Randy Hutchinson
Q: Our personal mantra is: “Run Faster. Jump Higher. Fly Free.” Which one of those relates to the Wake Forest Wombats the most, and why?
As much as I'd like to believe it's run faster or jump higher it's probably fly free. Our team feels more about having a good time playing a game we love than being the most athletically gifted.
Q: How would you define the Wake Forest Wombats style as a team?
Perseverance. Along the lines of Rocky Balboa (or maybe Chumbawamba?), we just keep trying to get back up and get better all with the primary focus of having a good time. It ain't over till it's over.
Q: Tell our Flyers about the Wake Forest Wombats and how you’re changing the game.
Sandlot and the Wombats are really all about providing a fun place to play ball. It can be competitive enough where if you've had some experience in organized sports you have a chance to scratch that itch but it's welcoming to people who have never played a game in their life. Are you familiar with the game of baseball and do you like hanging out? If the answer is yes then you too can Wombat. We also try to give back to the communities in which we play ball. Baseball is for everyone!
Q: What is your team’s favorite PF Flyers sneaker?
We’ve got some pretty sweet uniforms that pair nicely with the Center Hi Vintage. It’s a classic look.
Q: What’s one thing people don’t know about your team?
Tim makes really solid homemade pizza.
Q: What does being a part of the Carolina Sandlot Collective mean to you?
It's been amazing to be able to still play the game you love in a league that's laid back and accommodating when you're juggling your family's busy schedule, your job, etc. What surprised me in a great way was how cool most of the people in the CSC are. I don't think I've met, as a whole, a more friendly and encouraging group to play with.
Tim Christopher
I loved baseball as a kid. In my backyard it was always the World Series, always two outs, always the bottom of the ninth, the bases always loaded. As I got older, the reality of team sports meant it got more competitive and less fun. Eventually, when I didn’t make the cut in high school, baseball fell by the wayside. My attention turned elsewhere to things that weren’t baseball; things that came and went and circled through my restless list of interests. I still loved the game but I didn’t see a scenario where I would play again.
Decades later, I discovered sandlot through another interest: art. Cool posters were circulating on my IG feed and I learned that a friend was playing in something called the (first) Sandlot Revival. I brought my family along, we watched some ball, and we met people who were pretty far from athlete stereotypes. As we watched I thought “this looks like the kind of baseball I could play.” It was a while before I found the nerve to test that theory but it turned out that I was right.
The sandlot is a place for everyone who loves baseball, even for (maybe especially for) those who aren’t/weren’t that good or who have never played. It’s for people who baseball left behind or left out. It’s baseball stripped of all the things that aren’t fun and then re-packed with all of the good stuff. It’s a place where everyone who loves baseball can find a way to contribute to the community.
I’m not a pro at baseball or art or design l but I like doing those things, so sandlot has become a source of inspiration and an endless outlet for my creativity. I’ve designed logos, mascots, uniforms, and merch of all kinds. And posters. I love sandlot’s poster culture. It’s as if every team is a band and we all want the coolest art to promote our next show.
In sandlot, it’s as simple as wanting to do these things and then just…doing them. You can stay home and make these things all on your own, just like you can toss yourself a ball to hit. Here’s the thing though: it’s a lot more fun to do them with other people. In the end it’s all about finding joy in the game and finding it in a way that matters to you. So fly free. Do it for you. And find a sandlot team so that you can share what you enjoy with everyone else.
Abigail Bruffy
I’ve always loved baseball. Pretty much anyone who has ever known me could tell you that. Not softball. Baseball. Did you know that at 31 years old I’m still being corrected that I actually play softball, not baseball? Truly no offense to softball but I’m a baseball player.
I’m finally a baseball player.
I grew up playing basketball. Then rowing in high school. I never played little league or even tee ball. Even though I always wanted someone to play baseball with me in the street or our front yard after school, no one ever asked if I wanted to actually join a team. So I just assumed it was never an option.
As I got older, loving baseball became more complicated. Boys would always challenge me about it. “Oh yeah, you like the Phillies? Name 3 players that aren’t Chase Utley”. Okay, fine. John Kruk, Roy Halladay, and Mike Schmidt. “Those are obvious. Name the entire lineup of the 1980 World Series!”.
No matter my answers. No matter how much I could prove myself. I was always just a girl. Girls don’t know baseball.
It was made clear to me that I didn’t belong. So I stopped trying for a while. Then came the Wake Forest Wombats.
I was 29 and no longer the sheepish middle schooler who was tired of baseball pop quizzes. When my wife and I set our sights on moving to North Carolina, I had started looking into a sandlot team to join. I’d been following random teams across the country for a few years and now there was one in my new town!
I unpacked my hand-me-down bat and glove and I headed to the nearby park to meet the Wombats. I braced myself for the pop quizzes to start again but they never did. Just simple questions like “Well, where do you want to play?”. I explained my lack of experience but they didn’t care. By the end of the evening, I was one of them. I was a Wombat.
Over the next year I’d learn so much. Keep my head down when I swing. Step on the bag this way when the ball is coming from this direction. Practice your timing then on gameday don’t think about it. These guys were sharing knowledge with me that they’ve had since they were kids. Boys who were lucky enough to play baseball their whole lives sharing the game they love with a girl who just wants a chance.
A year later, I got my chance.
It was 2024 and my first Sandlot Revival. I was ecstatic. Teams from all over the country were coming here for a weekend filled with baseball and camaraderie! The Wombats were slated for a night game against the New York Groove. I was in the lineup to play second base like I always do.
I’m up to bat and I settle into my usual approach which is just don’t be a detriment to the team. I’m just happy to work a walk or at least not go down swinging with runners on.
Set. Here comes the pitch. I hear a slightly unfamiliar sound to me. The crack of the ball on my bat.
I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes until I opened them and saw the ball rolling down the third base line. As I’m running to first base I can hear the dugout and the stands going crazy! You would have thought I hit a grand slam.
My teammates were so happy for me. All I’d done was hit a single and they were so proud. I couldn’t wait to make them proud again.
The game went on and the score got tighter. It was the last inning and the score was tied. The grounds crew were ready to turn off the lights and go home. I was sent out to right field, a position I had never played before. There were runners on, two outs, the tension was higher than the North Carolina humidity that night.
Then another crack of the bat. It was well hit. Well hit and heading right towards me, the right fielder who had never played right field. Everything slowed down and sped up at the same time. I shuffled forward, stuck my hand-me-down glove in the air and hoped.
I caught it.
I look up from my glove and see my Wombats barrelling towards me. The crowd is cheering as I’m engulfed by my teammates jumping up and down.
“You saved the game!”, “That was incredible!”, “Let’s f*cking go!”
I’ve never smiled so hard in my life.
We shake hands with the Groove who were all great sports and we head back to the dugout. I crack another beer as we all start collecting our things to go home.
At the end of every game, we huddle up, usually to make brewery plans but tonight they were giving me a game ball. Here I was, the only woman on the team, being surrounded by the smiling, proud faces of these wonderful men who took me in and treated me as their own. I thanked my teammates not just for the ball, but for everything they’d taught me. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without their patience and open arms.
That very game ball sits on my desk. I have rowing medals gathering dust somewhere and award-winning campaigns people have forgotten. But that ball sits on my desk and I look at it everyday. It’s not just a reminder of a solid base hit or a game-saving final out catch, it reminds me of being stopped the next day by little girls who saw me play, or little league boys asking me to sign their baseball, or my fellow sandlotters congratulating me after they heard about what I’d done.
I’m finally a baseball player.
