{"id":592,"date":"2004-03-31T17:19:31","date_gmt":"2004-03-31T22:19:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=592"},"modified":"2015-12-17T11:55:47","modified_gmt":"2015-12-17T16:55:47","slug":"there-is-no-joy-in-mudville","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=592","title":{"rendered":"&#8220;There is no joy in Mudville&#8230;&#8221;"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a href=\"http:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/2004\/03\/31\/national\/31MUDV.html\">Two towns, apparently, claim to be &#8220;Mudville&#8221;, <\/a>where the &#8220;mighty Casey&#8221; struck out, so spectacularly.<\/p>\n<p>Despite assurances from many in the literary world that the poem is not based on truth, two towns INSIST it really happened.  Their entire collective identity depends on it.<\/p>\n<p>My nephew Cashel, although he owns <i>Casey at the Bat<\/i> (of COURSE he does!!) doesn&#8217;t really like it.  I asked him if he wanted me to read it to him during my last visit, and he hesitated just slightly.  I said, &#8220;No?&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Cashel said bluntly, &#8220;It&#8217;s too sad.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>I have to say, I agree.  You can&#8217;t get much sadder than mighty Casey striking out.<\/p>\n<p>For anyone who has no idea what I am talking about, I give to you:<\/p>\n<h3>CASEY AT THE BAT<\/h3>\n<p> &#8211; 1888 &#8211; by Ernest Thayer<\/p>\n<p><!--more--><br \/>\nThe outlook wasn&#8217;t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day,<br \/>\nThe score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.<br \/>\nAnd then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,<br \/>\nA pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.<\/p>\n<p>A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest<br \/>\nClung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;<br \/>\nThey thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that&#8211;<br \/>\nWe&#8217;d put up even money now with Casey at the bat.<\/p>\n<p>But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,<br \/>\nAnd the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;<br \/>\nSo upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,<br \/>\nFor there seemed but little chance of Casey&#8217;s getting to the bat.<\/p>\n<p>But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,<br \/>\nAnd Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;<br \/>\nAnd when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,<br \/>\nThere was Johnnie safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.<\/p>\n<p>Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;<br \/>\nIt rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;<br \/>\nIt knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,<br \/>\nFor Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.<\/p>\n<p>There was ease in Casey&#8217;s manner as he stepped into his place;<br \/>\nThere was pride in Casey&#8217;s bearing and a smile on Casey&#8217;s face.<br \/>\nAnd when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,<br \/>\nNo stranger in the crowd could doubt &#8217;twas Casey at the bat.<\/p>\n<p>Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;<br \/>\nFive thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.<br \/>\nThen while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,<br \/>\nDefiance gleamed in Casey&#8217;s eye, a sneer curled Casey&#8217;s lip.<\/p>\n<p>And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,<br \/>\nAnd Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.<br \/>\nClose by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped&#8211;<br \/>\n&#8220;That ain&#8217;t my style,&#8221; said Casey. &#8220;Strike one,&#8221; the umpire said.<\/p>\n<p>From the benches black with people, there went up a muffled roar,<br \/>\nLike the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.<br \/>\n&#8220;Kill him! Kill the umpire!&#8221; shouted some one on the stand;<br \/>\nAnd it&#8217;s likely they&#8217;d have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.<\/p>\n<p>With a smile of Christian charity great Casey&#8217;s visage shone;<br \/>\nHe stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;<br \/>\nHe signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;<br \/>\nBut Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, &#8220;Strike two.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Fraud!&#8221; cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;<br \/>\nBut one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.<br \/>\nThey saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,<br \/>\nAnd they knew that Casey wouldn&#8217;t let that ball go by again.<\/p>\n<p>The sneer is gone from Casey&#8217;s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;<br \/>\nHe pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.<br \/>\nAnd now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,<br \/>\nAnd now the air is shattered by the force of Casey&#8217;s blow.<\/p>\n<p>Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;<br \/>\nThe band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,<br \/>\nAnd somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;<br \/>\nBut there is no joy in Mudville&#8211; mighty Casey has struck out.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Two towns, apparently, claim to be &#8220;Mudville&#8221;, where the &#8220;mighty Casey&#8221; struck out, so spectacularly. Despite assurances from many in the literary world that the poem is not based on truth, two towns INSIST it really happened. Their entire collective &hellip; <a href=\"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=592\">Continue reading <span class=\"meta-nav\">&rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[3],"tags":[1101],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/592"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=592"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/592\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16557,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/592\/revisions\/16557"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=592"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=592"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=592"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}