| This song, by Alabama, still sends shivers down my spine when I listen to it - it's so loaded with memories of watching minor league baseball with my brother when we were children.
This town ain't big, this town ain't small
It's a little of both they say
Our ball club may be minor league but at least it's triple A
We sit below the Marlboro man, above the right field wall
We do the wave all by ourself
Hey ump, a blind man could've made that call
Chorus:
We like our beer flat as can be
We like our dogs with mustard and relish
We got a great pitcher what's his name
Well we can't even spell it
We don't worry about the pennant much
We just like to see the boys hit it deep
There's nothing like the view from the cheap seats
The game was close, we'll call it a win
Go off to toast the boys again
That local band is back in town
They got a kinda minor league sound
They're not that bad, they're not that good
But all in all it's understood
We wanna dance, they wanna play
We wouldn't have it any other way
Chorus
Now the majors called up ol' what's his name
And one more buildin' rises tall
And suddenly we're all grown up
And this old town's not quite so small
But I'll always miss the middle size town
In the middle of the middle-west
With no name pitchers and local bands,
And mustard and relish and all the rest.
Chorus
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