Mudville Nine

MUDVILLE NINE

ONE MORE TIME

By Jack Coll, Ernest L. Thayer, and Grantland Rice

 

     The 2014 Boys of Summer Philadelphia’s version is currently working out in Clearwater Florida, and man I can’t wait.  As usual at this time of year the chatter starts about what kind of year are the Phillies gonna have?  500? 85-75? Perhaps if the pitching holds up, and the bullpen holds up, and we can get a couple of base hits with runners in scoring position, maybe 90 wins?

     Well while flipping through my summer files I came across “Casey At The Bat,” I hadn’t read it in a while and I must admit I felt some-what refreshed after reading it, I think it brought me a little closer to summer, if even for a moment.  So sit back and give it a go, one little tip, the trip is much more enjoyable if you take your time reading it.

CASEY AT THE BAT

As it appeared in the San Francisco Examiner June 3, 1888

By Ernest L. Thayer

 

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 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 despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;

And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,

There was Jimmy 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 to 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, the 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. 

 

     “Casey at the Bat” was later popularized by DeWolf Hopper in many vaudeville performances.  The poem has become one of the best known poems in American literature. The inspiration for the poem came in 1887, there was a guy by the name of Mike “King” Kelly, who was a famous star playing for the National League and perhaps baseballs first big star.  Well at the time Kelly became associated with the poem.

     Well a month after the poem was published in the San Francisco Examiner on June 3, 1888, it was reprinted as “Kelly at the Bat” in the New York’s Wallack Theatre as part of the comic opera Prinz Methusalem in the presence of the Chicago and New York baseball teams, the White Stockings and the Giants. DeWolf Hopper became known as an orator of the poem, and recited it more than 10,000 times before his death. (Some say four times that amount)

     In the years to follow the poem took on a life of its own  there were recordings of the poem including the first time it was recorded in 1893 by Russell Hunting, Hopper’s version was recorded in 1906, in 1946 Walt Disney released a recording of the narration of the poem by Jerry Colonna, accompanied by an animated cartoon.  In 1996 James Earl Jones recorded the poem with the Cincinnati Pops Orchestra, on July 4, 2008 Jack Williams recorded the poem along with the Boston Pops during the annual Boston Pops Fireworks Spectacular.

     A number of towns tried to lay claim to the name of the town “Mudville,” for tourist reasons of course.  Residents of Holliston, Massachusetts, where there is a Mudville, claimed it as the Mudville used in the poem, after all, Thayer grew up nearby.  Residents of Stockton, California were known for a while as Mudville prior to incorporation in 1850, but Thayer himself stated that the poem has no basis in fact.

     There were books, comics, films, television shows, theatres and music all pertaining to or using the poem.   I get a kick out of Joe Walsh’s “Rocky Mountain Way,” where Joe includes the lines “The bases are loaded and Casey’s at bat, playing it play by play.  Time to change the batter.”  Another song I get a kick out of is John Forgerty’s “Centerfield.” He uses the line, “Well, I spent some time in the Mudville Nine, watchin’ it from the bench.  You know I took some lumps when the Mighty Casey struck out.”  There were dozens of songs over the years that referred to the song but let’s not forget an entire band named after the poem, a group out of Columbus, Ohio called “Casey At The Bat” formed in 2012, I wonder if they struck out?

    Before we leave Casey walk back to the dugout, let’s check out the sequel “Casey’s Revenge,” by Grantland Rice penned back in 1907.  In Rice’s version he gives Casey another chance against the pitcher who had struck him out nearly 20 years earlier.  This time Casey’s team is down by three runs in the bottom of the ninth and Casey once again had two strikes with the bases loaded, only this time Casey hits the ball so far that it has never been found.

     So sit back all you baseball purist, cause here comes Casey’s revenge!

There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week or even more;

There were muttered oaths and curses-every fan in town was sore.

“Just think,” said one, “how soft it looked with Casey at the bat,

And then to think he’s go and spring a bush league trick like that.”

 

All his past fame was forgotten-he was now a hopeless “line.”

They called him “Strike-Out Casey,” from the mayor down the line;

And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh,

While a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty Casey’s eye.

 

He pondered in the days gone by that he had been their king,

That when he strolled up to the plate they made the welkin ring;

But now his nerve had vanished, for when he heard them hoot

He “Fanned” or “popped out” daily, like some minor league recruit.

 

He soon began to sulk and loaf, his batting eye went lame;

No home runs on the score card now were chalked against his name;

The fans without exception gave the manager no peace,

For one and all kept clamoring for Casey’s quick release.

 

The Mudville squad began to slum, the team was in the air;

Their playing went from bad to worse-nobody seemed to care.

“Back to the woods with Casey!” was the cry from Rooters’ Row.

“Get some one who can hit the ball, and let that big dub go!”

 

The lane is long, some one has said, that never turns again,

And fate, though fickle, often gives another chance to men;

And Casey smiled; his rugged face no longer wore a frown-

The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town.

 

All Mudville had assembled-ten thousand fans had come

To see the twirler who had put big Casey on the bum;

And when he stepped into the box, the multitude went wild;

He doffed his cap in proud disdain, but Casey only smiled.

 

“Play ball!” the umpire’s voice rang out, and then the game began.

But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan

Who thought that Mudville had a chance, and with the setting sun

Their hopes sank low-the rival team was leading “four to one.”

 

The last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score;

But when the first man up hit save, the crowd began to roar;

The din increased, the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard

When the pitcher hit the second and gave “four balls” to the third.

 

Three men on base-nobody out-three runs to tie the game!

A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville’s hall of fame;

But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night,

When the fourth one “fouled to catcher” and the fifth “flew out to right.”

 

A dismal groan in chorus came; a scowl was on each face

When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place;

His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed, his teeth were clenched in hate;

He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded the plate.

 

But fame is fleeting as the wind and glory fades away;

There were no wild and woolly cheers, no glad acclaim this day;

They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored; “Strike him out!”

But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard this shout.

 

The pitcher smiled and cut one lose-across the plate it sped;

Another hiss, another groan. “Strike one!” the umpire said.

Zip! Like a shot the second curve broke just below the knee.

“Strike two!” the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.

 

No roasting for the umpire now-he was an easy lot;

But here the pitcher whirled again-was that a rifle shot?

A whack, a crack, and out through the space the leather pellet flew,

A blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue.

 

Above the fence in center field in rapid whirling flight

The sphere sailed on-the blot grew dim and then was lost in sight.

Ten thousand hats were thrown in the air, ten thousand threw a fit,

But no one ever found the ball that mighty Casey hit.

 

O, somewhere in this favored land dark clouds may hide the sun,

And somewhere bands no longer play and children have no fun!

And somewhere over blighted lives there hangs a heavy pall,

But Mudville hearts are happy now, for Casey hit the ball.

 

     Following Walt Disney’s animated adaptation of “Casey at the Bat,” from 1946, Disney made a sequel “Casey Bats Again” in 1954, in which Casey’s nine daughters redeem his reputation.  A book written by Ken Eagle in 2010, called “The Mudville Faithful,” covered a century of the Mudville nine’s ups and downs since Casey struck out.  And finally on July 11, 1996, the United States Postal Service issued a commemorative stamp depicting “Mighty Casey.”

     As for me, well I’ll best remember Casey at the Bat in a routine Jackie Gleason performed in his “Reginald Van Gleason III” persona.  Gleason was dressed in full Mudville baseball uniform and recited the poem on his “And Away We Go” album.

     The mighty Casey goes pretty much the way the rest of us go, some days you strike out, and some days you knock it out-of the park, and on the days you knock it out-of the park, man it feels good, so good. 

     Now we can all go back to our crappy winter routine, snow, and more snow, and then just a flurry after that.  Cold, just a little bit colder tonight, but look out cause a really cold front is coming.

     Our time is coming, we really will be over the rainbow, the Phillies are in Clearwater, and this year’s Phillies theme is “Back to the 90’s with Byrd and Abreu” All we’re missing is the Mighty Casey!