Lyr ADD: Casey at the Bat and sequels

03 Aug 05 - 10:33 AM (#1533950)
Subject: Casey at the Bat - Reprise?
From: GUEST,Pseudolus at work

Some years back at an open mike night a gentleman recited a poem that was essentially a reprise to "Casey at the Bat". A similar story but in the end, Casey actually gets a hit. I can't seem to find it anywhere. Has anyone else ever heard it? Or know where I can find it online?

Thanks for your help!

Frank

---

03 Aug 05 - 10:51 AM (#1533965)
Subject: Casey at the Bat - Reprise?
From: mack/misophist

Trivia: The original first appeared in a San Francisco newspaper. It is said that 'Mudville' is Stockton, California.

---

04 Aug 05 - 12:21 AM (#1534575)
Subject: Lyr Add: CASEY'S REVENGE (Grantland Rice)
From: GUEST,Arkie

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'd go and spring a bush-league trick like that."

All his past fame was forgotten; he was now a hopeless "shine."
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.

The lane is long, someone 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 safe 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 clinched in hate;
He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on 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 loose; across the plate it spread;
Another hiss, another groan. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
Zip! Like a shot, the second curve broke just below his knee--
"Strike two!" the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.

No roasting for the umpire now -- his was an easy lot;
But here the pitcher whirled again -- was that a rifle shot?
A whack! a crack! and out through 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 to sight.
Ten thousand hats were thrown in air, ten thousand threw a fit,
But no one ever found the ball that mighty Casey hit!

Oh, 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!




Written by Grantland Rice

---

04 Aug 05 - 12:29 AM (#1534580)
Subject: Casey at the Bat - Reprise?
From: GUEST,Arkie

Here is a site with a little information on the original.

Casey

---

04 Aug 05 - 12:36 AM (#1534586)
Subject: Lyr Add: CASEY AT THE BAT (Ernest L. Thayer)
From: Joe Offer

That's probably something we should have posted here, just for the sake of completeness.

Casey at the Bat
A Ballad of the Republic, Sung in the Year 1888
(Ernest L. Thayer)

It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood two to four, with but an inning left to play.
So, when Cooney died at second, and Burrows did the same,
A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest,
With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast.
For they thought: "If only Casey could get a whack at that,"
They'd put even money now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake,
And the former was a pudd'n and the latter was a fake.
So on that stricken multitude a deathlike silence 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 the much-despised Blakey "tore the cover off the ball."
And when the dust had lifted, and they saw what had occurred,
There was Blakey safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin' third.

Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell--
It rumbled in the mountaintops, it rattled in the dell;
It struck upon the hillside and rebounded on 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 when the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance glanced 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 the 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 made 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 the 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 the ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, his teeth are clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel vengeance 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.


Source: http://www.liben.com/caseyhistory.html

---

04 Aug 05 - 12:54 AM (#1534598)
Subject: Lyr Add: CASEY AT THE BAT (ROAD GAME) (G Keillor)
From: Joe Offer

The Wikipedia entry on "Casey" includes a link to a Garrison Keillor version, posted here:
http://members.aol.com/jhatfi1006/casey2.htm

I'm not sure I like it, but here 'tis:


Casey at the Bat (Road Game)
by Garrison Keillor

It was looking rather hopeful for our Dustburg team that day:
We were leading Mudville four to two with an inning left to play.
We got Cooney on a grounder and Muldoon on the same,
Two down, none on, top of the ninth- we thought we'd won the game.

Mudville was despairing, and we grinned and cheered and clapped.
It looked like after all these years our losing streak had snapped.
And we only wished that Casey, the big fat ugly lout,
Could be the patsy who would make the final, shameful out.

Oh how we hated Casey, he was a blot upon the game.
Every dog in Dustburg barked at the mention of his name.
A bully and a braggart, a cretin and a swine-
If Casey came to bat, we'd stick it where the moon don't shine!

Two out and up came Flynn to bat, with Jimmy Blake on deck,
And the former was a loser and the latter was a wreck;
Though the game was in the bag, the Dustburg fans were hurt
To think that Casey would not come and get his just dessert.

But Flynn he got a single, a most unlikely sight,
And Blake swung like a lady but he parked it deep to right,
And when the dust had lifted, and fickle fate had beckoned,
There was Flynn on third base and Jimmy safe at second.

Then from every Dustburg throat, there rose a lusty cry:
"Bring up the slimy greaseball and let him stand and die.
Throw the mighty slider and let him hear it whiz
And let him hit a pop-up like the pansy that he is."

There was pride in Casey's visage as he strode onto the grass,
There was scorn in his demeanor as he calmly scratched his ass.
Ten thousand people booed him when he stepped into the box,
And they made the sound of farting when he bent to fix his socks.

And the fabled slider came spinning toward the mitt,
And Casey watched it sliding and he did not go for it.
And the umpire jerked his arm like he was hauling down the sun,
And his cry rang from the box seats to the bleachers: Stee-rike One!

Ten thousand Dustburg partisans raised such a mighty cheer,
The pigeons in the rafters crapped and ruined all the beer.
"You filthy ignorant rotten bastard slimy son of a bitch,"
We screamed at mighty Casey, and then came the second pitch.

It was our hero's fastball, it came across the plate,
And according to the radar, it was going ninety-eight,
And according to the umpire, it came in straight and true,
And the cry rang from the toilets to the bullpen: Stee-rike Two.

Ten thousand Dustburg fans arose in joyful loud derision
To question Casey's salary, his manhood, and his vision.
Then while the Dustburg pitcher put the resin on the ball,
Ten thousand people hooted to think of Casey's fall.

Oh the fury in his visage as he spat tobacco juice
And heard the little children screaming violent abuse.
He knocked the dirt from off his spikes, reached down and eased his pants
"What's the matter? Did ya lose 'em?" cried a lady in the stands.

And then the Dustburg pitcher stood majestic on the hill,
And leaned in toward the plate, and then the crowd was still,
And he went into his windup, and he kicked, and let it go,
And then the air was shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

He swung so hard his hair fell off and he toppled in disgrace
And the Dustburg catcher held the ball and the crowd tore up the place,
With Casey prostrate in the dirt amid the screams and jeers
We threw wieners down at him and other souvenirs.

We pounded on the dugout roof as they helped him to the bench,
Then we ran out to the parking lot and got a monkey wrench
And found the Mudville bus and took the lug nuts off the tires,
And attached some firecrackers to the alternator wires.

We rubbed the doors and windows with a special kind of cheese
That smells like something died from an intestinal disease.
Old Casey took his sweet time, but we were glad to wait
And we showered him with garbage as the team came out the gate.

So happy were the Dustburg fans that grand and glorious day,
It took a dozen cops to help poor Casey away,
But we grabbed hold of the bumpers and we rocked him to and fro
And he cursed us from inside the bus, and gosh, we loved it so!

Oh sometimes in America the sun is shining bright,
Life is joyful sometimes, and all the world seems right,
But there is no joy in Dustburg, no joy so pure and sweet
As when the mighty Casey fell, demolished, at our feet.

---

04 Aug 05 - 07:57 AM (#1534730)
Subject: RE: Casey at the Bat - Reprise? (recitation)
From: GUEST,Pseudolus at Work

These are great! I assumed that there was one reprise and here we have listed two, and neither one was the one I heard at that open mike night! Pretty funny...

The one I heard told the story of a fan coming out of the stands to bat and no one knew who he was. He ends up saving the game and the last line reveals that it was the mighty casey, who struck out so many years ago...or something like that.

But thanks!! These are great! I wonder how many there are out there!!

Frank

---

04 Aug 05 - 12:16 PM (#1534912)
Subject: Lyr Add: CASEY - TWENTY YEARS LATER (McDonald)
From: GUEST,Pseudolus at Work

I FOUND IT!!!!

This is an awesome poem. The night I heard it there was a barebrshop quartet that had already performed. The owner of the bar knew what the poem was about and asked both the reader and the quartet if either would be opposed to having the quartet hum "take me out to the ballgame" in the background while the reader did his thing. Everyone agreed and this got the biggest ovation of the night. It was great! So as you read this, imagine a barbershop quartet's version of "Take me out to the ballgame".



The Bugville team was surely up against a rocky game;
The chances were they'd win defeat and not undying fame;
Three men were hurt and two were benched; the score stood six to four.
They had to make three hard-earned runs in just two innings more.

"It can't be done," the captain said, a pallor on his face;
"I've got two pitchers in the field, a mutt on second base;
And should another man get spiked or crippled in some way,
The team would sure be down and out, with eight men left to play.

"We're up against it anyhow as far as I can see;
My boys ain't hitting like they should and that's what worries me;
The luck is with the other side, no pennant will we win;
It's mighty tough, but we must take our medicine and grin."

The eighth round opened- one, two, three- the enemy went down.
The Bugville boys went out the same- the captain wore a frown.
The first half of the ninth came round, two men had been put out,
When Bugville's catcher broke a thumb and could not go the route.

A deathly silence settled o'er the crowd assembled there.
Defeat would be allotted them; they felt it in the air;
With only eight men in the field 'twould be a gruesome fray,
Small wonder that the captain cursed the day he learned to play.

"Lend me a man to finish with!" he begged the other team;
"Lend you a man?" the foe replied; "My boy, you're in a dream!
We came to win the pennant, too - that's what we're doing here.
There's only one thing you can do - call for a volunteer!"

The captain stood and pondered in a listless sort of way.
He never was a quitter and he would not be today!
"Is there within the grandstand here"- his voice rang loud and clear
"A man who has the sporting blood to be a volunteer?"

Again that awful silence settled o'er the multitude.
Was there a man among them with such recklessness imbued?
The captain stood with cap in hand, while hopeless was his glance,
And then a tall and stocky man cried out, "I'll take a chance!"

Into the field he bounded with a step both firm and light;
"Give me the mask and mitt," he said; "let's finish up the fight.
The game is now beyond recall; I'll last at least a round;
Although I'm ancient, you will find me muscular and sound."

His hair was sprinkled here and there with little streaks of gray;
Around his eyes and on his brow a bunch of wrinkles lay.
The captain smiled despairingly and slowly turned away.
"Why, he's all right!" one rooter yelled. Another, "Let him play!"

"All right, go on," the captain sighed. The stranger turned around,
Took off his coat and collar, too, and threw them on the ground.
The humor of the situation seemed to hit them all,
And as he donned the mask and mitt, the umpire called, "Play ball!"

Three balls the pitcher at him heaved, three balls of lightning speed.
The stranger caught them all with ease and did not seem to heed.
Each ball had been pronounced a strike, the side had been put out,
And as he walked in towards the bench, he heard the rooters shout.

One Bugville boy went out on strikes, and one was killed at first;
The captain saw them fail to hit, and gnashed his teeth and cursed.
The third man smashed a double and the fourth man swatted clear,
Then, in a thunder of applause, up came the volunteer.

His feet were planted in the earth, he swung a warlike club;
The captain saw his awkward pose and softly whispered, "Dub!"
The pitcher looked at him and grinned, then heaved a mighty ball;
The echo of that fearful swat still lingers with us all.

High, fast and far the spheroid flew; it sailed and sailed away;
It ne'er was found, so it's supposed it still floats on today.
Three runs came in, the pennant would be Bugville's for a year;
The fans and players gathered round to cheer the volunteer.

"What is your name?" the captain asked. "Tell us you name," cried all,
As down his cheeks great tears of joy were seen to run and fall.
For one brief moment he was still, then murmured soft and low:
"I'm the mighty Casey who struck out just twenty years ago."

---

04 Aug 05 - 02:23 PM (#1535015)
Subject: RE: Casey at the Bat - Reprise? (recitation)
From: masato sakurai

If my memory is correct, "Casey at the Bat" is discussed in Tristram P. Coffin's baseball folkore book (probably Tristram Potter Coffin, The Old Ball Game: Baseball in Folkore and Fiction. New York: Herder and Herder, 1971). I'll check it later, since the book is somewhere else, not in front of me.

Thayer's "Casey at the Bat" recited (not sung) by DeWolf Hopper (rec. 1909) is on Various Artists: Baseball's Greatest Hits (Rhino R2 70710, track 22).

---

04 Aug 05 - 04:35 PM (#1535120)
Subject: RE: Casey at the Bat - Reprise? (recitation)
From: Joe Offer

That's terrific, Pseudolus! Do you have any idea where it came from?
-Joe Offer-

---

04 Aug 05 - 04:53 PM (#1535137)
Subject: ADD: Casey's Daughter at the Bat (recitation)
From: GUEST,.gargoyle

CASEY'S DAUGHTER AT THE BAT

By Al Graghm
From: http://www.ssec.wisc.edu/~scottl/poem3.html

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudvillettes, it seems;
The score stood four to two against that best of softball teams;
And when Brenda ("Lefty") Cooney and "Babs" Barrows both flied out,
A sickly silence filled the air, and the fans began to pout.

A straggling few got up to go--'twas the ninth and two were down--
While the rest had little hope at all that the 'Ettes would Go To Town;
Still, they thought if only Casey's gal--Patricia--Patsy--Pat--
Could get a lick, they still might win with Casey at the bat.

But Myrna Flynn and Hedy Blake had to hit before Miss C.;
And the former was a sissy, and the latter just a she;
So again upon a Mudville throng grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed no chance whatever that Patricia'd get to bat.

But Myrna smacked a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Hedy--known as Flatfoot--fairly flattened out the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, there on third and second base
Perched a pair of Mudville cuties, each a-powdering her face.

Then from the howling mamas in the stand in back of first.
Went up a weird, unearthly scream, like a Tarzan crazed with thirst,
Like a million screeching monkey-fans, like a yowling giant cat:
For Casey, Patsy Casey, was advancing to the bat!

There was ease in Patsy's manner as she stepped up to the plate;
There were curves in Patsy's figure, and a bounce in Patsy's gait;
And when responding to the screams she lightly doffed her hat,
No Casey fan could doubt 'twas Mighty's daughter at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on her shorts, an orchidaceous hue;
Five thousand tongues commented on her blouse of beige-and-blue;
And while the ladies chattered "What a shape!" and "What a fit!"
Miss Casey gave her shorts a tug and smoothed her blouse a bit.

And now the underhanded pitch came hurtling through the air,
But Patsy, like her famous dad, just stood a-smiling there;
And when "Strike one!" the umpire yelled as past that softball sped,
"That ain't my style!" is what they say Patricia Casey said.

Again, as in the years a-gone, the crowd set up a roar;
Again, they shouted as they had so many years before,
"Kill him! kill the umpire!"; and as once did Patsy's Pop,
Miss Casey raised a staying hand, and mildly said, "Oh, stop!"

And smiling like a lady in a teethy toothpaste ad,
Patricia showed that howling mob she wasn't even mad;
She signaled to the pitcher, who again the ball let fly;
And again like Papa Casey's, Patsy's second strike went by.

Anew, the maddened thousands blamed the strike upon the ump;
A racketeer, they labeled him, a floogie, and a frump;
But once again the mob was stilled by Patsy's charming smile,
As certain every fan became she'd hit the next a mile.

And now they see her daub a bit of powder on her nose;
They watch her put fresh lipstick on--a shade called Fleur de Rose;
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now she lets it go;
And now the air is shattered by another Casey's blow.

Oh! somewhere in this favored land the moon is shining bright;
And somewhere there are softball honeys winning games tonight.
And somewhere there are softball fans who scream and yell and shout;
But there's still no joy in Mudville--Casey's daughter has struck out.


AN ANNOTATED CASEY -
From http://www.cosmicbaseball.com/catbgardner.html

# Casey at the Bat. Ernest Thayer. 1st Printing. 1888.

# Casey at the Bat. Ernest Thayer. 1902. [corrupted version].

# Casey at the Bat. Ernest Thayer. 1909. [revised, final authorized version].

# Casey's Revenge. Grantland Rice. 1906.

# Casey's Revenge. Grantland Rice. 1941. [revised version].

# Mudville's Fate. Grantland Rice. 1906.

# The Man Who Played With Anson on the Old Chicago Team. Grantland Rice. 1906.

# He Never Heard of Casey. Grantland Rice. 1926.

# Casey the Comeback Kid. Herman J. Schiek. 1914.

# Why Casey Whiffed. Don Fairburn. 1937.

# Casey at the Plate. Unknown author. Date unknown.

# The Coming Back of Casey. Charles E. Jestings. 1937.

# The Man Who Fanned Casey. "Sparkus". 1913.

# Casey on a Bat. William Kirk. 1911.

# Mrs. Casey at the Bat. Unknown author. Date unknown.

# Casey's Son. Nitram Rendrag. 1967.

# Casey's Sister at the Bat. James O'Dea. 1911.

# Casey's Daughter at the Bat. Al Graham. 1939.

# Casey's Dream. William F. Robertson. 1936.

# Riley in the Box. Unknown author. Date unknown.

# Casey on the Mound. Harry E. Jones. 1954.

# Casey- Twenty Years Later. Clarence P. McDonald. Date unknown.

# Like Kelly Did. Clarence P. McDonald. 1910?

# Casey- Forty Years Later. Neil McConlogue. 1922

# "Cool" Casey at the Bat. Mad Magazine editors. 1960.

# Casey in the Cap. J.A. Lindon. 1967.

# A Village Cricket Casey. J.A. Lindon. 1967.

# O'Toole's Touchdown. Les Desmond. 1926.

# Ahab at the Helm. Ray Bradbury. 1969.


Sincerely,

Gargoyle

---

04 Aug 05 - 05:11 PM (#1535151)
Subject: RE: Casey at the Bat - Reprise? (recitation)
From: GUEST,.gargoyle

I need to check my brother's collection for
Mad #58 Oct. 1960
Mikhail Horowitz - Cool Casey at the Bat

Sincerely,

Gargoyle

---

05 Aug 05 - 12:14 PM (#1535697)
Subject: RE: Casey at the Bat - Reprise? (recitation)
From: GUEST,Pseudolus at Work

It's called "Casey - Twenty Years Later" by Clarence P. McDonald and the site I found said it was from 1908. This is pertty cool, I thought there was the original and a reprise and it turns out that there are a ton of 'em!

I was pretty proud of myself that I found it, almost as proud as I was for starting a "BS" thread that got promoted to the "top half"!!!

Life is good....

Frank

---

05 Aug 05 - 11:10 PM (#1536145)
Subject: RE: Casey at the Bat - Reprise? (recitation)
From: GUEST

Your'e doin good Frankie - much bettern than some lookeelooo 'n Ol TIMERS.

Well done....keep the folk cats busy .... and they won't go creating distress.

---

11 Nov 05 - 01:39 PM (#1602487)
Subject: RE: Casey at the Bat - Reprise? (recitation)
From: GUEST,Mikhail Horowitz

I perform a revised and updated version of the "Cool Casey" parody that originally appeared in MAD magazine (October 1960) on "Bottom of the Fifth," the fifth CD in Hungry for Music's ongoing "Diamond Cuts" series of baseball-related songs and poetry. Details at the publisher's website: [e-mail].

I've also written a Jewish version, "Kessler at the Bat." Sample quatrain:

And now the mystic, Kabbalistic pitch comes floating in,
And Kessler's brow is furrowed, and he slowly strokes his chin;
He comprehends that long before Creation had begun,
This pitch existed somewhere . . . but then he hears, "STRIKE VUN!"

Anyone interested can contact me at [e-mail].

---