Little Joe

“Little Joe” they called him. I suppose that was because he stood all of 67 inches (5 foot 7 for those of you who are math challenged). There was nothing small about him though. Save that tiny glove he wore while patrolling second base. It looked like a child’s mitt, really. But somehow, it managed to swallow anything hit near him.

When the Reds stole him from the Astros, there was no way they could have known what they would be getting. For a six-year stretch, he was probably the best player in baseball. This man short of physical stature was an on base machine who hit for power and average while stealing bases at an electric rate and fielding his position like none other.

People forget because of Carlton Fisk’s grand foul pole homer in game 6 of the 75 World Series, but it was Joe Morgan who drove home what would be the winning run in game 7 for the Cincinnati Reds.

His signature move was to walk up to the plate and cock his left arm three times as the pitch was coming in. People would tell you that was a timing device he created. I would say it was just a seemingly diminutive man winding up his super power.

After he left the game as a player, he would go on to be one hell of an announcer. As a color commentator, he and play-by-play man, John Miller, formed a great team on ESPN’s Sunday Night Baseball for many a year.
His voice was as clear and concise as the way he played the game. There was no fat on Joe Morgan. He was A grade choice. He was the best second baseman to ever play the game. Really, it’s not even close. And he was almost at good calling games.

He had two careers and he was superior at both.
My pal, Barry, and I saw him two years ago in Cooperstown for the baseball hall of fame induction, where he spoke. We saw him walk down from the podium and away from the venue. He needed help. He looked frail. I reached out to Howard Bryant — a noted sportswriter, and told him Joe looked unwell. Howard replied, “he is unwell.”

When it comes to your childhood heroes, you try not to think of their mortality. Because when they go, something of your youth goes with them.
Joe Morgan has a street in Cincinnati named after him. Joe Morgan has a plaque in Cooperstown. Joe Morgan is an institution. Joe Morgan isn’t supposed to die.

But then, that’s a false belief isn’t it? We all are going to die. Be we heroes or mere mortals. But some deaths hurt more than others. Because some people feel larger than life — even if they are packed into a tiny body.

To paraphrase Billy Shakes, although he be but little, he is fierce.

Joe Morgan was fierce.