Lyrics

Last of the ninth, you’re down a pair. Their closer’s throwin’ peas, you swear. That’s baseball. Then a bloop, a bleeder and a blast scores three. You walk off in sweet victory. That’s baseball.

That’s baseball. Win or lose, it’s baseball. It’s baseball. Can you fill those shoes? It’s baseball.

Your fastball’s touchin’ 98. You lead the league in ERA. That’s baseball. Then your arm is cooked, you can’t go on. You’re out for a year with Tommy John. That’s baseball.

That’s baseball. Win or lose, it’s baseball. It’s baseball. Can you fill those shoes? It’s baseball.

Just like the rest of life, it’s hustle, pride and strife. Play it with heart, that’s way off the charts, and grit. There aint no quit.

It’s spittin’ seeds and snake tattoos with a million ways to win or lose. That’s baseball. A few shine through the ups and downs, to punch a ticket to Cooperstown. That’s baseball.

That’s baseball. You lose, you win. That’s baseball. Played with fear and a grin, that’s baseball. Yeah, yeah, that’s baseball.

Thank God for Baseball.