Here is the only famous thing he wrote. If you’re gonna write only one thing, you might as well write a classic. It’s a poem the O’Malleys know huge sections of by heart.
You can’t get any more perfect than that last stanza.
It was published in The San Francisco Examiner on June 3, 1888.
CASEY AT THE BAT
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day,
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that–
We’d put up even money now with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that 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 lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Johnnie safe at second and Flynn a-hugging 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 hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt ’twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues 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 unheeded sped–
“That ain’t my style,” said Casey. “Strike one,” the umpire said.
From the benches black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted some one on 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 shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade 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 echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth are clenched 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.
I’ve been watching Ken Burns’ Baseball (Thank you, Netflix! And yes, I know I’m 14 years late.) and on one of the earlier “innings” they show some guy (damn if I can remember his name) from vaudeville days who made his living reciting this poem on stage. It was awesome. Alex had never heard it, so I made him sit and watch it, and he was entranced.
Well, dang – this is going to make me nuts.
Years ago, I read a historical mystery, part of whose plot included Thayer, Casey and how he came to write the poem. Now, I can’t remember the name of the book.
I will put the librarian spouse to work on this and try to find the title for you.
I love the Internet.
The Lunatic Fringe: A Novel Wherein Theodore Roosevelt Meets the Pink Angel (Hardcover)
by William L. Deandrea
If this is the one, Teddy Roosevelt is in it too.
Out of print, though.
The last stanza really is perfect, isn’t it?
And I didn’t realize it was that old; 1888, wow.
Bingley – totally. It’s funny, it’s tragic … also – that Thayer kind of skips the blow by blow of that last swing (unlike the other swings) We know it was a powerful swing … and then it’s like a cliffhanger … he doesn’t tell us immediately the outcome. Did Casey hit it? Or strike out??? He makes us wait … It’s hysterical – and awful!!
Lisa – Netflix is my next step now that I finally have a DVD player (I’m 20 years late!!) That baseball documentary was something else – I remember seeing it when it first aired. That’s something I’d actually like to own.
So would I, except it’s STILL over $100 14 years later. Yeesh.
I’ve got Innings 7, 8, and 9 ready to watch, but we were busy watching the LL World Series this weekend.
The sublime: my dad – a baseball fanatic who used to play against Roger Maris in NoDak Legion ball – used to teach “Casey” in class (he was an English teacher), not to mention reading it at home. I have the fondest possible memories of that poem.
The ridiculous: In 1986, I covered the world record largest group reading of “Casey” (at the time) at the Metrodome in Minneapolis. 14,000 people reading it off the Jumbotron. Bigger is not necessarily better.
In the 1987 edition of his Baseball Abstract (ah, memories) Bill James composed poems about certain of the players, in lieu of the usual profiles. His effort on Charlie Hough was called “Casey Chases a Knuckler.” If I have time, I’ll post the whole thing here later tonight.
Also, Frank DeFord wrote a novel a few years back called Casey on the Loose, in which the Thayer-immortalized events occurred. I have not read it.
DeWitt Hopper is the over-the-top vaudeville guy who recited ‘Casey’. There also was a great movie cartoon of ‘Casey’. Somebody, I can’t remember what studio, realized it was the perfect length to be a cartoon script.
One of the things that makes the poem so funny is that it mixes elements of classical poetry, i.e. euphemisms like “leather-covered sphere” and “sturdy batsman”, with really informal colloquialisms, and keeping that strict meter the whole time.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped–
“That ain’t my style,” said Casey. “Strike one,” the umpire said.
Oh, and the serious improving “pride goeth before a fall” message – that’s part of the humor too, because it’s true.
The cartoon was by Disney. There was also a sequel called “Casey’s Revenge”, about his nine-daughter baseball team. It was about as good as most sequels.