by Jim Siergey
Originally printed in the Chicago Baseball Magazine, March 30, 2023.
Stan Musial
by Michael Ceraolo
I didn’t feud with sportswriters
I didn’t make obscene gestures at fans
I didn’t marry an actress or movie star
I didn’t play in New York
If I’m remembered at all,
it is for my unusual peek-a-boo batting stance
But in hitting, as with many other things,
it’s not how you start but how you finish,
and I finished in the hitting position
often enough to have as much success
as just about anyone else has ever had.
Baseball Before the Apocalypse
by Leah Mueller
Cluster of bodies, soap
bubbles at a Cubs game:
1983, our bicycles shackled
to poles outside, entwined in
a metal snare. To saw through
tempered steel would
give thieves the pick of several.
We smuggled imported
beer in white bottles, eight
bucks a pack, and salads
in sturdy plastic containers
from the Bread Shop.
Bleacher seats three dollars,
nicknamed the “Animal Section.”
No one at the entry gate
ever checked for weapons.
We were good to go, unless
bottles protruded from the
sides of our backpacks,
or we spilled marijuana
on the sidewalk by mistake
as we entered Wrigley Field.
A friend once said,
“If you were one of the lucky
people who got to change
the scoreboard by hand, you’d
be so fucking cool by default.”
We drank beer, passed
joints, ate salads, and
when the game was over,
we took our trash home
and disposed of it properly.
We were good citizens.
No one patted our thighs,
thrust their hands up our shirts,
groped under the waistbands of
our shorts, searching for explosives.
No one checked our health records
for evidence of compliance.
It was just a goddamned Cubs game,
a few 23-year-old kids,
and a summer that would end
like all the others after.
Leah Mueller is the author of ten prose and poetry books. Her new book, The Destruction of Angels (Anxiety Press) was published in October 2022. She is a 2023 nominee for both Pushcart and Best of the Net. Her flash piece, “Land of Eternal Thirst” appears in the 2022 edition of Sonder Press’ “Best Small Fictions” anthology. www.leahmueller.org
She Dreams of the End of Spring
By Mark J. Mitchell
She loves the hot corner. While other girls
may fall for lefties at first, she watches
deep glove work and sky-born pop-up catches
that blossom on the left field line. Balls curve
and bounce there different. When third basemen miss
a screaming liner they fall down to cheers
and dirt. The diamond dust’s light as a kiss.
Her heart smiles for forgotten Bill Mueller,
long and laconic. And Matt Williams with his fear
of the high hard one—well, everyone knows
that too-tall stance. Then Mike Benjamin’s short stint—
when God touched his bat for fifteen straight hits.
She’ll bless every utility infielder.
She prays. Training ends. Let’s go to the show.
Lou Brock
by Michael Ceraolo
Jackie and Willie and many others
helped bring the stolen base back to the game;
I did my part, especially in the Series
I saw the asterisk nonsense
the Commissioner pulled
with Maury Wills and Roger Maris
and I vowed that wouldn’t happen with me
I know it was a different commissioner,
but I wasn’t taking any chances
on him issuing a similar ruling,
and I succeeded.
