Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing #31 : Joe Orsulak: Blue Collar in the Blue and Orange

Welcome back to Sunday School, our weekly trip through the cobwebbed corridors of Mets history, where we dust off the players who wore the orange and blue long enough to deserve a memory but not quite long enough to earn a bobblehead.

Last week, we honored Terry Leach, the sidearm sorcerer who could baffle hitters without cracking 90 on the radar gun. This week, we raise a toast and maybe a sunflower seed shell or two to one of the most quietly competent outfielders to ever roam Shea: Joe Orsulak.

Now, Joe O wasn't flashy. He didn't smash 40 homers, steal 50 bases, or do backflips after catching routine fly balls. He didn’t make headlines, and he didn’t make enemies. What he did make was solid contact, smart throws, and a good living patrolling right field with the kind of “get the job done” reliability the guy who always scores a free ticket brags about,right before launching into his seventh story about meeting Ed Charles at a car wash.

Orsulak joined the Mets in 1993, sandwiched between Bobby Bonilla tantrums and Dallas Green rants. The Mets of that era were a sitcom without a laugh track, and Orsulak was the straight man always professional, occasionally productive, and never the reason things fell apart. If the rest of the clubhouse was chasing cats like ALF, Joe was just trying to quietly hit .280 and keep things steady like Willie Tanner juggling work, parenting, and an alien roommate all at once.

He came over from Baltimore, where he led the Orioles in batting average in 1992 and also earned a little piece of trivia immortality by fielding the very first out recorded at Camden Yards.He made a running catch in right field, robbing Kenny Lofton of a hit and setting the tone for the new ballpark’s history.. You can’t make that up it’s like being the first person to spill coffee on a brand-new sofa. He once led the league in outfield assists, and you better believe he wasn’t shy about showing off that left arm in Queens either. The Mets signed him on December 18, 1992, and while it didn’t make the back page of the tabloids, it turned out to be one of their more quietly solid moves of the decade.

In his first year with the Mets, Orsulak hit a respectable .284, slugged a career-high eight home runs, and played all three outfield positions plus some first base for good measure. He was a lunchpail guy in a city that appreciates its blue collars and big shoulders. And when everyone else around him seemed to be auditioning for the next season of Law & Order: Clubhouse Division, Orsulak quietly racked up base hits like a man working on a punch clock.

He wasn’t fast anymore ,those wheels had lost a little tread thanks to a knee injury back in '87—but he still knew how to take an extra base. He wasn't a slugger, but he could sneak one out now and then, just enough to remind you that he wasn’t up there just to foul off pitches and wave at breaking balls.

And boy, could he throw. You learned pretty quickly not to test Joe Orsulak’s arm unless you were feeling particularly reckless or maybe had a dinner reservation you were in a hurry to make. He had a knack for gunning down runners at third, at home, even once throwing out a runner while tying his shoe. (Okay, I made that up, but you get the point.)

Across three seasons in Flushing, he hit a combined .276, drove in 114 runs, and quietly became the kind of player Mets fans appreciated not because he did something loud, but because he rarely did something dumb.

Off the field, Orsulak's story had layers. He was a New Jersey kid Parsippany Hills High who turned down Seton Hall to sign with the Pirates. He played winter ball in Venezuela, where he met his future wife, Adriana. They married during the All-Star break in 1988. She passed away in 2004 after a battle with brain cancer, and Joe’s quiet dignity in the years since is every bit as impressive as anything he did between the lines.

There’s no statue of Joe Orsulak outside Citi Field. He’s not on a Topps Heritage insert set called “Outfield Assist Kings.” But for three seasons, he gave the Mets professionalism, versatility, and just enough offense to keep you from flipping the channel. He was the kind of player every team needs, and too few fans remember.

So here’s to Joe O—a forgotten face, but never a forgettable one.

See you next Sunday.