Even today, Toronto’s iconic thunderclap—a 10-homer avalanche on September 14, 1987—remains the single-game home run record for a team. The rest of the lineup moved in unison, resembling a jazz band hitting every cue, while George Bell and Rance Mulliniks each rifled two as Ernie Whitt went deep three times. One lesson from that night will stick with you forever: when nine batters have a plan, the pressure on the pitchers becomes extremely effective, and the scoreboard begins to resemble a pinball machine that has forgotten how to stop clicking.
Significantly enhanced by lineup depth and a collective eye for lift, New York revitalized the theater in 2025 with two distinct nine-homer explosions that felt both coordinated and unplanned. The opening salvo in the March game against Milwaukee came right away, a back-to-back-to-back barrage that was incredibly effective at robbing a visiting dugout of its air. The encore against Tampa Bay in August was more subdued but just as deadly—like a symphony repeating a theme at a higher pitch. In addition to cheering, fans counted swings like a drumline as the ball continued to disappear into the late-summer air.
Cincinnati’s 1999 nine is still a common civic campfire tale, always recited with a smile. The idea that depth can be fate benefited greatly from the Reds’ ability to distribute power throughout the roster that night in Philadelphia. Similar to how a swarm of bees tightens and then releases once it finds its target, you could feel the dugout loosen with each swing. Even a good staff on the wrong night has much less room for error if eight or nine hitters chase their zones and stay away from hero swings. As a result, the lesson sticks.
Historic Records of Most Home Runs in a Game
| Type | Record | Team/Player | Date/Details |
|---|---|---|---|
| Most HRs by a Team | 10 | Toronto Blue Jays | Sept. 14, 1987 vs. Orioles (Whitt 3, Bell 2, Mulliniks 2, others added) |
| Most HRs by an AL Team | 9 | New York Yankees | Aug. 19, 2025 vs. Rays; also March 29, 2025 vs. Brewers |
| Most HRs by an NL Team | 9 | Cincinnati Reds | Sept. 4, 1999 vs. Phillies (nine different players homered) |
| Most HRs by a Player | 4 | Multiple (Lou Gehrig, Willie Mays, Mike Schmidt, Kyle Schwarber, etc.) | Schwarber most recent on Aug. 28, 2025 |
| Most HRs in Minor/Other Leagues | 8 | Jay Clarke, Corsicana Oil Cities | June 15, 1902 (disputed but recorded) |
| Most HRs by Losing Team | 7 | Chicago White Sox | June 25, 2016 vs. Blue Jays (lost despite 7 solo HRs) |
| Most HRs by Both Teams Combined | 12 | Several games tied | Various eras, highlighting offensive explosions |
| Most HRs by a Rookie in One Game | 4 | Mark Whiten, St. Louis Cardinals | Sept. 7, 1993, also tied RBI record with 12 |
| Most HRs Consecutively by Team | 4 in a Row | Yankees, Brewers, others in different eras | Remarkably effective momentum shifters |
| Most HRs in One Inning by a Player | 2 | Several including Fernando Tatis Sr. (twice in one inning) | Showcased baseball’s unpredictability |
Reference: ESPN – MLB Teams Most Home Runs in a Single Game
Personal achievements sustain the heartbeat. Kyle Schwarber’s August 28, 2025, four-homer performance was accompanied by a plot twist that you should have anticipated. Check swing decisions early, then hammer errors middle-in or up-and-in when the count tilted appeared to be his very clear strategy. The timing on the fourth one was adjusted to be much faster on heaters that used to ride past barrels, and the swing path was noticeably improved by years of focused training. It felt like a career thesis statement. As he rounded third, I recalled thinking that some athletes inscribe their names on seasons, while others do so on calendars that fans will always keep.
The voices of the chorus that is history are recognizable. Even though the day was strangely dominated by news unrelated to Lou Gehrig, his 1932 quartet is still a timeless masterpiece. In 1961, Willie Mays was a reminder that greatness can be both disciplined and joyful, radiating joy with every pass around the bases. Mike Schmidt’s 1976 four at Wrigley, with the ball leaving quickly, the wind blowing out, and the audience alternating between astonished and ecstatic, is still the ideal combination of grit and skyline. Once a hitter’s eyes and hands are in sync, the rhythm becomes extremely versatile, making isolated power less important in these games.
Team records encourage anatomy classes. It’s not just bat juice but also plan alignment that really drives a multi-homer night. Hitters refuse detours after determining which lanes their swings play in by using advanced analytics. At-bats are now storyboarded by coaches, who map out how a reliever hides the ball or how a sinkerballer sequences lefties. Pitchers are forced to live at the edges and give up walks that act as kindling when a lineup shares those notes, making the attack extremely effective. As if a transformer had just flipped on, a park suddenly becomes electric after one bad fastball and another.
There is a social current in the records as well. Imagine children rushing to the neighborhood field the following morning, attempting to mimic Judge’s stride or Schwarber’s head motionlessness; imagine neighborhood merchants offering commemorative t-shirts by noon; imagine a bar owner playing every blast repeatedly. Baseball has become a shared language whispered across porches and crowded trains, and moments like Toronto’s 10, New York’s twin nines, and Schwarber’s four have been remarkably successful at weaving neighborhoods into the story.
It explains why these eruptions seem both uncommon and suddenly more likely—a deeper, more subdued change is taking place. Bat-tracking and biomechanics have been incorporated into previously haphazard routines by hitters and teams over the last ten years. By working with coaching staffs and data groups, sluggers are simplifying operations and releasing human talent to concentrate on posture and swing entries rather than just results. The end result is a strategy that is incredibly resilient under duress: barrel planes trained to meet rising fastballs instead of diving after them, more A-swings in plus counts, and fewer chase swings.
Context makes all records sharper. Everything from park factors to marine layers, rooftops that give or steal, and travel legs that get heavy on getaway days all influence probability. Depending on air density and carry, some clubs now adjust launch angles by one or two degrees by combining scouting and micro-weather. It may sound fussy, but it’s especially creative in the way it transforms a coin toss into a weighted die. The prep has done its silent work on the nights when the ball seems to fly. As hitters arrive with plans that appear remarkably clear from the first pitch, you can sense it in the box.
Start by looking at lineups that combine layered power and plate discipline to see who might be able to match Toronto’s ten. When healthy, the Yankees, Dodgers, Braves, Astros, and Mariners all fit that pattern because they have hitters who punish center-cut errors and control counts. By means of strategic collaborations between player-dev ecosystems and front offices, these teams have significantly enhanced the pool of hitters who arrive prepared to lift. Rehearsal is more important than brute force. In the event of another 10-homer night, it will appear less chaotic and more like a planned unveiling that just went really well.
The minors’ and other circuits’ records also create a vibrant mural. Around sunset, Jay Clarke’s contested eight for Corsicana in 1902 is recounted like an old legend, with some details clear and others hazy. The archivists at SABR continue their work, and it seems very likely that myth will be anchored in documentation. Even though some details are unclear, the story highlights baseball’s enduring memory and how a well-hit ball can reverberate for generations. I’m more interested in the certainty that someone, somewhere, saw eight balls take off and made the decision to never forget it than I am in the debate.
There’s a theater of irony to a night when seven homers lose. Power alone doesn’t win, as the White Sox demonstrated in 2016 with seven solo shots, a statistic that is surprisingly affordable for skeptics. Walk discipline is still the friend of every big fly, and base runners are still important. This is a sobering and practical lesson. The top power teams of today stack quality swings until the pitcher has to decide between a walk and a mistake so they don’t just tilt at fences. In a humming lineup, either route may be fatal.
Schwarber’s recent run of success also highlights an easy-to-miss fact: hundreds of routine repetitions make up the mosaic that is the four-homer game. The tiles are tossed soft toss, release point film, and a resolute refusal to pursue the borderline slider. The stadium seems to be breathing with the hitter for a single evening when everything is in harmony. I noticed something subtle but lovely when I watched the clips again: the same calm trot, the same exhale after contact, as though the body had already come to terms with the outcome before the audience did. That kind of composure is especially helpful when the at-bat needs to be saved and the count goes sideways.
Teams use the pursuit of epic nights as a way to develop October habits, not as a form of vanity. Bullpens get bruised by long counts. Heat-transmitting fly balls serve as scouting notes for chilly evenings. The swings that hold up when fatigue sets in are learned by the players. Remarkably successful at raising a floor while maintaining a ceiling, the modern method is much quicker at converting feedback into adjustment. These records are just the tip of a scaffold of routines that, day in and day out, enable explosive results.
