I interviewed a number of baseball historians for the novel “At The Bat: The Strikeout That Shamed America” and none had ever seen the original poem published in the San Francisco Examiner. Using good, old-fashioned microfilm for the first time since college, I found the poem buried at the bottom of Page Four of the June 3, 1888 edition. Newspaper poetry was used as “filler” in those days and Earnest Thayer was so embarrassed by the ballad that he signed it anonymously as Phin. He wrote Casey At the Bat in such haste that the baseball player named “Blake” is Jimmy Blake in the third stanza and Johnnie Blake in the fourth stanza. That error was corrected and you won’t find Johnnie Blake in any other version.
Here is the original seen by few. Enjoy.
CASEY AT THE BAT
______
A Ballad of the Republic, Sung in the
Year 1888
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 sickly 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 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 on 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 someone 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 — Phin
At The Bat: The Strikeout That Shamed America is a sweeping historical novel set in the 1888 dawn of professional baseball when Blacks were first banned, umpires were routinely beaten, and the game shifted from a collegial pastime of gentlemen to a nasty fight to the death by gritty Irish immigrants. The novel is based on the ballad Casey At The Bat as told from the umpire’s point of view.
Del Leonard Jones’ first novel, The Cremation of Sam McGee, is built upon the poetry of Robert W. Service. The novel is set in the 1898 heyday of yellow journalism and travels from Plumtree to Cuba to the Yukon. The narrator is a fabricating newspaper reporter working for William Randolph Hearst during the Spanish-American War and Gold Rush.
Jones has also written the non-fiction Advice from the Top: 1001 Bits of Business Wisdom. The book focuses on the leadership advice of Fortune 500 CEOs but also gets advice from famous athletes, coaches, entertainers and artists.
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