George Sisler

by Michael Ceraolo

I was involved in a few controversies:
my initial signing out of college,
trying to keep my medical information private,
my ‘deficiencies’ as a manager,
and I was suspended once for punching an umpire,
but on the whole I think I was a solid citizen
But then as now
excellence by itself is often not appreciated
unless it’s accompanied by ‘color’,
which means self-hype or hype by others
I didn’t do that for myself,
and others did so for me rarely,
so I’ve largely disappeared from memory
But whether accompanied by hype or not,
excellence should never be out of fashion

 

Bob Feller

by Michael Ceraolo

Having served in a real war,
I will never refer to any sport as war
as those who never served are wont to do
But baseball was, and is, a business,
and I treated it as such on the field and off
during my playing days and afterward,
and I didn’t apologize for doing so,
for which I received much criticism
The goal of business is to beat your competition,
within the law if possible
And we did beat them in ’48,
though we used a telescope to steal signs
Forget Chief Wahoo:
the sign-stealing is the reason
the Indians haven’t won a World Series since
But we won then,
and I won’t apologize for that either

When Homers Last in the Ball-yard Boom’d

by Patrick McCaughey

When homers last in the ball-yard boom’d,
And the great stars dropped balls in the bleachers in the night,
I watch’d — and yet shall watch with ever-returning spring.

O ever-returning spring! Baseball sure to me you bring;
Homers booming perennial, stars dropping them in the bleachers.
And thoughts of games to come.

 

Rogers Hornsby

by Michael Ceraolo

I didn’t drink or smoke,
not because I thought they were wrong
but because I wouldn’t let anything affect my hitting
I did play the ponies, usually unsuccessfully;
that didn’t affect my hitting,
though it did affect other parts of my life
I heard later that someone said
I was ahead of my time in being an asshole
I don’t know about that,
though I’m sure there were those
who thought I was an asshole;
I couldn’t care less
I want to amend what I said above
I did let one thing affect my hitting:
having to play in the field
If the designated hitter had been around when I was playing,
there would be no debate about who the greatest hitter of all time was

 

For Bart Johnson

by Stuart Shea

It can take a lifetime
To control your gift:
A paintbrush, a mind, a fastball.

(Long after the attention fades,
You go on.
And on, and on,
Working your way through the jungle
With a butter knife,
Trying to figure out why the hell you’re here.)

Even at the top,
There are peaks to scale,
Before spring to past fall.

But once you’ve laid down the tools,
You can sigh and smile
Until last call.

Former White Sox pitcher, scout Bart Johnson Dies–Chicago Tribune