As a kid, I had the VHS tape of The Sandlot on heavy rotation for one reason and one reason only—and it sure as shit wasn’t for the baseball. Benny the Jet ran away with my adolescent heart as quickly as he ran from the Beast while trying to retrieve a Babe Ruth autographed baseball. So, I find it fitting to have my heart stolen yet again by Benny The Jet Rodriguez. A hip swaying, head bobbing, shoulder shimmy-inducing lo-fi, pop punk extravaganza that has found a steady spot on my summer jams list. There may not be any crying in baseball but there sure is a lot of rocking.