Best of Picture from the Past
Avid Los Gatos baseball fan recalls a sad day in Mudville
By John S. Baggerly
'Casey at the Bat" is our national epic poem of baseball, just as "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" is our national anthem for the game.
The author of "Casey" was Ernest Lawrence Thayer (1863-1940), a native of Lawrence, Mass., who penned the poem in 1885 at the age of 25 before moving west to become a journalist on the San Francisco Examiner, where he also wrote poetry under the pseudonym "Phin."
It was De Wolf Hopper, an actor of the grand style, who brought "Casey" to national attention with his recitation in 1888 in a New York City theater. Here is Thayer's "Casey at the Bat:"
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville team that day,
The score stood four to two with but one inning left to play.
So when Cooney died at first and Burrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A struggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast.
They thought if only Casey could get a whack at that,
We'd put up even money now with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey as did Jimmy Blake
And the former was a pudding and the latter was a fake.
So upon the stricken multitude grim melancholy sat.
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single to the wonderment of all
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had settled and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-huggin' third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place.
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his cap.
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands in dirt.
Five thousand lungs applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air.
And Casey stood a'watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheaded sped.
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went a muffled roar,
Like the breaking of the storm--waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him; kill the umpire!" shouted someone in the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity, great Casey's visage shown.
He stilled the rising tumult, he bad the game go on.
He signaled to the pitcher and once more the spheroid flew,
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two."
Fraud, cried the maddened thousands and the echo answered fraud.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, saw his muscles strain.
And they knew that Casey would not let the ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clinched in hate.
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville--mighty Casey has struck out."
(Reprinted with permission from the Steck-Vaughn Company, copyright 1985.)
A much checked-out copy of "Casey" is available in Los Gatos Library's children's section. It is a handsome publication with color illustrations by Ken Bachaus and popular with adults and children alike.
And if your favorite radio talk-show host asks you what the score was when Casey came to bat, you may be a prize-winner by answering, "4 to 2."
John Baggerly is now semi-retired. This column is from the Los Gatos Weekly- Times archives.
Los Gatos, California Since 1881
