As spring baseball starts up in the majors and the whirlwind of signings that defined this offseason screeches to a halt, the metallic clink of bats and the constant storm of country music that is Pomona-Pitzer (P-P) baseball practice has put a magical baseball tradition in the forefront of my mind: the walkout song.
For the baseball illiterate, an increasingly common cohort as America’s pastime continues to dwindle in viewership since the turn of the century, the walkout song is an artistic form of expression for athletes.
In my personal opinion, your selection of walkout songs speaks volumes about your character. For instance, Kevin Kiermaier, a center fielder who made headlines for pushing rookie of the year Randy Arozarena out of the way to grab a fly, walks out to Rick Ross’ “Hustlin,” the anthem of the All-American, Busch Light crushing, grindset guy that is rumored to roam Claremont McKenna College’s Green Beach shirtless whenever the sun is out.
Picking your song speaks volumes for how you see yourself in the game; are you a hero, like the hot new San Francisco Giants center fielder who rocked out to the Village People’s “Macho Man” and stunned in a Louis Vuitton shot featured on his Instagram, or a villain like Kevin “Outlaw” Kiermaier?
A walkout song can be used for good or evil. Expert team players and aspiring glue guys spend hours ruminating on such topics. Done correctly, the walkout song can act as a rallying point for the team, a highlight of an inning. But one wrong misstep or misreading of vibes can elicit cascades of groans from both benches.
For example, my batterymate in high school had an endearing obsession with Sabaton, a Nordic band that plays power metal centered around historical events like World War I. His decision to walk up to their hit song “Stormtroopers,” in my mind, imbued us with enough spirit-energy, moxy and chutzpah to help us push a scoring rally that helped us break a five-year streak of winless seasons. I had never seen anyone wield their weird dude energy in such a way — I was amazed and, frankly, jealous.
I was one of those players that didn’t necessarily have great pop in their bat, the ability to throw a runner out, or gamesense. But I excelled in making the dugout my dojo, leading chants, demanding everyone turn their hats inside out to form rally caps when we were on the edge of being mercy ruled and yelling “We love and respect you” at my boys when they went into the batter’s box. I now find myself filling this role with my friend’s wiffleball bouts and intramural sports.
This is a passion of mine, so I think it’s important to look back and study the greats and the tools they used to rally their team around their mediocre play and manic fervor for the game. Living in Virginia for the lion’s share of my young impressionable years, I got to sit in the front row for the rise of the Washington Nationals to World Series dominance in 2019, putting me squarely under the tutelage of one of the greatest glue guys in the history of baseball: Gerardo Parra.
Parra was no all-star to say the least. He was a journeyman, bouncing around six teams over the course of a 13-year career, consistently hitting slightly below average but making rosters due to the gold glove defense of his early years. After three years of below league average play in the dreary confines of my co-sports editor, Charlotte Renner’s PZ ’27 home state of Colorado, many would have thought it was the end of an unremarkably average career.
That was until the Washington Nationals, at this point in the season hovering near the bottom, picked him up on league minimum salary for what was looking like a final hurrah. It was a signing that made no headlines — a low ranking team picking a defensive utility player. Against all expectations, Parra would soon enter with a bang and a chorus that would become synonymous with the World Series-bound Nats with his walk up song, “Baby Shark,”which he picked as a tribute to his two-year-old daughter.
Parra and his endearing good dad vibes would start a monsoon of pep for the Nationals and power his bat to a magical “How can you not be romantic about baseball?” moment. Parra, who over his career statistically shrunk in the clutch, started performing like a superhero when the team needed him most.
This storm started on May 11, 2019 when Parra notched a grandslam to defeat the NL leading Dodgers as his first hit for the Nationals, following it with seven more homeruns, almost matching his career average full season homerun production in half a season.
No one could have expected the impact that Parra could make in those 89 games in the second half of the season. Despite hitting 10 percent below league average, every time Parra stepped up to plate, the greater DC metro area would shake with excitement. Avid fans were coming to games dressed to the nines for this mediocre player. This good dad and gritty utility baseball player came to embody the intrepid battle that the 2019 Nationals waged for a ring. For the only time in his career, Parra generated a total above one in the stat Win Probability Added, a kay stat used to quantify clutch for baseball players.
After the season came to a close, Parra was essentially done with baseball, playing just a third of games in the 2021 season after opting out of the abbreviated 60-game COVID-19 season of 2020.
After that, Parra vanished into the annals of baseball history, quietly joining the Washington Nationals coaching staff at first base, continuing the legacy of his “Baby Shark” story. Despite his winding path to history, Parra will be remembered for generations to come by aspiring glue guys and paved the way for baseball freaks to pull themselves up by the bootstraps of their good vibes.
Adam Akins PZ ’27 is a first-year at Pitzer College who is excited to see Jung Hoo Lee of the Giants wear more Louis Vuitton dresses in the near future.
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