The smoke-belching locomotive screeched to a dramatic stop at its final destination on the Catskill Mountain Railroad, signaling the start of something special. Clad in their baggy, crimson and grey wool uniforms, the Kingston Guards Base Ball Club stepped off their open-air train car and marched across the first-base line onto their dusty diamond battlefield.
The uniforms? Think three-quarter sleeves, puffy knickerbockers, and a look that screams 1860s grit. Their opponents? None other than their old-time rivals, the Brickmakers of Saugerties—a team just as dedicated to facial hair as they are to the game, flaunting swooping mustaches and endless sideburns. Leaning against the fence were their hefty wooden bats, each one uniquely carved. A brown growler passed hands, while two vintage-style balls, with an “X” stitched into the seams, awaited action.
As a fiddler scratched out the national anthem, the teams stood proudly along the basepaths, eyes fixed on a 35-star American flag arranged in a double circle. The setting? Not 1864—but 2025.
Yes, this is vintage base ball (that’s not a typo—“base ball” is how it was originally spelled), a sport that’s booming once again across New York’s Hudson Valley. Though this nostalgic movement has been around nationally for nearly 25 years, the Hudson Valley has seen a recent surge, with five teams popping up and more on the way. What makes it unique? They play using the 1864 rules, straight from the heart of the Civil War era.
Why 1864? That was the last year when catching a ball on one bounce still counted as an out. It was a time before gloves, helmets, or any protective gear. Pitching was underhand. A walk meant every runner advanced. Strikeouts and walks were rare. Almost every hit put the ball in play. The ball itself? Softer, and it only got mushier as innings passed—so teams aimed to score early.
This rewind to baseball’s infancy is what draws these players in. “The game keeps evolving,” says Will Quigley, an insurance pro and founder of the Brickmakers, “but back then, they were still figuring it all out. That chaos is what makes it exciting.”
Quigley, 43, is part of a growing tribe—baseball fanatics with a deep love of history, brought together by this curious intersection. It’s no surprise that baseball, the sport most obsessed with its own lore, would inspire such a throwback.
Anthony Alteio, a 59-year-old auto-adjuster and left fielder for the Guards, has roots in Civil War reenactments. “History is my thing,” he says proudly. “This blends it with baseball, and it’s a total blast.”
But it’s not all about solemn history. There’s plenty of comedy too. “It’s hilarious,” says Maria Cardow, a cybersecurity executive by day and a Brickmakers slugger by weekend. “No gloves means every play has the potential to be a disaster. It keeps you on your toes—and honestly, the facial hair game is outrageous.”
Minutes after that chat, Cardow slammed a base hit, sprinting across the infield as the old diesel train groaned back into the station beside the field.
Daniel Torres, 35, co-founded the Guards with Ulster County clerk Taylor Bruck after stumbling upon a game during the pandemic. “I got tired of photographing birds,” he laughs. By 2022, the team—named after a Civil War regiment from Kingston—was in full swing. This weekend, they’ll take part in a vintage base ball tournament in Gettysburg.
That’s another draw: it’s historical roleplay without a script. “You know how a reenactment ends,” says Torres. “But with vintage base ball, it’s always a fresh story. It’s live. It’s unpredictable. You get history, drama, and sport all in one. There’s no other American game like it.”
The Brickmakers’ uniforms were crafted by a Civil War reenactment supplier. Quigley’s wife hand-makes their pillbox hats, while he shapes his own bats on a lathe. Some teams even stitch their own balls. While modern cleats are worn for safety, they must be painted black to match the old-school aesthetic.
During a sun-drenched afternoon in June, the Guards and Brickmakers clashed in an intense, action-packed game. Nobody left with bruises—this time—but the Guards’ catcher played with a mouthguard, a rare concession to modern dental concerns.
Torres made sure the crowd, sitting in folding chairs near the third-base line, stayed informed. He’d step out to explain the 1864 rules, or point them to the gameday program—filled with mock vintage ads and clever throwbacks.
The game was chaotic but thrilling, featuring men and women from 15 to retirement age. Skill levels varied wildly—some were former high school stars, others just loved history or playing dress-up. “We’ve got all kinds,” Torres grins. “Some are athletes. Some are scholars. Some just like the costume party.”
The secret to winning? Keep the ball on the ground. One-hop outs are brutal. As innings pass, the ball gets softer, its flight shorter. The Guards joked about issuing $0.05 fines to anyone who hit it into the air.
That day, the home team tied the score in the 9th and 10th innings, before sealing the deal with a walk-off double in the 11th. Captains from both teams delivered heartfelt speeches. Then, in true vintage spirit, players gathered on the base lines and traded booming “hip hip hurrahs,” twirling their hats in theatrical fashion.
This isn’t just a game—it’s baseball time travel. And every inning is a trip worth taking.