Editor’s Note: The following first appeared in the November/December 2024 issue of Nurturing Faith Journal. In 2025, Nurturing Faith became Good Faith Magazine, which is now a free resource for Good Faith Advocates. For more information on becoming an Advocate, click here.
Carol and I recently had the pleasure of watching the Brooklyn Cyclones teach the Rome Emperor Penguins a few things about America’s pastime by a score of 3-1. I learned a few things, too.
The announcers at minor league baseball games interact with the crowd: “Bob, you don’t need another hot dog. Put it down or I will call Mabel right now.” After we sang “Happy Birthday” to seven-year-old Nicole, the announcer apologized: “I told a guy in the elevator we would wish him a happy birthday and I’ve forgotten his name. If he’ll come to the booth, we’ll correct that mistake.” During the next inning, we found out it was “Tim.”
When the opposing pitcher threw at our batter’s head, we took it personally and booed loudly. When the opposing pitcher was taken out, we sang “Hit the Road Jack” with gusto.
Since there is no jumbotron, minor league teams work hard to entertain between innings—cheerleaders, gorilla suits, and lots of dancing. If random t-shirts do not constitute uniforms, then the Cyclones Dance Team does not have uniforms.
But what they lack in attire, they make up for in spirit. “Dads Do Ballet” involves middle-aged fathers in tutus mortifying their children by pirouetting to Swan Lake. During “Dance Like Elaine,” Julia Louis-Dreyfus impersonators do their best to dance their worst.
Minor league parks have no luxury suites. Some fans are there because they love baseball and can’t afford Mets tickets. Refreshments are, thankfully, cheaper in the minors. (I’m partial to the chili-dusted tortilla chips and fire-roasted salsa.) Three fans in hot dog costumes raced under the banners of ketchup, mustard, and relish—“Catch up!” Children throw baseballs through a hole in the fence to win free tickets. Those who, for some unimaginable reason, get bored, play cornhole just beyond right field. The ads on a minor league fence are less likely to be Coca-Cola, Coors Light, or TD Bank than Deno’s Wonder Wheel, Mister Softee, or RTS: A Better Waste Company.
The players make more errors. The pitchers throw curves that need to break an inch more. The first baseman could lose five pounds. The hitters are a half-second slow in getting to first base.
Triple-A is one step down from the Major Leagues, but then there’s Double-A, A-Ball, Rookie Ball, and Winter League. These minor league teams have the best names: Lansing Lugnuts, Hartford Yard Goats, Montgomery Biscuits, Fort Myers Mighty Mussels, and Jacksonville Jumbo Shrimp,
There are 5,000 minor leaguers on 250 teams. Most players never come close to putting on a big-league uniform. The minimum major league salary is $740,000. The average is $4 million. The minimum salary for a AAA player is $16,000.
Rickey Henderson may be the greatest leadoff hitter in baseball history. When he played his last major league game in 2003, he held the records for career stolen bases, runs, and leadoff home runs. In 2004 and 2005, Henderson played for the Newark Bears of the Atlantic League. The Bears paid him $3,000 a month. His rent was $4,000 a month. In 2005, at 46, Rickey played for the San Diego Surf Dawgs in the Golden League. When asked why he kept playing, Rickey would say, “I still love the game.”
In The Natural, Robert Redford is a major league home run hitter who eats in expensive restaurants and stays in fancy hotels. In Bull Durham, Kevin Costner is a minor league home run hitter who eats in greasy spoons and stays in fleabag motels. Since COVID-19, many churches have become more Bull Durham than The Natural.
If your congregation is smaller than it used to be, it is okay to be sad. Not many major leaguers want to play in the minors. Not many churches want to have less money. Churches that once thought of themselves as major league need to see that the future of the church may be small, local, and fun. We can stop trying to be a successful church and instead try to be Christ’s church. We can major in conversation rather than promotion. We can aim for authenticity rather than prestige.
We can gather as those who want to sing our gratitude, confess our sins, and receive God’s forgiveness. We can think more about loving the people who are there than enticing those who are not. We can learn everyone’s name—including seven-year-olds who love to dance and 46-year-olds who make more errors than they used to. Our churches can be less corporate and more Christlike. We can play for the love of the game.
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Senior minister of Plymouth Church in Brooklyn, N.Y.
