If you’ve ever been to Citi Field, you know that the highlight reel isn’t just limited to the action between the lines. Whether it’s Francisco Lindor strolling to the plate with My Girl spinning in the background, José Iglesias making baseball history by walking up to his own song (OMG—literally), or Edwin Díaz turning a ninth inning into a standing-room-only concert with Narco, the Mets have turned walk-up and entrance music into a symphony of personality. But where did this musical craze begin? How did we go from crackling organ music to players curating playlists worthy of a Spotify sponsorship? Let’s hit rewind on the history of walk-up songs in baseball and see how this tradition became a part of the game.
The Citi Field crowd brought it all week singing "My Girl" for Francisco Lindor 🎶🎵 pic.twitter.com/0wVWfNh9cP
— SNY Mets (@SNY_Mets) October 19, 2024
Mention “Baby Shark” to a baseball fan, and they’ll likely flash back to 2019 when Washington Nationals outfielder Gerardo Parra turned a kids’ tune into a full-blown phenomenon. In June of that year, Parra chose the infectious YouTube hit as his walk-up song, inspired by his 2-year-old daughter’s love for it. What happened next was nothing short of magical. Parra’s bat came alive, the Nationals went on a red-hot streak, and suddenly, Nationals Park was buzzing with fans of all ages singing and dancing along to “Baby Shark.”
It wasn’t just a quirky moment—it became a rallying cry. Fans donned shark hats and costumes, while players credited the lighthearted energy for transforming a struggling team into eventual World Series champions. Although Parra’s playing time dwindled later in the season, his contribution to the team’s chemistry was undeniable. His choice of walk-up music had brought joy, unity, and a much-needed dose of fun to the Nationals’ dugout and their loyal fanbase.
Parra’s story shows how walk-up music has grown beyond just background noise. It’s now a vital piece of baseball culture, a bridge between the players and their fans, capable of inspiring unforgettable moments both on and off the field.
Still, music and baseball have always been inseparable—like hot dogs and mustard, or pitchers and blistered fingers. Take a trip in the way-back machine to 1903 and the first World Series, where Boston’s Royal Rooters were belting out Tessie from the stands. Now, Tessie wasn’t just a song; it was a Broadway show tune from The Silver Slipper, a production with more staying power than some bullpen arms. Originally, it was a love ballad about a woman serenading her parakeet (yes, really), but Boston fans turned it into a rallying cry that helped the hometown team, the Boston Americans, clinch the series against Pittsburgh.
The Rooters, led by Michael “Nuf Ced” McGreevy—so named because he ended barroom arguments by slamming his fist on the bar and declaring, “Enough said!”—were as relentless as a bad umpire. When the Americans fell behind 3-1 in the best-of-nine series, the Rooters turned Tessie into a weapon, allegedly traveling to Pittsburgh to play it so incessantly that Pirates outfielder Tommy Leach later complained, “That damn Tessie song cost us the Series.”
And it worked. The Americans reeled off four straight wins, earning baseball’s first championship and cementing Tessie in the annals of fandom. Legend has it fans even improvised lyrics to roast opposing players. One favorite reportedly targeted Pirates star Honus Wagner with lines like:
“Honus, why do you hit so badly? / Take a back seat and sit down!”
Fast forward nearly a century, and the Dropkick Murphys—Boston’s resident punk rockers—resurrected Tessie in 2004, adding their own twist and rallying the Red Sox to finally break their 86-year World Series curse. That year, Tessie wasn’t just a song; it was therapy for a city long haunted by The Curse of the Bambino.
Of course, today’s ballparks aren’t exactly echoing with Broadway show tunes. But whether it’s Tessie or OMG, music has always been the secret sauce that makes baseball more than a game—it’s a spectacle.
After that the first World Series in 1903, and Boston’s Royal Rooters crooning “Tessie” from the stands that would be about it for decades. Organists played staples like the national anthem, “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” and a few peppy tunes between innings. Then, in 1970, the White Sox hired Nancy Faust, and the game – musically speaking – was never the same.
Nancy Faust, widely regarded as a trailblazer in the realm of in-game sports entertainment, is a name synonymous with innovation and spontaneity. Her groundbreaking role as the organist for the Chicago White Sox redefined how live music could elevate the fan experience. As Faust recalled in an interview with Mets PA Announcer Colin Cosell and Paul Olsen on their show The Sport of Entertainment in 2021, her journey to becoming the “Most Valuable Organist” (MVO), as dubbed by Sports Illustrated, was as unexpected as it was impactful.
“I never attended ballgames growing up,” Faust admitted. “My folks were not sports-oriented at all. We didn’t do things like that for recreation. But we always had an organ in the house, and my mother was a musician. I followed in her footsteps, thinking I’d provide music for functions requiring live music. Somehow, I fell into sports, and it became my niche, my calling.”
Faust’s unique ability to play spontaneously without sheet music set her apart. “I never really learned to read [music] because my ear was good,” she explained. “If I knew the melody, I could play it immediately. That spontaneity gave me an edge over canned music.” Her talent for instantaneously connecting songs to moments was a defining feature of her work. “When I heard a name coming up to bat, that’s when I played a song,” she shared. “There was no time to refer to music.”
Her first tasks as an organist involved playing for fans entering the park, as well as during downtime in games. “I was hired after playing at a luncheon the White Sox general manager, Stu Holcomb, attended,” Faust recalled. “He gave me a list of players’ names and their home states and suggested I play state songs when they came to bat.” This directive became the seed for her personalized walk-up music approach. “If I didn’t know the state song, I’d call my mom, who could hum it to me over the phone,” she laughed.
Nancy’s interaction with fans was another hallmark of her career. “Fans were my form of social media,” she said. “They’d suggest songs for players, like playing the Three’s Company theme for Nick Swisher because he wore number 33. If I didn’t know the melody, someone would hum it, and I’d play it right away.” This collaborative atmosphere extended to her dynamic relationship with legendary broadcaster Harry Caray. “Harry’s commentary often triggered song ideas,” Faust said. “If he mentioned the sun coming out, I’d play On the Sunny Side of the Street. He’d highlight it on the broadcast, making listeners aware of the fun aspects of the game.”
Caray’s influence extended to her visibility within the ballpark. “It was Harry’s idea to move me from the centerfield bleachers to a spot behind home plate,” she noted. “Being closer to the fans enriched the experience. I could see the scoreboard messages and play songs reflecting the announcements or promotions.”
Faust’s pioneering efforts left a lasting legacy. Her ability to blend spontaneity, musicality, and fan engagement remains a gold standard in in-game entertainment. As Paul Olsen aptly put it during the interview, “She is the first lady of multi-sport in-game organists, and an absolute thrill to have as part of the conversation about the evolution of walk-up music.”
While the White Sox fans will remember Nancy Faust, if you were a Mets fan from the mid-’60s through the disco-drenched late ’70s, the soundtrack of your summer likely featured the melodic magic of Jane Jarvis. Known as the “Queen of Shea,” Jane wasn’t just an organist; she was a one-woman jukebox who could turn a routine Tuesday night into a symphony of nostalgia, humor, and perfectly timed baseball banter.
She arrived at Shea Stadium in 1964, the same year the Mets moved into their shiny new digs. While the team was busy losing 109 games, Jane was busy winning hearts with her quick wit and impeccable taste in music. Whether it was “Meet the Mets” or a cheeky rendition of “Three Blind Mice” after a questionable umpire call, Jane had a knack for capturing the mood of the moment.
Before her Shea days, Jane had cut her teeth in Milwaukee, playing for the Braves in County Stadium. But New York was her kind of town, and when she got behind the keys at Shea, it was as if the city had found its perfect musical match. The Mets may have been the lovable losers of baseball, but Jane’s music made every game feel like an event. Take 1969, for instance. As the Miracle Mets improbably clawed their way to the top of the baseball world, Jane was there, providing the soundtrack to history.
Jane’s Shea repertoire was as eclectic as the city itself. She’d pull out “Sidewalks of New York” for the die-hard locals, “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” for the seventh-inning traditionalists, and even sneak in a little “Hava Nagila” for the diverse fan base. And she always knew how to needle the opposition, whether it was with a sly jab at a rival player or a tongue-in-cheek tune to punctuate a Mets rally.
Her musical timing was impeccable. During a rain delay, she’d play “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head,” turning grumbles into chuckles. When a brawl broke out, she might try to calm things down with “Give Peace a Chance.” Jane wasn’t just playing the organ; she was playing the crowd, and she was a virtuoso.
But Jane was more than her Shea soundscape. During the day, she was an executive at Muzak, proving that even elevator music could swing if the right person was at the helm. And at night, she moonlighted as a jazz pianist, rubbing elbows with legends and keeping her chops sharp.
Her tenure with the Mets ended in 1979 when cost-cutting measures silenced her organ. It was the end of an era, one that left Shea a little quieter and a lot less fun. But Jane never stopped playing. Whether in jazz clubs or at her own piano, she kept the music alive until her passing in 2010.
For Mets fans of a certain age, Jane Jarvis was as much a part of the ballpark experience as the crack of the bat or the taste of a hot dog. She was a maestro of memory, a virtuoso of vibes, and the heartbeat of Shea Stadium. In an age before playlists and pregame DJs, she was the ultimate mix master, spinning tunes that captured the soul of the city and the spirit of the game.
So here’s to Jane Jarvis, the woman who made Shea sing. If heaven has a ballpark, you can bet she’s up there right now, playing “Meet the Mets” and making the angels tap their feet.
As we reflect on the incredible contributions of Nancy Faust and Jane Jarvis to the ballpark experience, it’s evident that their music set the stage for what walk-up songs would eventually become. These pioneers took the static backdrop of organ music and turned it into an interactive, personalized part of the game, connecting players to fans in ways that were ahead of their time.
Today, the tradition they helped build has evolved into something even more dynamic. Modern ballparks like Citi Field don’t just rely on an organist’s spontaneous charm—they lean into curated playlists that let players showcase their personalities and preferences.
Whether it’s Edwin Díaz electrifying a stadium with Narco, or a playful anthem like Baby Shark rallying a team to a championship, walk-up and entrance music have become integral to baseball’s culture. They’re not just background noise—they’re an extension of the players themselves, a direct connection to the fans, and, in some cases, the heartbeat of unforgettable moments.
Thanks to trailblazers like Jane Jarvis and Nancy Faust, what started as a few clever tunes has blossomed into a full-scale production, ensuring that baseball will always have a place for music—and music a place for baseball.
Let’s end with a little extra credit for you, dear readers. If you could pick walk-up songs for the starting lineups of the 1969 and 1986 Mets, what would they be? Imagine Jerry Grote stepping into the box to the soundtrack of your choice. Picture Ed Kranepool, Bud Harrelson, or Cleon Jones striding up to the plate in ‘69, or Lenny Dykstra, Mookie Wilson, and Darryl Strawberry in ‘86. Don’t forget the pitchers—what would Tom Seaver or Doc Gooden warm up to? Drop your song selections in the comments below, and let’s hear your ultimate lineups with the perfect jams to match!
