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roosterforme · 11 months ago

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Mr. Right Now Part 10 | Hangman x Reader

Summary: You left behind too many reminders of the weekend you spent with Jake, and even though he wants to, he just can't seem to get rid of them. You're free to test your theories, but you should have known you wouldn't like the results.

Warnings: angst, sex, oral sex, adult language, 18+

Length: 3300 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Why is Jake on my masterlist!? Mr. Right Now masterlist

You stood in your building on campus and looked around like it was completely foreign to you. The few days you'd spent at Jake's place made this seem like a distant memory, and you felt like a completely different person now as you wiped at your tears. When you stood inside the lobby and watched him slowly pull away in his pickup truck, your heart begged you to run back out to him. But it was over. He gave you what you asked him to, and it was done.

Someone who lived on your hallway waved to you, but you barely acknowledged her. You were too tired to even stop at your mailbox to see if there was anything inside, so you headed for your door. With your fingers crossed, you slid your key into the lock, hoping like hell that Kylie was out for the night. But it was Sunday, and you found her sitting on the couch with a smirk as soon as she saw you.

"Where have you been?" she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder and pausing her show. The common area was small, but you'd have to walk right past her to get to your personal bedroom, and you thought better of trying to blow her off.

"Out," you replied carefully, unsure how much you wanted her to know.

"With Cooper?" Her eyes flashed with excitement. "You've been gone all weekend!"

You shook your head and held your purse against your chest. She'd get it out of you eventually if she tried hard enough, so you said, "I went to that Navy bar you liked so much."

"The Hard Deck?" She was on her feet now, surprise written all over her face. You were sure she was having a hard time picturing you there; you had in fact stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Yes."

She screeched. "You slept with one of those hot aviators, didn't you?" she asked, tone somewhere between accusatory and delighted. But even though she didn't know what type of quest you had been on, she was definitely able to tell you'd had your world rocked. "Which one? What was his call sign? I just love their call signs."

You stared at her, suddenly surprised you'd ever considered sleeping with Rooster in the first place. You were a completely different person now because of the past forty-eight hours, and you were also embarrassed by what you said to the man who had treated you with respect the entire time.

"His name was Jake," you whispered as tears threatened your eyes again. "I need to finish something for my first class tomorrow, so I'm going to do that now."

You walked past her while she nodded in approval, like she was proud of you now, and you closed yourself in your room as a sob escaped your lips. Your bag fell to the floor as you tried to kick your sneakers off, but you gave up and just collapsed onto your bed. As you cried into your pillow, you realized your lace thong was still somewhere at Jake's place. It would probably end up in the trash along with everything else that the women he fucked accidentally left behind.

How could you have been so stupid? Falling for a man like Jake? A thirty year old man who simply agreed to fuck your virginity away so you could get on with your college life. A man who was the equivalent of a major league ballplayer while you were barely a little league benchwarmer.

"You insulted him," you whispered as you rolled onto your side, and the tears kept coming. He said you made him feel cheap, which he had never once done to you. He made you breakfast and took you on a pizza date in his dining room and snuggled you in his bathtub, and you acted like he was undesirable.

He called you naive, and perhaps he wasn't wrong. You had no idea what you were doing there. The weekend was supposed to be simple: lose your virginity so you could go out with Cooper. But you couldn't even manage to do that much correctly. Jake was a million times better than anyone you'd ever met on campus, and that was the kind of thing he deserved to hear you say. He deserved so much more, and he'd probably find it in someone older and more put together than you.

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Jake fell asleep with his bedroom window open, but the sound of the ocean was less peaceful and more turbulent when he was alone. His kitchen was a mess from the meals he'd shared with you, and the pizza box was still on his dining room table. But he couldn't bring himself to clean any of it up just yet.

He still felt like shit on Monday morning. In your mind, he was exactly the same as Rooster or any of the other guys would have been, but you were so much more to him. He felt good when he was around you. Or at least he had before you abruptly ended the weekend by telling him he was only made for one thing.

When he walked into his bathroom, he was greeted by an empty bottle of Sam Adams and a wine glass on the edge of his bathtub. "Fuck," he gasped, turning away from them to brush his teeth. The green toothbrush he gave you to use the first night you slept over was right there next to his, and he couldn't keep his fingers from touching it like he half expected it to be a figment of his imagination.

But no, all of these items were strewn about just to make coming to terms with things harder. It should have been laughable, getting rejected by a twenty year old, but the weekend he spent with you was the closest thing he'd felt to a relationship in years. You fed him that disgusting pizza. He held you while you napped. You actually listened to him when he talked. He couldn't keep his hands off you to save his life. Even the clothes in his drawers made him think of the way you dug around in there like you owned the place.

"God damn it," he groaned when he realized your lace thong somehow ended up on his dresser. It was too easy to picture you on Friday night, wearing it in his kitchen with your skirt on the floor at your feet, trust in your gaze even though you didn't really know him yet. You looked sinful that night with a sharp retort on your lips when he thought he was the one in charge. You weren't just some dumb college kid; you were a funny and resourceful and sexy woman. He ran his thumb along the lace before pushing it to the side to finish getting ready for work.

He flew worse than he could ever remember, so maybe it was a good thing you rejected him after the weekend was over. He couldn't focus, but it would have just been worse the longer he was hung up on you. He was surly and short with everyone he encountered, and by the middle of the week, they just left him alone.

But it was still so bad by Friday, and it wasn't helping that he hadn't yet cleaned up the wine glasses or the pizza box or thrown out the green toothbrush. He skipped dinner and took the time to hand wash each glass he'd filled with ice water for you. Then he walked the pizza box directly to the dumpster. But your underwear and that fucking toothbrush remained in their spots, and he decided he would save them for another day.

Alone and sprawled out on the couch, he couldn't help but wonder what you were doing right now. Last Friday around this time, you were at the Hard Deck with your fake ID, and he sat up abruptly when he considered that there was a chance you might be there again tonight. That you might be looking for him.

Like an idiot, he grabbed the keys to his truck and headed there to find out for sure. Maybe you wouldn't agree with him, but he still felt like he'd been better to you than any of the others would have been. God, all he wanted was to know that you learned something useful from him, not just that he had casual sex with tag chasers.

But when he got to the bar and looked around, he knew right away you weren't there. No leather mini skirts, and no Converse sneakers. Just aviators getting loaded while playing pool, and an assortment of every kind of woman anyone other than Jake could possibly want.

He was nothing other than a self-fulfilling prophecy, the way he was almost immediately approached by a woman he took home weeks ago. Your words echoed in his mind.

"You're so good at fucking, no wonder all the tag chasers want you. I'm sure they all missed you this weekend."

"Not tonight," he told the woman who pouted at him. She gave him no witty retort before she walked away, but it didn't matter. Jake was already thinking about how he should have held onto your fake ID so you couldn't get into any real trouble with the fucking thing. But you weren't his to worry about or protect, and perhaps that was what bothered him more than anything else. If you were, he'd have you wrapped up in the fleece blanket that he kept on the back of his couch while the two of you ignored a movie in favor of making out. If you were, he'd have a reason to keep the toothbrush.

He just fucking knew you were with that dipshit Cooper who was the reason you came to the Hard Deck in the first place. There was nothing wrong with you when you met Jake, but Cooper was the reason you thought there was. "Fuck," he groaned running his hands over his face as he took himself back out to the parking lot and and drove home again.

You hadn't reached out to him once. He wasn't sure if his number had successfully saved in your phone, but it didn't much matter. You knew where to find him, and you hadn't tried to.

While he drove, he let himself get lost in the memory of how fucking good he felt last weekend. He didn't want to forget that feeling. He wouldn't be able to anyway. He just wished he couldn't still hear the way it sounded when you apologized and told him he had been perfect.

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"Stop," you said with a forced laugh.

Cooper was drunk, and his hand was on your bare thigh again as you hung out at his place with some of your mutual friends. What a departure this was from last Friday night when you had to beg Jake to touch you. At least at first. After a bit, neither of you could seem to stop.

But Cooper was doing this in front of other people. Maybe it was your fault for agreeing to hang out with him tonight and agreeing to see a movie with him tomorrow, but you would have preferred he do this in private.

"Let's go to my room then," he coaxed in what you were sure he thought was an endearing tone. But his breath smelled like beer in a bad way, and when he kissed you, it was obvious that he had overdone it.

All you could think about was Jake.

Jake. Jake. Jake.

You needed to put a stop to this, but tonight wasn't working for you.

"Cooper, I think we should just hang out tomorrow. You know, when you're sober?"

At least he had the decency to look abashed. And when you went out with him on Saturday, he was much better. He didn't invite you back to his room again, even after you made out with him, which you appreciated. You'd known him for months, way longer than you knew Jake, but you couldn't figure out why you weren't as comfortable around him.

There was just something about Jake. Charisma. That was it. Charm. Every woman probably reacted to him the way you had, and he was probably just as attentive to everyone else.

Since Cooper was the reason you ended up at Jake's in the first place, you let him eat lunch with you all week and walk you back to your dorm from your classes. You let him wrap his arm around your waist and tuck his fingers into the top of your jeans. You let him kiss you each time you saw him.

You needed to give him a shot. It wasn't really his fault that you had Jake on the brain after weeks of dodging his advances. He wanted you, and you deserved to enjoy him. You already rid yourself of your virginity, and you knew the twelve rules. Condoms and communication and no cutting corners. You had this. Besides, you'd never know if it would always be just as good with another partner unless you saw it through.

So the following Friday, after you finished your classes for the week, you took a shower and changed into a dress that Cooper told you weeks ago looked cute, and then you walked the mile or so to the other end of campus where he lived. He was waiting for you when you got there with a smile on his face, and your heart beat a little faster.

"Come on inside," he said, holding out his hand. He was familiar now, and comfort could grow over time. You were sure of it. And he was a good kisser when he wasn't drinking. Tonight it felt nice, and he wrapped you up in his arms as soon as you walked past his roommates who were playing video games.

When he opened his door, he said, "I even cleaned my room for you. What do you think?"

It looked the same as it always did, and you rolled your eyes and laughed. "You didn't. But it doesn't matter."

"I tried a little," he mumbled, grinning at you before he closed the distance to kiss you again. "Give me a tiny bit of credit?"

Your heart skipped a beat as his hands found your waist, and you sighed when his lips drifted along your neck. He sucked on you there, bruising you before pulling away. But it didn't feel bad. Not at all. It felt okay. You closed your eyes, immediately getting lost in the feel of it. Firm chest against your breasts. Big hands. Soft hair. Your fingers gave a little tug on the strands, and he groaned, cock hard in his jeans, pressing against you.

"Do you wanna....?" Cooper asked, easing your dress up your legs. You were almost startled when you remembered it was him instead of Jake, but you nodded.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I want to." You still had the three condoms in your little purse along with your fake ID and your actual ID. But when you ended up on your back on his bed, Cooper was already excitedly reaching for your underwear even though you definitely weren't ready to get a condom out yet.

"How about a little more foreplay?" you asked, and he looked back at you like it was a foreign concept. "I like foreplay," you added softly.

"Right," he replied, climbing on top of you where he touched you through your panties until you weren't exactly sure if you were wet or not. You tried to slow him down by kissing him, but he was practically rutting against your leg.

"Will you go down on me?" you asked him, and he almost groaned.

"I mean... I guess. If you go down on me."

It must have been because it was your first time together, but he seemed in a hurry. He didn't stay in one place long enough for you to get the hang of how it felt with him. You didn't like rushing. You liked long, drawn out orgasms and being called Darlin'. Cooper didn't call you anything. He didn't speak at all; he only grunted as the two of you had sex that left you completely unsatisfied.

Well. You had tested your theories and come up with several conclusions. Sex was not exciting with every partner. Guys did in fact like to cut corners. And not all of them seemed to know the twelve rules rules. As you pulled your dress on over your head, you thought about how much better you felt around Jake than you ever would around Cooper.

"Feel like playing video games with me and the guys? Or you just want to leave until I see you tomorrow?" Cooper asked, opening his bedroom door and hovering there expectantly as tears stung your eyes.

"You know," you whispered, trying to keep your voice calm, "I think I'll just walk back to my place."

"Okay, cool."

He didn't offer to walk with you. All he did was send you off with a kiss as he opened a can of beer while his friends called his name. You made it about two blocks before you started crying, because you had tried so hard to fool yourself, but you completely fucked everything up.

Jake was nothing but a perfect gentleman the whole time you were with him. He took care of you in so many ways, not just sexually, and you made him feel bad about himself. It didn't matter why he was skilled in bed, he was sweet. He hadn't mentioned other women while you were there, but you did. There was nobody to blame except yourself.

You practically tripped on the sidewalk as your tears obscured your vision, and you sat down hard on a bench with your phone in your hand. You tried to find Kylie's name in your contacts list, hoping she would come pick you up, but instead your thumb paused over Jake Seresin. And then you did something stupid.

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Jake was sitting on his couch in his underwear eating a pizza with toppings he didn't even like when his phone rang. The caller had a local area code, but he didn't know the number. He was about to swipe to ignore it when his curiosity got the best of him.

"Hello?"

He was met with silence. Or so he thought. He was about to end the call, but then he heard a soft sigh. His heart beat a little faster as he tossed the slice of pizza back into the open box.

"Hello?" he repeated, gentler this time.

"Jake."

He would know your voice anywhere. He'd been replaying everything you said to him in his mind for the past two weeks. He was afraid he'd never hear from you again. "Darlin'," he said softly, missing the way that word felt on his tongue. "Are you okay?"

The sound of your breathing was followed by a sob as you said, "Not really."

He was on his feet, tearing down the hallway toward his bedroom in search of clothing as he tried to keep his voice as steady as possible. "Well, then why don't you tell me where you are so I can come try to make it okay?"

There was a short pause, during which he could hear nothing but his own heartbeat. "I would like that," you whispered. Then you gave him an approximate address which he knew was on your college campus.

"I'll be right there," he promised.

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How are we feeling? Maybe Cooper was a good idea before Jake, but definitely not after. The next chapter will be the last one. Thanks for reading. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 11

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witchingwithscissors · 4 months ago

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Agathario AU | Agatha just needed a baseball coach for her kid. She didn’t plan on catching feelings.

Agatha studied the young woman who strolled onto her manicured lawn, looking more rebel than structured coach. Her hair was tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail and she exuded an easy confidence that clashed with Agatha’s buttoned-up demeanor.

“Coach Vidal?” Agatha asked, crossing her arms.

“That’s me,” Rio replied, shifting a duffel bag on her shoulder. “You must be Nicky’s mom.”

“Agatha,” she corrected, extending a handshake.

Nicky poked his head out from behind Agatha’s legs. “Are you really a pro ballplayer?”

Rio’s grin softened, and she switched briefly to Spanish. “Claro, pequeñín. Ready to become una estrella?”

Nicky’s eyes lit up. “You speak Spanish?”

“Grew up with it,” Rio said proudly, then winked at Agatha. “We can do lessons in both languages if you want.”

Agatha felt a tug in her chest at the easy way Rio included her son. Maybe hiring this woman had been the right call after all.

The first few weeks followed a steady pattern. Rio arrived twice a week to teach Nicky batting, pitching, and fielding. She teased him gently, guided him with a firm but patient hand, and didn’t seem to mind if he talked non-stop about cartoon superheroes in between drills.

Agatha hovered at a polite distance, watching. There was a careful neutrality to their exchanges; after all, she had hired Rio for a service, nothing more. Still, she couldn’t help warming to the girl’s enthusiasm and the way Nicky’s eyes danced whenever Rio praised him.

One evening, after Nicky sprawled out on the couch, exhausted from practice, Rio lingered to chat with Agatha in the kitchen. Soft conversation about baseball turned into more personal confessions like how Rio’s childhood had been turbulent, how she moved around too much to keep friends, or how Agatha had been a single mom since Nicky was a toddler.

A small hush settled as they each realized: They were sharing more than just small talk. And neither seemed ready to stop.

Agatha prided herself on being composed, but she found her thoughts drifting to Rio’s half-smile or her easy laugh at odd moments—during work meetings or while sorting laundry. Sometimes she’d recall the way Rio guided Nicky’s hands on the bat, so patient and earnest.

For Rio, the feeling was mutual. She’d arrive at the Harkness home and feel inexplicable relief like walking into a place she was actually wanted. She found herself joking in Spanish with Nicky, then translating for Agatha, who watched it all with a soft, guarded smile.

Over dinner one night—Agatha had insisted Rio stay, “since you’re already here”—Rio set down her fork and looked up. “I’m not… good at being part of people’s lives. I usually move on quick.”

Agatha poured more water for both of them. “I understand. I’m not great at letting people in, either.”

A flicker of vulnerability passed between them. Rio forced a grin, diffusing the heaviness. “We’re quite a pair, huh?”

Agatha merely smiled in that quiet, knowing way. “Maybe we are.”

A few weeks later, after a particularly great practice session, Rio turned to Agatha with a spark in her eye. “Let me take you somewhere fun tonight. A date, if you’re up for it.”

Agatha arched an eyebrow, intrigued. She’d half-expected a swanky bar or a chic restaurant. Instead, when they pulled up to an old-school batting cage on the edge of town, she let out a surprised laugh. “Seriously? This is your idea of a first date?”

Rio shrugged, pulling out two bats from her trunk. “Hey, I promised it’d be fun.”

Agatha rolled her eyes, but a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Alright. Impress me.”

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating the row of cages. The muffled clang of metal on baseball echoed around them. Rio slid a token into the machine, stepped up to the plate, and cracked a ball dead center on her first swing. She launched several more in quick succession, her body relaxed and confident.

Watching from behind the chain-link, Agatha tried not to stare too blatantly at Rio’s toned arms, the flash of delicate skin as her shirt lifted with each swing. Still, a flutter in her stomach reminded her she wasn’t immune to the quiet lure of this woman.

When it was Agatha’s turn, Rio insisted on helping her form. “Loosen your grip,” Rio murmured, stepping behind her. Her hands slid over Agatha’s, guiding the bat. Their bodies almost touched, heat radiating between them.

Agatha swallowed hard, inhaling the faint scent of Rio’s shampoo. “You’re making this… distracting,” she teased breathlessly.

Rio’s lips curved near Agatha’s ear. “Maybe that’s on purpose.”

Agatha half-laughed, half-sighed. “You’re a lot of talk, you know that?”

Rio chuckled. “You can handle it.”

Agatha swung the bat… and missed by a mile. Both dissolved into laughter. But as the humor subsided, an underlying tension remained, heavier and more significant than simple flirtation.

After a few awkward misses, Rio hit pause on the machine. Agatha lowered the bat, feeling her heart pound. The realization struck her: She wanted this closeness with Rio. And not just tonight, but something real. Something a single mother like her had to be cautious about.

Rio noticed her pensive expression. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Agatha set the bat aside. “If we keep going,” she began softly, “it can’t just be a fling. I can’t do casual, Rio. I have a son to think about.”

Rio’s eyes flickered with understanding. “You think I’d do all this just to walk away?”

Agatha shrugged, vulnerability creeping into her posture. “I’m not sure...”

Rio nodded, stepping closer, voice steady but gentle. “I’m not walking away from this.”

Relief flooded Agatha’s features. She inhaled slowly, processing the weight of it. And then, they shared a look—both terrified and thrilled—before Rio tugged her in for a slow, tender kiss, their first real acknowledgment that this went beyond attraction.

When they finally pulled apart, Agatha rested her forehead against Rio’s shoulder. “A batting cage,” she murmured, a hint of humor in her tone. “You took me to a batting cage.”

Rio laughed softly, arms circling Agatha’s waist. “Next time let’s bring Nicky.”

In the following weeks, the lines between friend, coach, and potential partner blurred in a warmer, more open way. Nicky didn’t know the full extent of their new relationship, but he picked up on the extra smiles, the gentle touches when Rio and Agatha thought he wasn’t looking.

They continued their usual practices where Nicky’s batting form improved and Rio’s Spanish lessons made him giggle. Afterward, though, the three of them had dinner together, or occasionally went out for ice cream. On quieter nights, Agatha and Rio curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine, talking until midnight and a half.

Still, doubts crept in. Agatha worried about letting Rio into Nicky’s life too deeply, in case it all fell apart. Rio wrestled with her own history of drifting away whenever things got intense. Yet each time doubt rose, they found reasons to stay.

When Nicky asked Rio for help on a school project, it felt natural for Rio to spend a Saturday afternoon scattered with glue sticks and cardboard cutouts. Agatha watched from the kitchen doorway, heart swelling at the sight of her son beaming whenever Rio gave praise.

Agatha set down the dish she was washing and joined them at the table, silently thinking: Is this it? Is this how family forms—not in one grand moment, but in a series of small ones?

Rio caught her eye, smiling softly. Agatha felt a rush of gratitude for this messy, wonderful reality. That night, as they lay side by side on Agatha’s couch, exhaustion weighing on both, Rio confessed in a murmur, “I want this. You. Him. Even if it means settling down more than I ever have before.”

Agatha’s response was a gentle kiss and the whispered promise, “I’m scared, too. But I’m in.”

Eventually, Rio moved into the spare room “temporarily,” but no one bought that label for long. Nicky clung to her at bedtime, asking for Spanish lullabies or quick pep talks before important Little League games. She fit into their routine so seamlessly, it felt like she’d always been there.

One Sunday morning, Nicky bounded into the kitchen, hair disheveled, wearing his tiny baseball pajama set. Rio was frying eggs while Agatha skimmed the newspaper. She was old-fashioned that way. Without pausing, Nicky tugged on Rio’s shirt, blurting out, “Mami, can I have mine scrambled?”

Rio’s hand froze on the spatula. Agatha’s eyes shot up, breath caught in her throat. For a moment, Nicky didn’t realize the significance and he just thought he’d asked a question. But when Rio turned, her expression conflicted and tender all at once, he flushed.

“I—I mean, Rio,” he stammered, as if afraid he’d done something wrong.

Rio breathed out, heart hammering. “No, it’s okay.” She crouched down, meeting Nicky’s gaze. “If that’s what you want to call me… I’d be honored.”

Nicky’s shoulders eased, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, Mami.”

Agatha stood by, tears pricking her eyes. She reached over, resting a hand on Rio’s back, silently conveying that she was on board. This wasn’t a trivial word; it was a quiet vow that their family bond had become something real, something they all wanted to keep.

A little more here.

#agatha harkness #rio vidal #modern domestic agathario makes me asdfghjkl #agathario au #agathario fic #agatha all along

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muntzerism-diggerism · 1 year ago

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i would like to say that Prince Albert is a really funny nickname for a ballplayer named Pierce Johnson and i'm mad i didn't come up with it myself

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girlactionfigure · 4 months ago

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THURSDAY HERO: Moe Berg

Ballplayer And Spy: Moe Berg

Helped Stop Germany From Getting The Bomb

Moe Berg was an American original: a major league baseball player and a wartime spy. Born in 1902 and raised in a poor Jewish family in New York City, Moe was a bright, charismatic boy and a top student in high school. He attended Princeton on an academic scholarship, one of only a few Jewish students at the prestigious college.

At Princeton, Berg studied languages – he ultimately learned seven – and became the star shortstop on the college baseball team. He wanted to attend graduate school at the Sorbonne in France, but couldn’t afford it. Instead he chose a very different career path. After being recruited in college, Moe signed a contract to play shortstop for the Brooklyn Dodgers.

He wasn’t the best hitter, and was sent to the minors in 1924, but returned to the majors in 1926 as a catcher with the Chicago White Sox. Incredibly, he attended Columbia Law School in the off season, and earned his degree while on the White Sox. Moe played 15 seasons in the major leagues, including stints on the Cleveland Indians and Boston Red Sox. Known as “the brainiest guy in baseball,” Moe was asked why he “wasted” his intelligence playing sports, he said, “I’d rather be a ballplayer than a justice of the U.S. Supreme Court.”

In 1934, Moe joined a traveling all-star team, along with Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth. In Tokyo he delivered a speech in Japanese. Unknown to his fellow players, Moe had been recruited as a spy by the U.S. government, and while in Tokyo he carefully photographed the city. Moe’s images were later used by the U.S. Army for bombing raids on the Japanese capital . As a Jew, Moe wanted to fight Nazis, and he volunteered to serve when the United States entered World War II.

Moe became a Goodwill Ambassador, traveling to South America and Asia. Moe made a radio speech in Japanese to the people of Japan urging them not to fight a war they could not win. After his stint as an ambassador, Moe became an agent in the Office of Strategic Services (the forerunner of the CIA). He taught himself nuclear physics, then traveled throughout Europe to collect information about atomic bomb development. His fame and charisma enabled him to form intimate friendships with important military, political and cultural leaders.

Moe’s extensive spy work uncovered an atomic bomb factory in Norway that was developing the bomb for Germany. Using Moe’s intel, Allied forces bombed the factory and stopped Germany from getting the bomb. Moe was at great risk in Europe because he was Jewish, but he refused to return home, instead spending much of 1944 and 1945 helping American troops in Europe capture atomic scientists who were working with the Germans. When the war ended, Moe Berg was offered the U.S. Medal of Merit, the highest award given to a civilian during the war, but he modestly declined.

In 1951, Moe asked the CIA to send him to the newly founded State of Israel. “A Jew must do this,” he said. The request was refused but Moe was hired by the CIA to go through his old contacts from wartime to get information on the Soviet atomic bomb project. He left the agency in the early 1950’s, and for the next few decades Moe lived a quiet life. He worked as a coach for a few years, but never found another steady career.

A lifelong bachelor, Moe died in 1972 at his sister’s home in New Jersey, at age 70. Moe’s last words were, “How did the Mets do today?” His former Ted Lyons remembered, “A lot of people tried to tell [Moe] what to do with his life and brain and he retreated from [baseball]… He was different because he was different. He made up for all the bores of the world. And he did it softly, stepping on no one.”

Moe Berg’s is the only baseball card on display at the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency.

For his contributions to the world of sports and to the safety of our country, we honor Moe Berg as this week’s Thursday Hero.

#Thursday Hero

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