“Charlie-O:” a flash fiction story
No animals were harmed in the writing of this story.
Municipal Stadium, Kansas City, MO
September 27, 1967
Charlie Finley lied to us. When he bought the Athletics, he told us he would keep the team here in Kansas City. For the past several years, though, rumors floated of him skipping town anyway.
The baseball season wasn’t over yet—the Athletics had a doubleheader today against Chicago and would finish the season in New York—but the press seemed certain the bum would move the team after this year, to either Seattle or Oakland.
Editorials in the papers, fan protests, boycotts of his shitty insurance company, none of it had any effect.
So we got desperate.
On the field, pitcher Chuck Dobson gave up two runs in the top of the ninth. Paul Lindblad replaced him and beat the White Sox 5-2, a rare victory for the Athletics. Game one of the twin bill finished.
We left our seats and hurried downstairs. Game two would start in under a half hour.
We met Bryan, our inside man at the stadium. He snuck us to an indoor stable behind the left field bullpen. He opened a gate and there he was: Charlie-O, the Athletics’ mascot—a mule.
He wore a blanket colored “Kelly Green,” “Fort Knox Gold,” and “Wedding Gown White,” the bizarre color scheme Finley picked for the team, with Charlie-O’s name written in script.
Finley would ride this nag onto the field, take him on the road, bring him to press conferences—he even had a damn song written and recorded about him. Finley fancied himself a showman, like Bill Veeck.
Some showman.
Charlie-O stood, surrounded by piles of hay while he drank water from a bucket. We got out the bottle of iodine.
Bryan moaned. He had thought we were just gonna kidnap the mule, maybe hold him for ransom until Finley changed his mind about leaving town.
That was what we wanted Bryan to think.
Charlie-O raised his head, licking his lips. We poured the iodine into his bucket.
Bryan screamed. He had grown attached to the nag? We thought he hated Finley as much as we did. We held his arms and gagged his mouth. He struggled.
We tried to get Charlie-O to drink, but he must’ve had his fill. He wandered around the stable. We nudged him in the direction of his bucket, but the nag wouldn’t budge. He whinnied and shook.
Bryan kicked up the hay, sending it flying around the stable until he slipped on a baseball that must’ve been hidden underneath. The globe rolled off his foot and he fell backwards. He yelled louder, scrambling to get up but slipping.
Shit. Others would come any second. We gagged Bryan again and held him. We tried to drag the mule towards the bucket.
Suddenly he kicked, knocking us against the walls.
Stadium security arrived. They pulled us up off the floor and took us away. Bryan calmed Charlie-O down.
Good riddance to the Athletics anyway. Who needed them?
