Humans of Schiller Park: Michael Corndog Cornelis

On a warm afternoon in Schiller Park, the sound carries before you see it.

A crack of a wooden bat.A cheer from the sidelines (no matter the team).And, every so often, a chorus of “Huzzah!”

Out in the meadow, under the shade of old trees, is not a traditional baseball field, but something a little looser. A little older. A little more forgiving of quirks like uneven ground and the occasional tree in play.

This is where Michael “Corndog” Cornelis spends much of his time.

As captain of the German Village Hobnobbers Vintage Base Ball Club, Mike is less focused on winning than on keeping something alive. The game they play follows 19th-century rules. No gloves. No protective gear. The ball is hurled underhand. A catch on one bounce still counts as an out, turning each play into something unpredictable.

A little like Plinko, as Mike says.

There are around 30 players in the Club for just 9 spots on the field. It sounds excessive until you consider the realities of playing without modern equipment.

“It's primarily the hamstring that gets most people.”

The Hobnobbers didn’t start as the Hobnobbers. Back in 2007, the team formed as the German Village Cupcakes, squaring off against the Ohio Village Muffins. The names were playful, but not entirely random. A “muff” is a term for an error in vintage base ball. “Cupcake,” it turns out, had no such historical grounding.

When the team joined the Vintage Base Ball Association, the name had to change. First, the team became “The Nine.” But then in 2024, the decision was left to the people who showed up to watch.

The fans chose the Hobnobbers, and it stuck.

At Schiller, the game unfolds more like a gathering than a competition. Spectators line the edges of the meadow, tucked beneath trees, calling out encouragement and leaning into the rhythm of play. There’s no separation between field and audience in the way modern sports demand. It feels closer and more communal.

Even the field itself shapes the game. There’s a tree at second base, and another at shortstop. Not obstacles so much as features of play.

Mike will tell you, with a small smile, that it doesn’t hurt the home team.

For him, the draw isn’t just the novelty of old rules or the aesthetic of a different era. It’s the chance to preserve something that might otherwise disappear. A version of the game that leaves room for imperfection, for humor, for connection.

While some vintage base ball clubs approach the game with strict seriousness, the Hobnobbers lean the other way. It’s competitive, but lightly held. Structured, but never rigid. A gentleman’s game, by tradition, but open to anyone who wants to be part of it.

A reason to gather. A reason to stay a little longer in the park.

A reason, now and then, to shout “Huzzah!”