Afternoon Baseball

Common-sense ruminations on baseball and culture.


Baseball Musings has some updates on the lonely house of Jim O'Rourke, the only baseball HOFer from Bridgeport, Connecticut.

From the perspective of someone who lived in neighboring Stratford for 15 years, this paragraph speaks volumes:

"When my grandmother died in 1984, her funeral took place in that part of town. I remember thinking with a little work on the residences how nice this area could look. When my uncle died over a decade later, and we drove the same route, everything looked beyond saving."


Bridgeport may be beyond saving. At the least, nobody cares about saving it. The surrounding towns? Too rich, self-sufficient. Bridgeport exists for its hospitals, its courthouse, and, perhaps, for a place for all the poor minorities to live without bothering the rest of the county.

As for the house, it looks like hell. O'Rourke died 87 years ago. What would be better than preserving a relic in the middle of a decaying disaster would be knocking it down, developing something real and dedicating a monument/site to the memory of O'Rourke, perhaps at a community ballfield.

Oh well, this post was sort of baseball-related. Here's the stats on O'Rourke, who played four years before the National League was formed, hit .360/.410/.515 in the failed Players' League experiment of 1890, and played four years after that (plus a one-game cameo in 1904).

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