They let it die. Quietly. Slowly. Without a fight.

Deaf softball in New England — once alive with rivalries, trash talk, and community — disappeared like it never mattered.

No final game. No farewell. Just silence.​

 

But I couldn’t let that be the end.

 

I saw the empty fields. I felt the weight of what was lost.

 

And I asked the one question nobody wanted to ask:​

​

“Why isn’t there a league for us anymore?”

 

​When nobody answered, I stopped waiting.

 

​I built one.​​​​​

 

From Nothing to NEDSO​

​

The New England Deaf Softball Organization (NEDSO) wasn’t handed to me.

There was no blueprint. No funding. Just raw vision and a need for something real.

​

I created the rules. Designed the team identities.

Balanced rosters. Wrote the handbook. Hand-picked the cities.

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Six regions. Six teams. One revived dream.

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Every name means something:

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• Western Mass Rivermen – blue-collar grit

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• Worcester Ironclads – no-nonsense toughness

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• Hartford Havoc – unpredictable, untamed

 

• Shoreline Sluggers – finesse with firepower

 

• Northern Reign – cold, calculating, unstoppable

 

• Eastern Mass Mariners – quiet killers with coastal pride

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Each one represents real Deaf athletes with pride and fight in their blood.​​​

 

Before I Built the League… I Played the Game

​​

I was a two-time MVP and Golden Glove winner in the New England Athletic Association for the Deaf (NEAAD) —

and at just 21, I became the first player in NEAAD history to win both awards during the regional tournament of my rookie year — my first year ever playing softball.

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I was also part of a team that won two NEAAD championships.

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People took notice.

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"That kid is a freaking outstanding player."

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“Chris Marchese went 13-for-14 with 3 home runs and 14 RBIs — is that enough to win MVP? He could’ve gone 14-for-14 if it wasn’t for Jason McAnnully’s defense who snared his line drive.”

​

“I haven’t seen anyone play like him in NEAAD regionals in years.”

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“Your diving catch off of me was spectacular bro lol”
 

“You always hit so smooth. You’re so good.”
 

“You are a tremendously player bro! Keep it up!”
 

“Keep on doing your thing, you’ve got your squad in the right direction!

​

I know what it means to grind. To compete. To bleed for your team.

And I know what it feels like when there’s nowhere left to play.

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That’s why I built NEDSO — because nobody else would.​​

 

Why I Did This

 

Because Deaf athletes deserve more than pickup games. Because our talent, our culture, and our legacy deserve structure. Because I was sick of watching people wait for someone else to save Deaf sports.

 

I didn’t just want a league.
I wanted a movement.

 

One that shouts, “We’re still here. We still swing. And we’re coming for everything they said we couldn’t have.”

 

There used to be energy in Deaf softball here. Tournaments. Rivalries. Pride.

But over time, it fell apart — no structure, no leadership, no one willing to step up.

The fields got quieter. The teams vanished. And everyone just moved on.

 

Until now.​​

 

Blood, Sweat, and No Excuses

​

You don’t run something like this without sacrifice.

There are no sponsors. No committee. Just long nights, tough decisions, and a vision that won’t quit.

 

But I didn’t do this for applause.

 

I did it for every Deaf player who never got a fair shot.

I did it for the ones who still believe the diamond is sacred.

I did it for the ones who were overlooked, underestimated, or forgotten.​​

 

Legacy Is the Goal

 

When the dust settles, I don’t care if they remember my name.

 

But they’ll remember NEDSO.

 

They’ll remember that Deaf softball didn’t fade away —

It came back swinging.

 

Because they let it die.

And I brought it back.