A true World Series

During the last Summer Olympics, U.S. sprinter Noah Lyles sparked controversy when he called into question certain American professional sports leagues declaring a “world” champion.

“You know the thing that hurts me the most is that I have to watch the NBA Finals and they have ‘world champion’ on their head,” he said. “World champion of what? The United States? Don’t get me wrong, I love the U.S. at times, but that ain’t the world.”

American NBA players took exception. Lyles caught flack, held his ground, then sprinted to a 100-meter gold medal. Sports talk radio reveled in the moment. Everyone moved on.

I was reminded of this blip on the sports world radar while playing in the Men’s Senior Baseball League World Series. This is an annual fall classic that attracts hundreds of ballplayers to Phoenix for a weeklong tournament to determine the best team in each age group, from 18+ to 80+. There are double-headers, games played in Spring Training stadiums and relatively high stakes, at least for a bunch of grown men playing a kid’s game.

About two weeks before this year’s tournament, an acquaintance reached out about my availability for a 45+ team. A group traveling to Phoenix—almost all of the competitors are from out-of-state—needed a free agent to help fill out its roster. Was I interested?

I was not. I’d played in the World Series once before, picked up in a similar fashion by a squad from Southern California. It resulted in a dream-like week of big hits and reliable fielding among an incredibly chill group of new friends. It also involved my first—and thus far only—injury, mostly a result from the aggressive scheduling of the tournament. I love playing baseball a few times a week. But twice a day for a full week? Nah. I’m good.

“You sure?,” the acquaintance asked. “It’s the team from overseas.”

Turns out, the Old Guy baseball circuit extends across the pond. Every other year, a group of chaps from the UK and Ireland trek all the way to Phoenix to compete in America’s National Pastime. This would mark the third time in the last six years that this particular group had competed.   

“Let me see,” I said.

I figured it was worth it for the dugout chatter alone, and I was not disappointed. The team managers, brothers, hailed from Kent in southeastern England; one of them yelled “Bravo! Bravo!” in his cockney accent for every solid play. There was the New York native, still with his own Bronx accent, who’s lived abroad for 20-plus years. There was the fiercely competitive starting pitcher and smooth-swinging lefty who explained cricket to me as baseball with one long inning, and the ex-Brit now living in Toronto who wouldn’t pass up the chance to play with these guys, and the older Mets fan from Ireland who was moonlighting with our crew before playing in the 60+ tournament the following week, and the charming reed-thin Liverpool lad who’s long-suffering back pain flared up during the cross-Atlantic flight and spent most of the week watching (and stretching) and apologizing for not pulling his weight. He still coached a base every inning, regaled us with stories of growing up in South Africa, and rallied to pitch a valiant inning against the tournament’s eventual champion.  

Not everyone was from the UK and Ireland. The roster included a few local free agents like myself, as well as some true ringers who had played with the internationals in past tournaments. Our catcher, in fact, even traveled to Kent to compete with the Bucs on their home soil, part of his ambitious goal to play baseball in as many countries as possible. He travels to Cuba next.

This eclectic group proved plenty talented, but alas missed out on making the tournament’s final bracket. (I was little help, as my bat never showed up and I only flashed enough leather to not completely let the guys down.) Disappointment lasted until approximately the second round of post-game beers. That’s when talk turned to a possible reunion during a tournament in Ireland next summer. When, exactly? Over Fourth of July weekend. By the third round, some of the Americans were already checking for flights.