The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with not much time to play,
And when Cooney died at first, despite the bigger bag,
A pall-like silence fell upon the field, and time began to nag.

A straggling few took a sec’ to check their pocket watches
To make sure that not too much time was taken making catches.
They thought, “If only Casey could but get a whack at that—
We’d put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.”

The umps were out there strutting, pulling up their socks
And pausing all too often to check their new game clocks.
The pitcher’s fastball burst aflame as it sped toward the plate
Then the blasted game clock said it got there a tad too late.

Then from fifty thousand throats arose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded 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 up to the plate
No doubt our famous hero thought he’d lots of time to wait.
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, and it was clear that he was in it
For who’d begrudge Mighty Casey, dast he take another minute?
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed 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,” muttered Casey. “Strike one!” the umpire said.

The pitcher threw a second strike, and it was really cooking
But our hero spurned his watch, and stood there just a-looking.
“Kill the ump!” the crowd then shouted, ere falling in a hush.
While Casey tried to calm them down, asking, “What’s the rush?”

They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
But what happened next, only new rules could explain.
For Casey’s mighty bat found the ball, with a force beyond all sense.
“It’s high, it’s far, it’s gooone,” bawled Sterling as it cleared the outfield fence.

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 chime,
But there is no joy in Mudville — Casey was called out on time.

________

With apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer