“Is this heaven?”
“No, it’s Iowa.”
That iconic exchange from the classic baseball film Field of Dreams captures something deeper than nostalgia—it hints at the possibility that sport, when rightly ordered, can brush up against the divine.
It taps into a deep longing we have for all the wrong in this world to be made right, including every field or court, pool or pitch. And maybe, just maybe, the Savannah Bananas are giving us a glimpse of part of the picture.
Exhibitions by the popular team—in sold-out professional stadiums or viral social media clips—are joyful. Fans dance in the stands, batters perform choreographed walk-ups, pitchers throw trick pitches, and kids run on the field like they belong there.
The Bananas are still highly skilled athletes, and their approach has clearly captured fans. Under owner Jesse Cole, the Bananas grew to a regional favorite with a massive waiting list, then to a national phenomenon, selling out major league ballparks on their national tour. The team played before their biggest crowd ever—81,000—at Clemson University this year.
With the lip-synching players and rump-shaking umpires, you could write Banana Ball off as a gimmick. I did at first. But then I realized that the Savannah Bananas weren’t out to replace the MLB. They’re reframing the game to engage more fans.
“Our goal is to spread joy and have fun. We want people to go home saying that they saw something that they have never seen before on a baseball field,” said Bill LeRoy, catcher, emcee, and captain for the Bananas. “We care so much about our fan’s experience and we think less about ourselves.
Caring that fans feel joy, feel seen, and believe they belong: that’s not just good entertainment—that’s kingdom work.
Any good theology of sport begins in creation. When athletes run, jump, swing, or throw, they express something inherently human: bodies made for movement, minds made for strategy, hearts made for relationship and joy. Their activity reflects the delight of a Creator who watched his world unfold and called it “very good.”
But with the fall, what God designed as a gift became an idol, and our games began to reveal our brokenness as much as our brilliance.
We commodify athletes, elevate winning above character, and measure value in stats and salaries. Youth sports became pipelines of pressure. Athletes became performers first and people second. What was meant to be joyful and relational became tied to ego, identity, and worth.
The good news is that God did not leave his world—or sport—broken. Through Jesus, he began his work of redemption, not just saving souls but renewing all of creation. The joy of play, the beauty of competition, and the relationships forged in sport are not meaningless distractions; they’re echoes of Eden and previews of restoration.
Seen through this lens, sport becomes a classroom of formation. Plenty of us have seen hints of God’s redemptive work in traditional sports: a coach calling out potential in a young player, a team rallying around a discouraged teammate, or an athlete competing with integrity.
I see it all over the Savannah Bananas, and Adam Wainwright, St. Louis Cardinals legend and an outspoken Christian, did too when he showed up as a guest pitcher for Savannah in July, when they turned Busch Stadium from red to banana yellow for two sold-out games.
Wainwright walked the field with Cole, the owner, beforehand. “He was looking up into the upper deck trying to figure out how to get players up there during the game so that every fan who attended felt important,” Wainwright said. “What I took away from the experience … was their overall love of baseball and their genuine desire to be great entertainers for the fans.”
At Banana games, joy is tangible and contagious. It points to the kind of unburdened life Jesus promises (John 10:10), where people live free from the relentless scorekeeping of a broken world. One fan told me after attending a game, “I haven’t laughed that much in years, and it was just a baseball game. Or maybe not ‘just’ a baseball game.”
Another fan described a young boy—maybe eight years old—walking out of the stadium holding his dad’s hand, still buzzing from running the bases with the team. He looked up and said, “Dad, I want to play baseball like that, where everyone’s smiling.” That’s not just a great fan experience; that’s formation. That’s a picture of sport shaping the heart for joy rather than fear.
The Bananas blur the lines between players and fans, creating a shared experience of belonging—kids running on the field, fans dancing with players, strangers celebrating together. This is a picture of biblical fellowship (Acts 2:42–47), where joy and belonging are shared, not earned, and where every person feels they have a place.
The players remind us that competition, at its best, is about partnership, not punishment. It’s about calling out excellence in one another, celebrating effort, and recognizing that even an opponent is a fellow image-bearer who can make you better.
When competition means domination or proving worth at someone else’s expense, it distorts the human heart. But if we understand competition as mutual striving together to become what we’ve been created to be, then opponents are not enemies but partners in growth. Iron sharpening iron (Prov. 27:17) isn’t about hostility—it’s about mutual development, about calling one another to higher excellence and deeper character.
It shouldn’t surprise us that this team includes plenty of outspoken Christians, players who see their platform as more than performance. They invest relationally, share their faith, and embody the good news that worth isn’t defined by stats or contracts but by grace (Eph. 2:8-9).
“For so long in my career, all I cared about was my stats and winning/losing. Baseball was my idol, where I found my identity, and where my worth came from,” said LeRoy, whose approach changed when he joined the team eight years ago after playing college baseball in Georgia.
Learning to put other people first helped him move on quicker from his failures and focus more on Jesus. LeRoy got out of his comfort zone to take the mic, sing, and dance. “I had no plan of ever having these specific skills or this job,” he said. “I owe everything to God.”
Backflipping outfielder RobertAnthony Cruz posts pre-game prayers, holds team Bible studies, and organizes worship nights outside the Savannah stadium. The team’s high-energy singalong, dance-along soundtrack includes Forrest Frank’s trendy “Your Way Is Better” and Elevation Worship’s “Praise.”
They point beyond the fun of the game to the deeper hope found in Christ. Another player summed it up: “We want people to know they’re loved—not because they bought a ticket, but because they matter.”
The Savannah Bananas, for all their intentional focus on the joy of the fans, remind us that sport is about a bigger story. The Bible tells the story of a God redeeming every corner of creation, and sport is not outside of his concern. It is one of the arenas where his renewal takes shape.
We can expect more from sports. Every whistle blown, every base touched, every cheer from the stands can echo something eternal when rooted in love and joy.
What if success was measured by joy and growth, not just wins? What if parents and coaches helped kids love the game—and each other—well? What if athletes stepped on the field not to prove their worth but to live from it, free to create, compete, and connect as image-bearers of God?
Josh Lindblom played professional baseball for 15 years. A father of four with a master’s in biblical studies, he currently serves through Pro Athletes Outreach and Congruency, helping players and leaders align with their purpose.
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