| The first baseball season of the new millennium is | | | | * |
| underway, and the hometown Rangers standing is | | | | But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy |
| .500 -- 10 won, 10 lost - an early season record | | | | Blake; |
| worthy of note if not yet congratulatory. | | | | And the former was a lulu and the latter was a |
| Baseball has been dubbed the "intellectual sport." It | | | | cake. |
| requires considerable knowledge and appreciation | | | | So upon that stricken multitude, grim melancholy |
| of the finer points of athletic endeavor -- as this | | | | sat |
| old sportswriter discovered on his first assignment | | | | For there seemed little chance of Casey getting |
| 60 years ago today. | | | | to the bat. |
| Some reference to statistics is essential - hence | | | | * |
| my opening remark. To fully savor the dramatic | | | | But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of |
| confrontation between pitcher and batter, for | | | | all; |
| example, it is well to know if the former's | | | | And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off |
| earned-run average is 1.6 (good) or 6.1 (bad). Also, | | | | the ball. |
| if the latter's batting average is .198 (dismal) or | | | | When the dust had lifted, and men saw what had |
| .350 (stellar). How these figures are computed is a | | | | occurred, |
| trade secret. Just enjoy. | | | | There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn |
| First off, it must be remembered that the point | | | | a-hugging third. |
| of contact between a round ball and a round bat | | | | * |
| is just one-fourth square inch. Nothing in the game | | | | From five thousand throats and more there rose |
| is absolutely predictable. | | | | a lusty yell. |
| Baseball does not have a time limit. There is no | | | | It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell. |
| pressure to beat a clock, just the opposing team | | | | It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon |
| and one's own shortcomings. | | | | the flat; |
| The game is simultaneously a team sport and a | | | | For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the |
| test of individual performance. Nine players on the | | | | bat. |
| field must mesh well with one another. Yet, each | | | | * |
| is isolated in his own piece of geography and must | | | | There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped |
| accomplish his mission alone. The shifting panoply | | | | to his place. |
| of team play and individual performance | | | | There was pride in Casey's bearing, a smile on |
| stimulates a full range of passions. | | | | Casey's face; |
| Finally there is the pace. Baseball is to be enjoyed | | | | And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly |
| at leisure - with time between plays to shuck a | | | | doffed his hat |
| few peanuts and draw deep of a sudsy brew. | | | | No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey |
| It soothes the soul alternately with pumping | | | | at the bat. |
| adrenaline - preferably from a seat behind the | | | | * |
| home-team dugout. This enables a faithful fan to | | | | Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his |
| share the disgust or elation of returning athletes | | | | hands with dirt. |
| whose expressions and spontaneous words | | | | Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped |
| elucidate one and all. | | | | it on his shirt. |
| Baseball Poetry | | | | Then while the writhing pitched ground the ball into |
| Having established an emotional relationship with a | | | | his hip, |
| baseball team, we cherish it as a groom his bride. | | | | Defiance gleamed in Casey's eyes, a sneer curled |
| We exult when they win, mope if they lose. The | | | | Casey's lip. |
| range of emotions has been immortalized by a | | | | * |
| poem titled "Casey At The Bat, A Ballad of the | | | | Now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling |
| Republic." | | | | through the air, |
| This heart rending doggerel was composed by | | | | And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty |
| Ernest Lawrence Thayer for the June 3, 1888 | | | | grandeur there. |
| edition of the San Francisco Examiner. | | | | Close by the sturdy batsman, the ball unheeded |
| Thayer was heir to the American Woolen Mills and | | | | sped - |
| studied philosophy at Harvard University. His major | | | | "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the |
| was an appropriate subject for getting a handle | | | | umpire said. |
| on the game of baseball. | | | | * |
| While an undergraduate, Thayer was editor of the | | | | From benches, black with people, there went up a |
| Harvard Lampoon. Business manager of the | | | | muffled roar |
| humor magazine was young William Randolph | | | | Like the beating of storm waves on a stern and |
| Hearst. | | | | distant shore. |
| Upon being graduated, Hearst's father allowed him | | | | "Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the |
| to take over the Examiner. The young publisher | | | | stand. |
| promptly hired Thayer to write a humor column | | | | It's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey |
| at $5 each. The pay for columning has not | | | | raised his hand. |
| changed all that much today. | | | | * |
| Thayer's tragic tale of Casey was dashed off in | | | | With a smile of Christian charity, great Casey's |
| an hour to fill a hole on page 4. The author | | | | visage shone. |
| thought so little of it he insisted it be credited | | | | He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go |
| simply to "Phin" - his college nickname. | | | | on. |
| The poem started its climb to classic literature | | | | He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the |
| two months later. DeWolf Hopper, the most | | | | spheroid flew; |
| popular comedian of his day, inserted "Casey" into | | | | But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, |
| a comic opera he was performing at Wallack's | | | | "Strike two." |
| Theater on Broadway. | | | | * |
| The management had invited baseball players | | | | "Fraud! cried maddened thousands, an echo |
| from the New York Giants and the Chicago White | | | | answered, "Fraud!" |
| Stockings to appear as front-row guests. | | | | But one scornful look from Casey, and the |
| Searching for material to amuse his special | | | | audience was awed. |
| audience, Hopper was given a clipping of "Casey | | | | They saw his face grow stern and cold, saw his |
| At The Bat" by a friend. | | | | muscles strain, |
| Hopper recited the poem in just six minutes, but | | | | And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball |
| it stole the show. He made it a regular part of his | | | | go by again. |
| act and gave it an estimated 10,000 times during | | | | * |
| his career. Here it is in its entirety: | | | | The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are |
| Casey At The Bat | | | | clenched in hate. |
| The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine | | | | He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the |
| that day. | | | | plate; |
| The score stood four to two with but one inning | | | | And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he |
| to play; | | | | lets it go; |
| And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows | | | | And now the air is shattered by the force of |
| did the same, | | | | Casey's blow. |
| A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game. | | | | * |
| * | | | | Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is |
| A straggling few got up to go, in deep despair. | | | | shinning bright. |
| The rest | | | | The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere |
| Clung to hope which springs eternal in the human | | | | hearts are light. |
| breast. | | | | Somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere |
| They thought if only Casey could but get a | | | | children shout; |
| whack at that, | | | | But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has |
| We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the | | | | struck out. |
| bat. | | | | |