by Dan Campion
“Kids, don’t be too big to accept advice.” —Lewis Robert “Hack” Wilson
Hack Wilson said he played “hung over, yes,
but never drunk.” He said, “when I see three
balls, I just swing at the middle one.” You’d guess
he’d likely die of drink, in poverty,
and so he did, in Baltimore, far from
his glory days at Wrigley, where he’d hit
the big green scoreboard with a homer, some
poke for a guy just five foot six. His mitt
failed him in ’29, when two fly balls
played three balls with the sun, and Hack missed both
and blew the World Series, no animals
like Billy Goats involved. Though one is loath
to draw a moral, it’s just common sense
to wear shades near the center field fence.