John Henry

by Michael Ceraolo

I’m not the billionaire owner
I was a catcher in the 1910s
I wasn’t much of a hitter,
though I was a pretty good defensive catcher;
the Big Train liked to have me catch him,
so that should tell you something
But being a backup backstop
wasn’t the most secure employment,
so I eagerly joined the Fraternity
when Dave Fultz formed it,
and I was active in the union,
serving as Washington’s player representative
The Lords weren’t having unionism,
even, and maybe especially, those
who had been active in earlier baseball unions
but were now in positions of power
And I was run out of the league,
and then run out of the majors a year later,
the eternal fate of the non-star
who dares to stand up for his and others’ rights

 

Holo Cow!

By James Finn Garner

Sung to the tune of “Centerfold” by the J. Geils Band

Stumblin’ down on Rush Street, walkin’ pub to pub
Harry Caray was the idol of every Bleacher Bum
Started in St. Louis, but seduced the owner’s wife
Then Chisox, then the Cubbies — a checkered, blesséd life

Then MLB tries some tricks
During the “Field of Dreams”
And ghostly Harry resurrects
To gasps and chokes and screams….

.     Cub Fan, Bud Man
.     This ain’t worth a tinker’s damn
.     Harry lives in a hologram
.     (Harry lives in a hologram)

.     Cub Fan, Bud Man
.     This ain’t worth a tinker’s damn
.     Harry lives in a hologram
.     (Harry lives in a hologram)

He’s leading the seventh inning stretch, the weak of heart begin to retch
Beer gut missing around his middle, where’s the liver spots, sweat and spittle?
There’s no way to digitize a glorious mess like Harry
Please find some breathing pitchman and let the dead stay buried.

He’s been dead since ’98,
But you could never tell
Thanks, computer science,
But he never looked THIS well…

.     Cub Fan, Bud Man
.     This ain’t worth a tinker’s damn
.     Harry lives in a hologram
.     (Harry lives in a hologram)

.     Cub Fan, Bud Man
.     This ain’t worth a tinker’s damn
.     Harry lives in a hologram
.     (Harry lives in a hologram)

Na na na-na-na-na
Na-na-na nanna na na-na
Na na na-na-na-na
Na-na-na nanna na na-na…

 

Tinker/Evers/Chance

by Michael Ceraolo

We once were discrete individuals,
but after we were linked in the FPA poem,
we couldn’t be separated
We went into the Hall of Fame together
We can’t be separated even in death,
and that’s okay with us: it is much better
to be remembered together than forgotten separately.

Michael Ceraolo is a 62-year-old retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet who has two full-length books, Euclid Creek from Deep Cleveland Press and 500 Cleveland Haiku from Writing Knights Press. Two additional books are also in the pipeline:  Euclid Creek Book Two from unbound content press and Lawyers, Guns and Money from Writing Knights Press.

Eddie Gaedel

by Michael Ceraolo

During the war I came in handy
because I could work in places
nonlittle people couldn’t get to,
and after the war I became a performer
Mr. Veeck said he’d never read Thurber’s story,
but I’m skeptical about his claim:
he said he would have a sniper in place
to shoot me if I tried to swing the bat
I never knew whether or not he was joking