Baseball isn’t just a game—it’s a full-blown ceremony, cloaked in superstition and stitched together by rituals as old as the infield dirt. From the pint-sized pros of Little League to the thunderous crowds of the MLB, players cling to their customs with the grip of a well-oiled glove. Lucky socks? Essential. Hats that haven’t seen a washing machine since Frozen hit theaters? Absolutely. And stepping on the foul line? Blasphemy.
If you’re any kind of fan, you know about the superstitions that have been around forever:
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Pitchers usually don’t shave on game day.
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Some players never stand in the on-deck circle, where they’re supposed to be.
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Different chewing gum for different teams.
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No one talks to the pitcher once he gets close to a no-hitter.
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Joe DiMaggio (and there are plenty of others) always stepped on second base on his way in from centerfield.
We don’t just accept it—we revere it. Just ask the Dons’ most devoted believers in the stands. Christy Winkles hasn’t missed a game in her “magic” shirt. Mike Gonzales won’t set foot near a playoff without his trusty golf hat. And Elizabeth McManamon? She’s always in her lucky blue and white striped shirt for Dons. To outsiders, it might look like a collection of quirks. But to the Dons and their fans, these rituals are a secret recipe, a little sprinkle of faith, a dash of tradition, and a lot of heart. It is good mojo that fuels every pitch, every catch, and every moment on the field.
This year, the Dons had one particular postseason rule: no buses to NCS games. The team ditched the bus and instead, players carpooled with teammates. All In. It may sound minor, but in baseball, mojo matters. And maybe, just maybe, that small choice helped power the Dons all the way to the NCS Championship. But superstition only scratches the surface. What unfolded this season was bigger than any one ritual. It was about belief, grit, and the quiet traditions that make Dons Baseball what it is.
Take the senior banners. School officially let out over a week ago. Classrooms emptied. Students signed yearbooks and turned in books. But those banners? The ones honoring the Class of 2025? They stayed up, flapping in the breeze on the baseball field. Why? Because the season wasn’t over. Because the Dons were still playing. The Dons marched deep into the CIF NorCal playoffs, earning a spot in the semifinal against St. Francis. The game? A tense, scoreless duel through five full innings. Every pitch mattered. Every out was earned. And then, in the bottom of the sixth, the Lancers scratched across two runs—just enough to claim the win and end the Dons’ remarkable run. With that, the banners will finally come down.
But don’t mistake this ending for a loss. The 2025 Dons didn’t just play baseball, they made history, they captured the NCS 2025 banner. They played with fire, with heart, and with each other. They were a team that people rallied behind. They were champions in every sense of the word. This wasn’t just a season…it was a chapter in their lives they’ll carry forever. All In.
And now, as summer settles in and the dust finally gets a break, the field goes quiet. The dugout’s empty. The bats are still. But don’t be fooled, this isn’t the end. It’s just the pause between innings. Because come January, cleats will crunch on that same dirt again. A new crew of Dons will jog out, wide-eyed, hungry, and ready to chase greatness with swagger. Like Jake Colaco proudly shouted from the dugout…LOVE IT! We will keep loving it.
The Dons will bring the same pride, the same fire, and maybe even a few new superstitions of their own. Because around here, baseball isn’t just a sport. It’s a heartbeat. And at Acalanes, it never really stops. Because that’s not superstition. That’s not a coincidence. That’s Don’s Baseball. Just love for the sport of baseball, just the fire passed from one team to the next. ALL IN!
