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Jack O’Connor

by Michael Ceraolo

In my first trade war
I took a sum of money to jump my contract,
then stayed put and kept the money
What were they going to do, sue me?
In the next trade war
I acted as Ban Johnson’s agent
and convinced several of my Pirate teammates
to move with me to his American League
Did that earn his undying gratitude?
Hell no
It took eight years, but he got rid of me
after the Lajoie hitting spree against us
Season-ending games between non-contenders
always had, and continue to have, aspects of farce:
witness the fact that McGuire and I,
both over forty, caught for part of the day
I had the last laugh, winning my lawsuit
for the 1911 salary I was due,
though if I had to do it over
I would manage the doubleheader differently.

Informal head and shoulders portrait of baseball player Jack O’Connor of the American League’s St. Louis baseball team, standing on the field at South Side Park, located at West 37th Street, South Princeton Avenue, West Pershing Road (formerly West 39th Street), and South Wentworth Avenue in the Armour Square community area of Chicago, Illinois. Photo source: Chicago History Museum.
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MLB All-Posterior Team

1B   Jim Bottomley
2B   Wally Backman
SS   Tommy Butts
3B   Josh Booty

LF   Heinie Manush
CF   Chris Duffy
RF   Phil Reardon

C   Harry Cheek

LHP   Paul Assenmacher
RHP   José Butto, Duff Brumley, Matt Duff

MGR   Heinie Groh

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Playing Ball in the Hereafter

by Bill Cushing

As children, Henry Aaron and Don Sutton
grew up in towns three hours apart
and learned the game between fields of cotton;

then the hitter moved east, the pitcher, west,
as they took paths to opposite coasts.
Two All-Stars, they became among the best.

Upon dying, Sutton arrived first and may
have used the time to loosen his arm
while warming up on the clay

waiting for Hammerin’ Hank’s arrival.
As they play, now in eternal prime,
celestial fans admire erstwhile rivals

and wonder, from where they sit,
what is the most wonderous display:
the sweet pitch or power-driven hit?

 

A former New Yorker, Bill Cushing lives and writes in Los Angeles as a Dodger fan (by order of his wife!). His latest collection, Just a Little Cage of Bone (Southern Arizona Press), contains this and other sports-related poems.