The Northwest Washington Men’s Baseball League features players from across Whatcom and Skagit counties. (Dennis Cairns for the Tribune)
Dennis Cairns
WHATCOM — June is Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month and for a lot of men, there’s no better outlet than a baseball field.
In a time when connection feels harder to find and mental health resources often come with stigma, especially for men, adult sports leagues are quietly doing critical work. They’re giving guys an outlet and an important sense of community.
In the Northwest Washington Men’s Baseball League, you’ll find men in their 20s, 30s, 40s and beyond—some over 50—getting together to play competitive, emotional, meaningful baseball. We play most of our games at Sehome, Squalicum and Joe Martin. We’re grateful for those fields. But this year, our season was cut short by six weeks due to a lack of field access. It was a blow not just to our schedules, but to something deeper.
It’s not just about the crack of the bat or chasing wins for Northwest Washington Men’s Baseball League players. It’s about carving out a few hours a week for themselves, away from the pressures of work, family, bills and screens. It’s about reconnecting with something real: teammates, competition and camaraderie.
That stung for a league made up of working adults, many of whom have built their free time around this brief but vital season.
This league is where you’ll find some of the most passionate baseball played anywhere in the region. Most of the guys are in their 20s, 30s and 40s, with a few in their 50s still getting it done on the mound or in the field. They’re welders, tradesmen, dads, politicians, mechanics and students. They’re former high school and college players, weekend warriors and sometimes late bloomers who didn’t get the chance to compete until adulthood.
The pitching is legit. Some guys throw in the upper 70s, a few touch the 80s. Others rely on guile, off-speed and sequencing to keep hitters off-balance. At the plate, you’ll see everything from power strokes to disciplined leadoff hitters who grind out long at-bats and swipe bags. It’s competitive, but rarely toxic. Most players know what it means to have life pull them away from the game and what it means to find their way back.
There’s a tendency in society to dismiss adult rec leagues as unserious or as a way for people to “relive the glory days.” But for many of us, this is the best baseball we’ve ever played—physically, mentally and emotionally. We play smarter. We understand the value of staying composed. We cheer for the guy who lines one the other way after adjusting. We respect the pitcher who can carve up a lineup with just location and tempo. And we look out for one another.
The friendships in this league aren’t surface-level. Some guys have played together for years, even decades. Others are just getting to know each other, but an easy respect comes from competing side by side. You show up, play hard and joke around in the dugout. And over time, those connections stick. It’s not always deep conversation, but it’s steady—and for many men, that kind of consistent presence is rare and meaningful.
Many guys don’t have many places to be themselves outside work or home. Adult sports offer a space where you can compete, unwind and be around people who get it. The dugout isn’t always full of deep conversation, but an unspoken understanding builds over time. You watch each other play, struggle, adjust and succeed. That creates a real kind of connection.
It’s not about pretending we’re something we’re not. Most of us aren’t getting drafted or earning scholarships. But we’re still competing and still improving, still investing in something bigger than ourselves.
Over the years, guys in this league have gotten back into shape, improved their game and found something to look forward to each week. It’s a space that welcomes the ex-college player and the rookie in his 30s alike. The shared love of the game cuts through all other differences.
And yet, for all its value, adult sports often get overlooked when cities and communities make decisions about resources. The loss of six weeks from our season wasn’t due to lack of interest. It was due to field access—a logistical hurdle, but one with real emotional consequences for players who count down the days to every season.
There’s a larger conversation to be had about how cities allocate space and time for adult recreation. Youth sports are crucial and deserve investment, but adults need spaces too—especially in today’s world. Men in particular face rising rates of depression, anxiety and isolation. Adult sports can be a lifeline, a structure, a sanctuary. And in a month dedicated to men’s mental health awareness, it’s worth stating plainly: this matters.
If you walk into a dugout in our league, you won’t hear guys talking about therapy or self-help books. But you will see them crack jokes, talk through life stuff and pick each other up. You’ll see men of all backgrounds connecting over a shared passion and leaving the field just a little lighter than when they arrived. That’s therapy too. That’s healing.
And for some, it’s the only place they can access it.
The Northwest Washington Men’s Baseball League is more than just a place to play baseball. It’s a way for people to stay connected, stay active and have something to look forward to each week. For a lot of us, it’s a reminder that even as adults, it’s still possible to build community, find joy in competition and take care of our mental health through the game.
Adult sports aren’t just hobbies—they’re part of people’s routines, their social lives and in some cases, their support systems. If we want healthier communities, especially for men, we need to make space for this kind of connection. That means giving adult leagues the same respect and access we give to youth sports. It’s not about chasing glory—it’s about giving people a reason to show up, stay active and stay connected.
