"Strike one!" the umpire said.įrom the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,ĭefiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.Īnd now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,Īnd Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.Ĭlose by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt įive thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.Īnd when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,įor Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third. So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,įor there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.īut Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,Īnd Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball Īnd when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred, We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."īut Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,Īnd the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that.
The restĬlung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,Īnd then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,Ī pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.Ī straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day: