Byrd Lynn
By Michael Ceraolo
Comiskey slandered me as unpatriotic
because I went to a shipyard
to work and play ball during the war,
just as he slandered Jackson and Williams,
but that doesn’t justify what they did
Joe and Lefty were my friends,
but don’t let any of the Black Sox bs you:
that wasn’t a one-time lapse in judgment;
they were up to their necks in it
All during the ’20 season they watched the scoreboard
to see what Cleveland was doing,
and if Cleveland was losing or had lost,
they did something to make sure we lost too
My career ended after the ’20 season;
I sometimes wonder if that was because
of guilt by association
Michael Ceraolo is a 62-year-old retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet, the author of two full-length books (Euclid Creek, from Deep Cleveland Press; 500 Cleveland Haiku, from Writing Knights Press), and two more in the pipeline (Euclid Creek Book Two, from unbound content press; Lawyers, Guns, and Money, from Writing Knights Press).
Season of Uncertainty
by Raphael Badagliacca
I wondered how
My playing days
Would end
A line drive to the head
A broken leg sliding in.
What reason would there be
For no next season?
What blaze of glory
Would spell my fate?
Some things you can’t
Anticipate.
Lefty O’Doul
by Michael Ceraolo
I was the first American enshrined
in the Japanese Baseball Hall of Fame
for the many tours we made in the county,
for providing instruction as well as entertainment,
for assisting the start of professional baseball there,
and I’m proud to be so honored
As for the American Hall,
most of the blame for why I’m not in
can be placed on my stubbornness
First Miller Huggins, and then Frank Chance,
wanted me to give up pitching and play the outfield full-time,
but I refused, which cost me several years
Most of the blame, but not all of it;
some of it falls on a few of the managers I played for,
who provided me with good examples of what not to do
when I later became manager of the Seals:
Vitt in the minors (I could understand
why his Cleveland players later revolted),
McCarthy in the majors, who cost me two more years,
and even McGraw, who wouldn’t play me against left-handers
My record after McGraw speaks for itself,
and I hope for it to be recognized eventually
The Unknown Soldiers
By Michael Ceraolo
In blue and gray,
we played ball between battles
and in prison camps until the food ran out
When those of us who survived
returned home after the war,
we helped to spread the game
Later on,
the ballyhooers gave us more credit than we deserved,
but we do at least merit a mention here.
Michael Ceraolo, a retired firefighter/paramedic, follows sports and writes poetry, mainly about the Cleveland area.Â