How Swayzeville became part of Ole Miss baseball: 'No place we'd rather be'

OXFORD | Rain began to fall Wednesday evening at Swayze Field, but the hundreds of college students gathered in left field — amid a slew of tents, coolers and grills —remained undeterred.

A voice, presumably an Ole Miss official, rang out over the public address system, warning them that a thunderstorm was setting in, and while this newly-formed tent city was not required to evacuate, they were certainly encouraged to exit.

It was heedless advice. Not only did no one leave, Lynyrd Skynyrd's 'Free Bird' started to blare from one of the many speakers stashed away in the collection of tents. The crowd roared and the party raged on.

You'd be forgiven for mistaking this scene for a commemoration of Woodstock, Bonnaroo or some other music festival. These students were gathered in the left field seating area of Swayze Field to wait in line to stake out their seats for the 2023 Ole Miss baseball season. The student section gates opened on Friday at 1 p.m., allowing students to claim their plot of land seven days before the first pitch of the season.

A Mike Bianco-fueled tradition that once began in the early morning hours of the Friday before Opening Day, now attracts anticipation that spans several days leading up to go time, when the gate swings open and students make a mad dash to mark their territory for the next four months in one of college baseball's most iconic student sections.

Ole Miss won its first national championship last June, as a program known for its consistency finally ascended to the pinnacle of the sport. Naturally, as the program reached a new level of success, the interest and anticipation has mirrored that trajectory.

The scene that unfolded over the last week is emblematic of just that, as students braved dreadful weather, sacrificed air conditioning, heat and indoor plumbing, all for a chance to gain the best possible seat to watch the product on the field.

Standing in the corner nearest to centerfield within the left field seating area, on a chilly evening last Thursday, Jayson Kern grinned as he gazed out into the tent community that was partly of his own creation. Kern is from Mountain Lakes, New Jersey, and is a junior at Ole Miss. He was also the first to plop down his chair in line. He did so at just after 10 a.m. on Tuesday.

"I knew I wanted to get here early this year," Kern said. "I was originally thinking to get here on Wednesday, because last year, people started showing up on Wednesday night or Thursday. Then, I decided that, if we wanted to be first, we needed to beat everyone, so Tuesday it was. I got out of class and just said, 'you know what, I am going to go ahead and go.'"

He informed his buddies of the plan in a group text, and a few minutes later, a couple of them joined him.

"It's dedication, I guess," Kern said. "I don't want to have to worry about my seats. I want my seats for the season. I don't want to have to worry about being screwed over without a seat at games. I don't care how long I have to wait, I just want my spot."

When Kern sat down that morning, it sounded the proverbial alarm across campus that the time had come. The word spread like wildfire as passerby saw Kern and his buddies had gotten in line. For everyone else, it was time to rally the troops and fall in behind them.

It was a few hours before others started trickling in. At one point, Kern's group was told they couldn't stay there and that they needed to go home. That wasn't an option.

"No shot we were going home," Kern recalled, "So we moved over behind left field."

By 7 p.m. on Tuesday, it became a steady migration, as hundreds of students flocked to the gates. The students pitched tents in the parking lot behind left field that night. The next day, they were ushered into the left field seating as the tent city was uprooted and moved to its ultimate landing spot. Over 50 hours remained to wait.

"I think we pissed a lot of people off," one of Kern's buddies said with a smirk. "We've heard the grumblings about 'who the hell started this so early?'"

If anyone was actually upset, you certainly couldn't tell by the mood of the crowd. A cacophony of speakers among groups of tents blared various tunes as students sipped beverages, played cornhole and chatted.

A couple of guys played catch on the walkway behind the left field fence. Two rows behind Kern's Ground Zero Squad, another group played Texas hold ‘em. Two tents to their right, smoke rolled into the air as another group cooked dinner on the outfield grills.

"We've been calling this Swayzeville," said Edward Grimes, a Corinth, Mississippi, native and a member of Kern's crew.

Once it became clear that this waiting game was going to be a multi-night affair, many of them brought in camping-style tents to stay the night. Kern's buddies rented tents from the on-campus recreation center. Several groups brought tents that could sleep up to six or seven people. Luke Keener, stowed a sleeping bag, a TV and an X-Box in his tent.

Keener, an Atlanta native, was proud to show off the extension cord he'd rigged into his tent from an electrical outlet he found in the storage area behind the batter's eye.

"Look, this is our housing for the week. There's no place we'd rather be. We are going to make the most of it," Keener said, clad in a black hoodie that read 'Come to The Sip' and showed Lane Kiffin in an A.J. Brown Titans Jersey with sunglasses on, with Juice Kiffin behind him, perched atop a military tank with flames erupting around the two. Keener says he designed the sweatshirt himself.

"It's way better than last year," another buddy chimed in, "Last year, I actually slept on a case of beer."

Two tents directly to the right of the Ground Zero crew, another group of five friends gathered underneath a tailgating style tent. Two of them sipped an orangeish substance in a gallon-sized plastic milk container. They told me this was a 'Borg.' This trend was apparently made popular on TikTok (you can Google what it stands for).

These five midwesterners comprised part of a group of a couple dozen fraternity brothers working in shifts to guard their territory. They set up a large tent in front of them, on the concrete walkway directly behind the fence. Six of them slept in the tent on the first night. They stocked two mattresses in the tent for comfort.

"We didn't say anything about blankets, we just said we have mattresses," one of them said.

"We spent too much money on food and beer to have blankets," another chimed in.

"We've had some supply drops throughout the days and have another one coming," one of them said. "Basically, our buddies pull up in the parking lot with food, water and beer and we take it in."

They were generous with their stash, to put it mildly.

Wednesday evening tested fortitude. As the thunderstorm they were warned about set in, both survival instincts and spirit were put to task.

Water seeped into the gully that is the left field seating area. Puddles quickly turned into miniature reservoirs. The Midwesterners' bunk tent flooded. The top blew off their Grove-style tent that covered the home base -- the roofing to their place in line.

"Things got pretty dicey once the rain rolled in," one student said.

A few of them evacuated the area. They told me the legendary tale of one brave soul in the group who battened down the hatches and sat under the (eventually topless) tent throughout the night and the storm.

But the rain hardly dampened the party or the mood. Tents flooding was of little concern. Aside from their best attempts to remain dry, there were really no worries. Sleep, as they explained, was mostly an unaffordable luxury in this environment.

"There isn't much sleep to be had out here," one student in the Midwestern group said. "The music never stops and the party really never ends either." He explained to me that he survived the night by lining four lawn chairs and lying across them.

"That doesn't seem comfortable," I said.

"Oh, it wasn't, but it was still awesome," he said.

One student geared up in a full-scale SCUBA suit and embraced his fate, as he dove through puddles and pranced through the grounds in his flippers.

"They offer diving classes at Ole Miss. I bet that is where that guy came from," one student said.

The pounding rain supposedly drove a few to more stable shelter, but the majority of Swayzeville opted against evacuating, instead viewing it as a test of how badly they wanted seats.

"If you think about it, if lightning strikes, it's probably going to hit that thing, and not us," said Keener, as he pointed to a light pole that rested about 15 yards in front of his tent. Keener's TV and gaming system, were, however, in danger. He made a quick dash to his car that night to store the two items before returning to his bunker.

"At that point, I was mostly just hoping to keep my socks dry," Keener said.

Swayzeville operated on a code of honor and boasted a Lord of the Flies-like policing system. Anyone suspected of cutting in line was met with a barrage of empty cans and debris, and was promptly booed and jeered out of the area.

As I made my way into the tent city and down toward the Ground Zero group, two students that I spoke with, who were late arrivals to this party and stationed closer to the entrance, offered a warning.

"Be careful going down there."

"What does that mean?"

"Actually, you don't have a chair, nevermind. You will probably be fine. But if you did have a chair and they thought you were cutting in line, they will throw stuff at you."

The order of the Friday line was kept by a system of different-colored wristbands, with a mark signifying each group's spot in line. As far as cutting in line, the honor system, coupled with the threat of vigilante justice, kept things orderly.

The community and its collective resourcefulness made for a strong unit. There were rumors of a mini billiards table being set up somewhere in the crowd. One student in Kern's group swore he saw a tent with a gas station-style hotdog maker churning out dinner.

"You can find anything you want in here," Kern said. "I swear, if for some reason you needed a defibrillator, I bet someone in here has one.”

The 2023 iteration of Swayzeville represents a lot of things.

It's a poignant indication of the program Bianco has built, and how Ole Miss Oxford have embraced it. It’s a regular social event and a staple of the community, deeply woven into the fabric of what everyone thinks of with spring in Oxford. For the better part of two decades, Ole Miss has consistently ranked in the top three in the sport in attendance.

"One of the coolest things for me is to look out, and look at pictures and see the crowds and just say, ‘Wow, we’ve come a long way,’ and it’s been that way for a while now," Bianco told Oxford Eagle in 2020 ." What it means...What it means to the fans and I think what it means to the Southeastern Conference and nationally. Those are things that you hope for when you start and that’s been a neat part of it.”

On the now-iconic Friday morning before the season, when the gates swing open for the students, Bianco brings breakfast to everyone waiting in line. He readily commits to as many local speaking engagements as his schedule can accommodate, free of charge, viewing it as both an opportunity to market his program as well as his duty to a community that has embraced a program he's built from the ground up.

Swayze Field itself, now a bucket-list destination within the sport, looks unrecognizably different -- both larger, more accommodating by popular demand, and nicer -- than when he took over the program over two decades ago.

The students who gathered in left field are the epitome of this evolution.

Kern, who, on Thursday evening donned a Mountain Lakes (High School) Baseball sweatshirt, ventured over 1,100 miles to go to college. Kern is a baseball nut. A die-hard Mets fan, he proudly shared that he never misses a game, citing an occasion last summer in which he attended a concert while simultaneously watching a Mets-Dodgers game on his phone.

Kern didn't know many people at Ole Miss when he arrived from New Jersey. At a school where Greek life is prominent but an exaggerated portion of the student body, he isn't in a fraternity. Kern and his group of buddies bond over Ole Miss baseball.

"This is my fraternity," he said. "This is what we love to do. We love to hang out and go to baseball games."

Kern played baseball in high school. Unlike the South, lacrosse and basketball reign supreme in the Northeast. He didn't know much about college baseball when he got to Ole Miss, aside from watching the College World Series as a kid -- mostly out of his love for the sport in any form -- but quickly learned that his college choice was a match made in heaven with his lifelong passion

"I played baseball in high school, but it was always overshadowed by lacrosse. It wasn't really a big deal," Kern said. "Then, I get down here, and I learn what a huge thing Ole Miss baseball is and I was immediately in Heaven. I mean, could it be any better?"

The group of fraternity brothers stationed to the left of Kern's crew, hailing from St. Louis and across the midwest, fall into a similar category.

Many of them are freshmen, and have never been to an Ole Miss baseball game. Their indoctrination into this family largely began with Ole Miss' magical run to a national championship last summer, as they all sat on pins and needles, hanging onto every pitch, and every inning, invested and captivated a relatively foreign sport and concept to them -- a program Bianco began to build before they were born.

"Look at this, how can you not love it?" one of them, sporting a white Tim Elko jersey, said. "I cannot wait to finally see it for myself next week."

Kern's Ground Zero crew hailed from Atlanta, Chattanooga, Springfield (Illinois) and many other places in-between.

For four days they drank, ate, pretended to sleep and enjoyed each other's company. Despite a monsoon and frigid temperatures, there is no place they'd rather be than waiting in line, in what could be deemed as a third-world country, to claim their spot for the spring baseball season.

This group arrived at Ole Miss from a variety of places across the United States. They knew next to nothing about Ole Miss baseball for the majority of their lives up until this point, yet this team, this program, this field and this environment, is now a prominent magnetic force in their bond as friends.

"It couldn't be better. I get to hang out, watch the team practice, camp out and hang out with my friends," Kern said. "It's not just that it is fun, it is also a story I can tell for the rest of my life."