laughs. Which was another bonus that I didn’t see coming. Oh man, baby showers are a hoot! When’s the next one?

My life is pretty boring and uneventful. For source material, I am reduced to including tales of others. But then again, it is a HELL of a lot funnier to laugh at other people’s foibles and fiascos than your own.

In July 2012, as I was diligently training for my first marathon, a couple of friends were about to participate in a long distance event of their own–a cycling event. We were all well past our 20s at the time. Their event was to take place in Healdsburg, California where the summer temperature can easily get into the 80s and 90s, which is not ideal for prolonged physical exertion. 

The cycling event offered several distances; they opted for 20 miles. To be fair, their event was considered a ride, which is less competitive than a race, but was still timed and still required participants to complete the full distance to finish. And 20 miles is a very respectable, nontrivial distance which requires training, a game plan, pacing, adequate preparation, etc.

So to celebrate this milestone, this upcoming physical achievement, on the night before the ride, one friend in particular proceeded to eat, drink, socialize, and have a good time. And by drink, I mean drink a lot of red wine, which is incredibly dehydrating. And by have a good time, I mean stay up too late, well past midnight. Not great decisions for an auspicious beginning, but fortunately for him, things could get worse, and they did.

As for myself, my upcoming event was scheduled for the following weekend. For my preparation, I had been a good, obedient boy: sticking to a training schedule, running consistently with my training group, buying the right equipment, carbing up and getting good sleep before long runs, having proper nutrition and hydration before and during training runs. What a drag! Don’t I ever want any adversity and improvisation in my life?

Returning to our cycling friend, as a direct result of staying up too late and consuming too much red wine, he got up late on the day of the ride. Late enough to miss the 8:00 a.m. start. A late start meant the temperature was only getting warmer.

In his haste to leave, he decided to forego breakfast. Which meant he was going to do 20 miles of cycling on the previous night’s meal and red wine. Not exactly rocket fuel.

Also in his haste, he quickly but consciously decided NOT to bring along any water or nutrition for the ride itself. Fuck it! I’m going to wing this part, too! 

And of course, he didn’t know exactly where the start line was located, which delayed him even further. So, he was late and lost, and due to being lost, late even more. And the temperature just continued to get warmer.

Suffice it to say, the ride didn’t go well for our intrepid cyclist. There was no peak performance that day. No personal best or personal record. Just misery and brutality.  

The good news is that he overcame his series of self-inflicted debacles and completed the ride without puking, collapsing, or dying; however, afterwards, he, surprisingly enough, felt like total shit. 

He made it, he did officially finish, despite the fact that he did absolutely everything wrong. Every single decision he made was a bad one. Just for kicks, let’s recap those:

• Entering and taking lightly a serious athletic event many years past one’s physical prime.
• Staying up late the night before the event.
• Drinking and getting dehydrated.
• Getting a bad night of sleep.
• Skipping breakfast.
• Getting a late start.
• Inadequately preparing for the course (including not finding the start line).
• Encountering increasingly warm weather.
• Not bringing along any water or nutrition.

This tale is extra juicy and hilarious to me, as a no-fun, uptight, detailed, organized individual who overplans and overprepares for everything, especially races. However, on my part, there is no schadenfreude or You got what you deserved with this. I don’t care what others do. I just focus on myself and on running my race. 

Nonetheless, such an episode does provide me with reassurance for properly preparing, even if I’m overpreparing. It also provides me with a moment of self-love for not being a cardio clown, bumbling through a miserable circus that I created for myself.

There’s a new sensation sweeping the bleachers of Major League Baseball stadiums. It’s called Tarps Off and involves groups of (mostly) male fans taking off their shirts, en masse, and waving them above their heads, in a collective celebration of…who knows what.

It looks stupid and fun. It also looks extremely low-tech. My fascination is why now, all of a sudden, in 2026? Something this basic could have become popular fifty years ago. There’s nothing novel about dudes going shirtless at baseball games and cheering.

According to the definitive history on mlb.com, Tarps Off had its Major League Baseball debut on May 15th in St. Louis, when an enthusiastic group of knuckleheads–God bless them–from the Stephen A. Austin club baseball team started waving their shirts in the air and whooping it up. And it spread from there. 

My wife and I attended a San Francisco Giants game in mid-June and witnessed the phenomena in its full pasty, unchiseled glory. It took place mainly in the center field bleachers–of course–but there were small, scattered pockets of fans taking part elsewhere in the stands. Tarps Off had landed in our home stadium.

Who knows how long this frivolity is going to last? I need to get in on it now, while it’s still a thing. Fortunately, my wife and I had tickets to an upcoming game two weeks later, even better, a day game. I asked if she was okay with me going Tarps Off. She was, under some conditions, or should I say, suggestions, which were perfectly reasonable, and which I followed.

For context, no one wants to see me in public with my shirt off. I get that, and for the most part, I keep my shirt on, as a public service. However, on the rare occasions that I go to the beach or go swimming, I take it off. 

My body is nothing to look at, on the contrary, it’s something to look away from. I have a terrible farmer’s tan, a very unimposing chest, and spindly limbs. I have more of a distance runner’s body, which is not a good look.

However…relatively speaking…especially for a man of my age…it could be a lot worse. Among American men, the bar is low, or more accurately, round and flabby.

In preparation for the upcoming game and exhibitionist celebration, I got in a few additional runs, did crunches and upper body exercises, and visited a professional service provider for some strategic hair removal.

My game day strategy was as follows: when the time is right and the tarps start coming off, head out to the bleacher section and find an available spot, being careful to steer clear of toned twenty-year-olds, gym rats, and fitness bros. Rather, seek out and slide in amongst the Dad bods, and look decent by comparison.

On game day, the conditions at the ballpark were ideal: sunny, 65°, and a good fan turnout for a game against the A’s, the Giants’ former cross-bay rival.

As I watched the game, I also kept my eye on the bleachers, eagerly awaiting the right time. I put sunscreen on my chest, my wife applied it to my back. I was ready. I waited. And waited. Opportune times came and went. When was it going to start? When were the tarps coming off? 

It never started. Tarps never came off. How disappointing, but for me, also so typical: overplanning and overpreparing for things, including things that don’t happen.

At least I had the right attitude and was looking forward to getting out of my comfort zone and doing something fun and uncharacteristic of myself.

At the end of the game, my wife tried to console me with, “Next time.” I’m not trying to wait for next time, there is no guarantee of a next time. I’m trying to be about this time, about now. In addition, I don’t want to do any more unnecessary vanity crunches. I hate crunches.

In the spring of 2024, as a new baseball season began to blossom, I looked into the possibility of seeing the Bananas play in our region. Too late, they had already come through. Later in the year, I looked into the possibility for 2025. Nothing doing, they weren’t coming to our area, but the Bananas were making a tour stop in Anaheim, California in May 2025, so I entered their lottery for tickets. 

One fine day in March 2025, I received the lukewarm good news that I got lucky enough in the lottery to be eligible to purchase tickets, albeit on a stand-by basis, if tickets were still available.

This came just two weeks after I received the unequivocally bad news that my job was being eliminated, due to cuts in federal spending for research. My steady source of income had suddenly evaporated. Which put me in a quandary.

Given my new economic circumstances, do I do the fiscally responsible thing and forego purchasing a ticket or do I go bananas and go see the Bananas? The former option is the prudent, mature, responsible option; the no-fun course of action that I’ve taken most of my life. And look where it has gotten me.

Fuck it! I’m going bananas! I’m going to try to make this work.

At the time, I didn’t know how long I would be without a steady stream of income and I was reluctant to deplete my savings. But I do have planning, cheapness, and resourcefulness in my favor. My superpower is being cheap. Pinching pennies, finding deals, and consistently resisting the urge to buy stupid shit that I don’t need are my specialties. 

Utilizing this superpower, I could make it work. Not on a shoestring budget, but on a shoeless budget, as follows: 

• Baseball ticket: $40 (For cheapest seats.)
• Plane fare: $11 (I used points on Southwest.)
• Public transportation to airport: $15.50
• Lodging: $0 (I crashed with my parents.)
• Parking: $0 (I parked on the street and walked in instead of paying $40 for stadium parking.)
• Stadium food: $0 (Are you fucking nuts? Never.)
• Merch: $0 (Same as above.)

Aggregating these direct expenses, I spent less than $70 to fly to and attend an out-of-town sporting event. Where there’s a cheapskate, there’s a way.

“We were told it would fail. People said they would never come to it because it’s not real baseball. We’ve been criticized every step of the way. But you know what I remember, what I focus on is the fans that love it.”

–Jesse Cole, Banana Ball owner, excerpted from ESPN interview

The Banana Ball game I attended, almost exactly one year ago, was sold out. That’s a given, the Bananas always sell out. They even sell out football stadiums.

There is a limited supply of games during a season or “tour” (their term). Banana Ball teams only visit cities for one to three days, then they’re gone for the rest of the year. They also make tour stops in smaller cities. Both of which give Banana Ball games the feel of special events, which in turn, drive up interest and demand.

–Players are allowed to modify and have fun with their uniforms: cut-off sleeves, bandanas, backward caps, cowboy hats, even a cape.

–Players perform group dances and songs several times throughout the game.

–Trick plays in the field are encouraged. There were a few botched trick plays during our game, but they are nonetheless encouraged.

–Umpires make calls with flair. The home plate umpire danced throughout the game and busted out a dance routine to “Stanky Legg” after calling out a batter on strikes. The man was clearly having too much fun.

–Celebrities and former hometown athletes make surprise entrances into the game. Ham Porter from the movie The Sandlot came up to pinch hit in our game. His face looked the same!

–In addition to the baseball itself, there are dances, sing-alongs, and diverse other entertainments and gimmicks throughout. They help kill the downtime and also add to the fun.

Banana Ball brings back the joy of baseball or anything else you played as a kid, just for fun, on a voluntary, unorganized basis, and without adult intrusion. 

It’s not for everyone, such as the purists, traditionalists, and grumpy, old grandfathers who only like things the way they were, back in the good old days.

The baseball game itself was competitive and the Bananas beat the Firefighters that night, 5-3. But that wasn’t the main takeaway. The game wasn’t primarily about which team won or which players performed well.

The emphasis was and always is on fans. The Banana Ball owner and the Banana Ball marketing are very clear about that. And for the express sake of the fans, Banana Ball prioritizes fun, energy, and entertainment.  

I had a good time and enjoyed the show. In retrospect, I’m glad I went and experienced the spectacle, first-hand. I made the right decision.

“What makes us different. We are not your typical baseball team. We take chances. We bend the rules. We challenge the way things are ‘supposed’ to be…”

–From the Savannah Bananas website

The Savannah Bananas are doing something different and are injecting fun and new life into an old game. I love that spirit and am trying to embody it more, myself. I could take some cues from the Bananas.