My life has been designed around – and defined by – my love for Boston sports teams. At the top of the list are my beloved Boston College Eagles, and then falls in order to the Boston Bruins, New England Patriots, Boston Red Sox and that other one with the green shamrocks. My first love is football, followed by hockey, and baseball lands in a solid third spot ahead of that thing with the orange bouncing ball.
As a rabid football fan and unhinged hockey spectator (ask Brad about the bruises on his legs from my repeated punches during the PWHL game in February…) I can visually follow the game easily enough, but I consistently miss specific details about key plays and players as the games tend to move quickly. The act of watching a baseball game provides a hidden luxury – the absence of active listening.
I love baseball because of the pace – there is a slow ambling to it that has remained even with the advent of the “pitch clock”. The enjoyment of the game is largely a visual experience for me, and a welcome break to the ongoing listening fatigue that plagues me in all aspects of my life that begins the second my feet hit the floor until I flop down onto my bed at night. I can sit back and watch the action on the field – it is so easy for me to follow the game using my eyes exclusively. There is nothing that I need to hear to support my understanding of the game, and the large scoreboard provides all the information I need to know to fill in any gaps – the score, runs, inning, and AL East standings. It is a rare moment of feeling typical at a sporting event, being able to sink into the experience of a sports match that does not require reliance on my damaged ears to have a complete experience.
I had peripherally been hearing about such teams as “The Savannah Bananas”; “The Party Animals” and “The Firefighters” from my students over the past few years. I deduced that these teams are baseball’s answer to The Harlem Globetrotters – a combination of theater, feats of athleticism, and a game thrown in the mix.
A friend told me of an upcoming lottery, and encouraged me to enter with the hopes of winning a time slot to purchase tickets for a Savannah Bananas game at Fenway Park in July 2025, I threw my hat in the ring. I won a time slot, and purchased some tickets for this “impossible to get tickets for” event – figuring I would take some family members with me that seemed to be enthusiastic about this opportunity, and I would go along to experience this much talked about trend.
And then promptly forgot about it amidst the grayness and ice of mid-winter New England.
Fortunately, the Bananas are supported by a persistent marketing team who kept hurling email blasts at me for months until the day arrived. I gathered my invited guests, and off we went to my favorite place – second only to Alumni Stadium at Boston College – Fenway Park.
The first steps into Fenway park unleash a flood of a million memories for me, the vast majority include either #24, Dwight Evans or my beloved #15, Kevin Millar (Pedroia borrowed Millar’s number during his time at the Sox…fight me, Sox fans!).
As we settled into our seats, what unfurled before me is best described as a Broadway production number complete with dancing, singing, music, mascots, and mayhem – with a baseball game breaking out in the middle of it all.
It was an overwhelming visual assault, and as my eyes were frantically trying to take all of it in, I realized that everyone around me was laughing…at something. And then singing…something. And lastly hollering in response to…something.
And I had no idea what the somethings were…because I couldn’t hear any of it.
I knew on some level that I was attending a baseball game with entertaining side shows, but I was unaware of the sheer level of audience interaction via dance moves or “call and response” prompts. I was ill prepared for the ongoing commentary from the “master of ceremonies” spoken through a microphone from the field, with the sound then distorted into the vast, open air ballpark with a mighty echo. There were booming announcements from the main system high above the park which to me sounded like “look someplace” or “here comes whatever it is”. I sank into my seat feeling defeated and deflated having always cherished my time at Fenway Park due to the rare luxury of being able to fully enjoy a baseball game without the stress of having to rely on my hearing. This time, it was evident that it was going to be different – and that felt like a gut punch.
As the on-field pre-game events began in earnest, ableism was on full display as there was nary an accommodation that I could locate during my attendance at this event. As a refresher, ableism is defined as discrimination against a person or persons with a disability. Additionally, ableism includes the exclusion of people with disabilities from systemic systems and activities.
As an illustrative example, one of the first pre-game events that happened on the field was when a volunteer from the audience was invited to participate in a “game” of finding a banana on the vast green of the baseball diamond. The participant was blindfolded, then dropped down to all fours, and was expected to root around like a hog sniffing out truffles to find a banana that had been tossed to the grass by the master of ceremonies. The search for the banana was aided by the collective “Yays!” and “Boos!” from the crowd to inform the accuracy of the hunt. This single activity was designed to exclude people with limited vision, mobility challenges, and hearing loss.
As the afternoon progressed, I was unable to locate any signage that indicated available assistive hearing devices. The digital scoreboard displays were absent of caption options. The sound system was tinny and distorted and varied in volume – some of the music I could hear quite clearly while others it was impossible to pick out a melody amongst loud, angry sounds. I took my cues from what words my companions were singing to help me make an educated guess as to what song was playing.
Fortunately, my companions were accommodating and gracious in their willingness to translate for me the joke that everyone had just laughed at, provide a summary about the activity or attraction that was just introduced, or share the song that was playing that I couldn’t hear clearly.
I appreciated the efforts, but not being able to fully participate and be in the moment with everyone else was so defeating.
I made the best of it, as I always have when I am in the middle of situations that are not designed with my needs in mind. I watched the game, pleasantly surprised by the high level of baseball being played. I laughed at the “lobster rolls” that popped out of center field – entertainers clad in lobster suits, somersaulting across the diamond. The sudden appearance of a bagpipe and drum corps from the right field wall was a beautiful tribute to first responders, though the drums were much louder, rendering the bagpipes hard to hear.
All in all, I was happy that I was able to grab the tickets and provide a nice afternoon for my family at the ballpark, but the lack of accommodation was…well…bananas.
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