Thomas Porky McDonald
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Certain individuals find a singular moment in life used to portray them and/or define them, if not basically brand them. In the world of sports, particularly baseball, this practice is raised to a level that is questionable at best, laughable in most instances and blatantly unfair as a rule. The sports media, along with a growing portion of the general public that refuses to form their own opinions, goes to extremes to constantly relive an individual’s weak moments. Curiously, they often then close their ridiculing diatribes by mentioning that labeling a particular person is really unfair. In Never These Men, Thomas Porky McDonald, whose previous works stressed the notion that a game like baseball is there for the joy it gives to those who truly love it and understand it, takes a peek at a small collection of the most famous (or is it infamous?) of these media-fueled characters. The idea that someone who cannot possibly do something (play professional sports) might then play judge and jury on those that can (athletes) seems absurd to McDonald, who clearly feels that the ever-growing rash of media outlets, in concert with an unthinking generation of spectators, has only bloated the array of unfounded criticisms and hypocritical rhetoric within our midst.
From Fred Merkle, an early media creation, through to Bill Buckner, a truly fine and underrated ballplayer, Never These Men fundamentally asks the reader to imagine how it feels to be branded for a singular moment in one’s life. McDonald, foremost a poet, liberally spreads a few relevant original verses throughout this volume, which is fundamentally a call for fair play. The idea of balanced and proper reporting is considered as well, as in the cases of Ralph Branca, Mitch Williams and Ralph Terry. Though all three were solid Major Leaguers who gave up famous home runs, only the former two are constantly cited, a point of contention here. In the area of authority figures, why Charles Comiskey and Judge Landis are barely scrutinized for their truly abhorrent behavior, while a lifetime baseball man like Gene Mauch is merely brushed aside by far too many is a question that clearly haunts this writer. Never These Men asserts that working in a world with little or no accountability, while demanding total accountability from those whose skill and expertise literally creates your professional existence, is an absurdity that needs to be addressed.
Thomas Porky McDonald is a poet and writer whose poems and narratives often cross through the ballpark venue. His recent releases, Series Endings…a Whimsical Look at the Final Plays of Baseball’s Fall Classic, 1903-2003, a distinctly different view of baseball’s modern World Series than most informational volumes of that American icon usually are and At a Loss to Eternity, which looked at a number of talented yet forgotten teams, each helped define the writer’s take on baseball and what it entails. In Never These Men, McDonald makes a case for fair play in regard to a number of characters who have been, in his and many others’ eyes, unfairly branded. A previous work, Where the Angels Bow to the Grass, A Boy’s Memoir, taken mainly from the writers’ childhood days of the 1960’s and 70’s, described the bond between McDonald and his father, Bill “The Chief” McDonald. In addition, his three-book anthology Irishman’s Tribute series, which paid homage to many heroes of the past, also honored his father, the de facto Irishman noted in the titles of this collection. An Irishman’s Tribute to the Negro Leagues, Over the Shoulder and Plant on One: An Irishman’s Tribute to Willie Mays and Hit Sign, Win Suit: An Irishman’s Tribute to Ebbets Field each contained short stories and historical material, as well as a small dose of McDonald’s trademark baseball poetry. McDonald has also published a book of short stories, Paradise Oval, and his unique New Yorkers take on 9/11, The Air That September, which tried to equate the effect that baseball could have as a healer and a source of joy, one this lifetime City resident obviously reveres. He also recently released his third of four poetry collections which chronicle his work in the 1990’s, Closer to Rona: Poems 1997-1999, which picked up where the first two, Ground Pork: Poems 1989-1994 and Downtown Revival: Poems 1994-1997, left off. The fourth volume, Still Chuckin”: Poems 1999-2002, will arrive in the very near future, to complete the poet’s retrospective look at the final decade of the 20th Century, while a fifth set, In the Cameo Shade: Poems 2002-2005, currently approaching completion, will open his take on the early stages of the 21st Century. Born in St. Albans Naval Hospital in Queens, McDonald has lived in nearby Astoria his entire life.
(1)
Fred Merkle
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There never was a Merkle;
That would be, not like you have heard;
See, when the Moose had crossed the dish,
the game had met a final word.
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For many years, before the team that is trailing on the scoreboard came to bat in the ninth inning of any particular game at virtually any Major League ballpark, you would doubtless hear this announcement from the public address system:
“No one is permitted on the field after the game.”
The announcement sometimes continued from there, briefly cautioning those who may feel the need to roam the sainted grass (despite all warnings), as to how the local authorities will be only too glad to remove them and bring them back to "their house" if such an infraction occurs. But that first line (though "at the end of" might be substituted for "after") remains steadfast and true:
“No one is permitted on the field after the game.”
Had this announcement been made and indeed, enforced on September 23, 1908, maybe this fan would be currently writing about something else. Certainly this particular chapter would not be necessary.
The condensed story should have read that in a late September contest between the New York Giants and the rival Chicago Cubs (who were hot on the first place Jints' tail) at the Polo Grounds, New York shortstop Al Bridwell lashed a clean, two out ninth inning single to right center, to score teammate Moose McCormick from third with the winning run in a 2-1 Giant victory.
Unfortunately, the crowd, which in those days wasn't warned to keep off the field at game's end, and in fact, had fallen into the habit of racing onto the diamond, either to get a word with a participant in the game or to simply exit through the outfield gate, which was closer to the elevated train that would be taking many of them home, stormed the relatively security-free Polo Grounds playing surface.
Giant rookie first baseman Fred Merkle, who was playing only because the regular first sacker, Fred Tenney, was injured, took off for the clubhouse (located in right center in those days) before touching second base. The act of rushing to the clubhouse to beat the oncoming crowd had become a regular practice of all the players, especially the reserves, who were primed for their sprint as soon as there was one out to go, or the winning run was in scoring position. Cub second baseman Johnny Evers, noticing Merkle’s actions, eventually got the ball back from the outfield and stepped on second to force Merkle, thereby negating McCormick's run. Sounds simple enough. What really happened though, will not ever really be known, since all we have left are newspaper accounts of the game to go by, and none of them are totally consistent with one another.
