by Jim Siergey
Originally published in The Chicago Baseball Magazine.
“Hug Watch”
By the Bleacher Bum Band (@sonranto)
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
A Ballad of Baseball Burdens
by Franklin Pierce Adams
The burden of hard hitting. Slug away
.  Like Honus Wagner or like Tyrus Cobb.
Else fandom shouteth: “Who said you could play?
.  Back to the jasper league, you minor slob!”
.  Swat, hit, connect, line out, get on the job.
Else you shall feel the brunt of fandom’s ire
.  Biff, bang it, clout it, hit it on the knob –
This is the end of every fan’s desire.
The burden of good pitching. Curved or straight.
.  Or in or out, or haply up or down,
To puzzle him that standeth by the plate,
.  To lessen, so to speak, his bat-renown:
.  Like Christy Mathewson or Miner Brown,
So pitch that every man can but admire
.  And offer you the freedom of the town –
This is the end of every fan’s desire.
The burden of loud cheering. O the sounds!
.  The tumult and the shouting from the throats
Of forty thousand at the Polo Grounds
.  Sitting, ay, standing sans their hats and coats.
.  A mighty cheer that possibly denotes
That Cub or Pirate fat is in the fire;
.  Or, as H. James would say, We’ve got their goats –
This is the end of every fan’s desire.
The burden of a pennant. O the hope,
.  The tenuous hope, the hope that’s half a fear,
The lengthy season and the boundless dope,
.  And the bromidic, “Wait until next year.”
.  O dread disgrace of trailing in the rear,
O Piece of Bunting, flying high and higher
.  That next October it shall flutter here:
This is the end of every fan’s desire.
ENVOY
Ah, Fans, let not the Quarry but the Chase
.  Be that to which most fondly we aspire!
For us not Stake, but Game; not Goal, but Race –
.  THIS is the end of every fan’s desire.
All-Star Clerihews #4 — Clerihews and the Dial of Destiny
Lourdes Gurriel
Knows Seattle well.
He loves their seafood and coffee thing
And wants to attend Wagner’s “Ring.”
Bryce Elder
Spends the off-season as a gelder.
Separating boars from their testes
Keeps him at his besties.
Spencer Strider
Has a thing about spiders.
Even though his last name does that Middle Earth thing,
He can’t bear to sit through “Lord of the Rings.”
Justin Steele
“Has a heart just like a wheel,
“Let him roll it to you.”
(He’s a big Macca fan, too.)
