It’s not that hard to write a baseball song. Take the Rogers Centre seventh-inning staple OK Blue Jays − please. Written by Jack Lenz and Tony Kosinec, the joyful cheer is basically Baseball for Idiots: “You’ve got a diamond. You’ve got nine men. You’ve got a hat, and a bat, and that’s not all.”
Other baseball songs are not so simple. The old-timey game is often used as a metaphor for nostalgic loss or, occasionally, as a double entendre for romantic pursuits. In honour of baseball’s opening day, here’s a list in descending order of the 20 greatest baseball songs that are – at least in part – about things other than baseball.
The Greatest, by Kenny Rogers (1999): Kenny Rogers knew when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em, and when to take a chance on an earnest song about perseverance from Don Schlitz, who also wrote Rogers’s hit The Gambler.
(If I Used to Be a) Brooklyn Dodger, by Dion (1978): “Didn’t I just turn 16 in May? Now 35’s just around the bend.” This balladic midlife crisis was co-produced by Terry Cashman, best known for his 1981 hit Talkin’ Baseball.
Home Run King, by Gene Clark (1977): A twangy comment from the Byrds co-founder on the societal wealth, celebrity and status gap: “You are either just the newspaper boy or you’re either Babe Ruth.”
America’s Favorite Pastime, by Todd Snider (2009): A story-song about the no-hitter thrown by Pittsburgh Pirates hurler Dock Ellis in 1970 while under the influence of LSD doubles as a message about appearances that can be deceiving.
Sometimes I Dream of Willie Mays, by the Baseball Project (2008): The ballyards and baseball heroes of one’s youth live on in the cornfields of our minds. One of dozens of baseball odes recorded by the nine-inning-loving rock supergroup of Peter Buck, Mike Mills, Scott McCaughey, Steve Wynn and Linda Pitmon.
Roses and Blue Jays, by Buck 65 (2003): The Canadian rapper associates flowers, fandom and his father with himself.
Baseball, Baseball, by Jane Morgan (1954): “I tried to get him in my sweet embrace, but all he had on his mind was the pennant race.” The zinging, swinging singer earned the respect of baseball widows everywhere during the sport’s glory years.
3rd Base, Dodger Stadium, by Ry Cooder (2005): Bruce Cockburn has his song about stolen land; Ry Cooder has his. The song’s narrator reminisces about what lies beneath the home of the Los Angeles Dodgers: a Mexican-American neighbourhood bulldozed by developers in the 1950s.
Negro Leagues, by Natural Resource (1996): “The industry is all over the mound, pitchin’ but nobody’s makin’ any hits.” Funny how this rapped, racially charged indictment of the baseball and music industries never gets played between innings.
I Can’t Get to First Base with You, by Fred Fisher and Eleanor Gehrig (1935): Dedicated to slugger Lou Gehrig (and co-written by his wife), the lovestruck tune was all in good fun: Hall of Famer Gehrig, who famously proclaimed himself “the luckiest man on the face of the Earth,” had no trouble getting on base.
Lou Gehrig’s Disease, by Dan Bern (2012): A satirical comment on steroids, conspiracy theories and revisionist history, from the American troubadour’s baseball-centric Doubleheader album: “Next they’ll be sayin’ Grant isn’t buried in Grant’s Tomb.”
Fantasy Baseball at the End of The World, by John K. Samson (2020): There is fantasy baseball, and there are fantasies much more serious. The former frontman of Winnipeg indie-rockers The Weakerthans poignantly wishes for a president’s pain.
Right Field, by Peter, Paul and Mary (1986): Written by Willy Welch for all the non-athletic children banished to baseball’s least-demanding Little League position, where distracted minds wander to clouds, dandelions and young thoughts that matter.
Glory Days, by Bruce Springsteen (1984): Points subtracted for using “speedball” instead of “fastball.”
Bill Lee, by Warren Zevon (1980): A 97-second ode to individualism, inspired by titular iconoclastic pitcher who finished his career with the Montreal Expos and whose nickname is Spaceman.
Our Song, by Joe Henry (2007): With this thoughtful ballad about the burden of dreams, the U.S. producer/songwriter mourns the decline of America and a humbled baseball hero (“I saw Willie Mays at a Scottsdale Home Depot”) but resolves that it will make him a better man.
Centerfield, by John Fogerty (1985): A hit single about rebirth, possibly in reference to the rocker’s return to the music business after a self-imposed exile: “Put me in, coach, I’m ready to play, today.”
Mrs. Robinson, by Simon & Garfunkel (1968): In which Joe DiMaggio stands in for an America that no longer exists. Paul Simon also wrote baseball songs Night Game and Cool Papa Bell.
Paradise by the Dashboard Light, by Meat Loaf (1977): Ain’t no doubt about it, the Jim Steinman-written classic showcased the greatest heavy-petting play-by-play (by Phil Rizzuto) of all time.
Boys of Summer, by Don Henley (1984): In a list of the best baseball songs that aren’t about baseball, it only makes sense that the No. 1 tune, about incongruous bumper stickers and the loss of innocence, isn’t a baseball song at all. As for the title, Henley has said he hadn’t heard of Roger Kahn’s bestselling baseball book The Boys Of Summer, and that his inspiration came from a Dylan Thomas poem which begins: “I see the boys of summer in their ruin.”
Editor’s note: This article has been updated to correct the release date of the song Mrs. Robinson.