Posted on

Casey Hageman

by Michael Ceraolo

When I was pitching in the minors
I threw the pitch that killed Charles Pinkney
I was very much affected by it:
it showed me a baseball career, and even life itself,
isn’t guaranteed to anyone,
and also led me to fight for what I believed in
I pitched little more than an inning
for the Red Sox in 1912 and was ineffective,
so they sent me out to Jersey City
A couple months later Boston wanted to sell me
to a different minor-league team in Denver,
but said I would have to negotiate a new salary
Denver wouldn’t pay me what I was due under my contract;
I said I would accept the lower salary
only if Boston would make up the difference
They refused to do so, and also refused
to let me buy my release,
after first agreeing to let me do so
I refused to report to Denver and,
with the assistance of the Fraternity,
sued for the balance of the salary due me
It took many years, but I finally won,
by which time, through interest and penalties,
the amount I had originally sought
had grown to a considerably larger sum
And that wasn’t my only fight
I got back to the bigs in 1914
and pitched decently but was traded during the season
The second team refused to pay me
the $240 bonus promised in the contract
I again went to the National Commission
and again they ordered the promised payment
Those two challenges were two strikes against me;
baseball didn’t give me a third strike:
I was never again offered a major-league contract
I don’t begrudge the current players:
having to deal with those who run major-league teams,
they earn whatever they get

Posted on

Observation So Far

by Stephen Jones

The American League East
Is a self-eating beast
With no team below .500.
And the way these teams go,
As they consume one another,
It does make me wonder:

When the regular season
Is finally over
And the dust has settled,
It’s possible — it just may be —
That the last one on this list
Of baseball carnivores
May still get a wild card berth.

 

Posted on

Teamless

by Ellen Adair

With apologies to Lord Byron

I had a dream that was not all a dream.
Some large misfortune overtook the coasts,
And their tall cities were abandoned, only the blown
Forgotten newsprint scuttling down the street.
Exiled elsewhere, I marveled at the ways
That life persists: baseball was still played
By all the teams based in central states,
Their match-ups limited and circular,
While only ghosts played in my home parks,
Swinging blind at nothing in the moonless air.
Who’s my team now, I thought. No Phillies, Sox,
Or A’s. No Mets. Is it the Diamondbacks?

 

Ellen Adair is an actor, with recurring roles on shows like “The Sinner,” “Homeland,” and “Bull,” and a contributing analyst to the MLB Network show “Off Base.” Their book of poetry, Curtain Speech, is available from Pen & Anvil Press. They also host the podcasts “Take Me In to the Ballgame” and “Love Takes Action,” and draws baseball players by commission.

Posted on

This Year’s Departures

by James Finn Garner

The season is done, the jocks are stored
Only two teams are left on the board
Let’s pause now, while for Friday we wait,
And salute the retirements of a few greats.

Pujols hit his 700th for the Cards
And now will have time to work on his yard.

Bosox and Cubs champ Jon Lester
Now is an official hammock tester.

Music lover Kurt Suzuki
Can learn the banjo or bouzouki

After the majors, Ádrian González played on
But after this year, A-Gon done gone.

Melky Cabrera, the man and the myth,
Will star in community theater: “The Melkman Cometh.”

And if anyone’s  looking for J.A. Happ,
He’s out on the patio, taking a nap.