OAKLAND >> Gather ’round!

Skip had a message he wanted to relay to us, his ragtag bunch of wannabe ballplayers. We hustled in front of the third base dugout and listened up.

“Five words,” said Aaron Miles, the second-year manager of the Pioneer League Oakland Ballers. “Don’t quit your day jobs.”

The warning stood in contrast to the words of encouragement he shared from the same spot a few hours earlier to the 50 actual ballplayers who paid to be there. But the bottom line wasn’t so different.

The 10 media members, social media influencers and local politicians invited to take part in the independent team’s second open tryout over the weekend at Raimondi Park — as well as the guys with metal spikes and baseball pants — were all degrees of long shots for a roster that’s closer to full form than it was a year ago.

Two months out from the start of their second season, the Ballers are on their most stable footing yet, co-founder Paul Freedman said.

Freedman left his job running an education startup to follow his passion as an Oakland baseball fan for days like this. Donning a Ballers cap and a No. 81 tryout jersey on a picture-perfect morning with the pitching machine whirring in the background, Freedman said, “This has been the most difficult business I’ve ever done but easily the most rewarding.”

The A’s fan base gave Freedman a sense of community. When that was taken away, he wanted to provide something in return. They came out in droves — 100,000 fans over 50 home dates in their inaugural season, and now the B’s will be the only game in town.

It cost $140 for a shot to be more than just a fan, and players of all stripes took up the opportunity. Young and old. Gray beards, beer bellies, six-packs and superhero-like statures.

Three attendees last year made the cut to go to spring training, including Kelsie Whitmore, the Pioneer League’s first female player.

The opportunities may be even fewer for this year’s group, says assistant general manager Tyler Petersen. After running the 60-yard dash, players fielded balls and threw to third base and home plate to show off arm strength and accuracy.

The typical Pioneer League team may have one player snatched up by a major league organization per season, Petersen said. In their first year, the Ballers had four.

When the call comes, like it did for Tyler Davis last May, it often happens fast. One morning, Petersen was fielding a call from a White Sox official inquiring about a pitcher; that afternoon, the Ballers announced the signing in front of their home fans.

“That is probably the one I’m most proud of,” Petersen said, “because he was mine.”

Petersen, a broadcaster by trade, rose through the independent league ranks by chance, and, when his hometown Ballers came calling in October 2023, he became Freedman’s first employee.

Davis, a shortstop from Sam Houston State, was one of the first names Petersen brought to Don Wakamatsu, the vice president of baseball operations, that November. It took until May to finalize the signing. Davis touched 98 mph on the mound, and within a month he was gone.

That is the ideal outcome for any Pioneer League player, and the Ballers are attempting to make the case that they offer a better chance at it than the league’s other 11 teams.

When Petersen needs someone during the season, that’s when he begins going through the list of local standouts from the open tryout.

There are 26 roster spots, Miles tells attendees in his opening remarks, but the Ballers used 40 players last year.

“We’re not gonna sign seven guys today,” he said. “But some of you we’ll remember.”

Miles offers advice to the hopefuls, and my ears perk up. After the 60-yard dash, fielding ground balls and making throws, players split into six groups for batting practice, but the whole day is leading up to the afternoon’s scrimmage.

On a lunch break, Miles tells players to show off their arms, speed and, he emphasizes, don’t bunt.

“I’m not gonna remember a bunt,” he said.

I take it to heart.

Last year, the media tried out alongside the players, but this year the Ballers split us off into an abbreviated portion.

The mere invitation raises questions for someone who hasn’t played baseball competitively since high school. How do I re-lace a glove? Can I expense an athletic cup?

On the day of the tryout, it’s me, a couple of Oakland City Council members, the rapper JWalt and a group of influencers who I’m sure have large followings but have never appeared in my algorithm.

Trainers from the Ballers’ partner gym were there to warm up the players, and they put us through the same stretching routine. Guess who needed it more?

We headed to the outfield where we got three chances to show off (or permanently damage) our arms, or those who could successfully field the ball, of course (two out of three!).

Then to the infield, where we were warned about the choppy dirt and my concerns about expensing protective equipment turned into thoughts about hospital bills and misery.

I survived. My reward? Ten cuts in the batting cage. And you’d better believe I didn’t bunt. Journalistic integrity implores me to tell the truth, so let it be documented in print that I laced a standup double on my last swing. (History can omit that it was with a metal bat.)

So maybe I won’t quit my day job.

But I might just try out for real next year.