Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer

Casey at the Bat

by Ernest Lawrence Thayer

(first published on June 3, 1888 in The San Francisco Examiner)

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 pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest

Clung to the 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 hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;

So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,

For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,

And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball;

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

There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose 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 into his place;

There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit 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 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," 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 dun sphere 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 favoured 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.

This is a classic American poem, and not only because it is about America's pasttime, baseball. First published in 1888, it is a poem that most Americans have at least a vague idea about. I would dare say many could also quote (or misquote) the last line. There are few other poems that this collective knowledge could be said about.

A narrative poem told in quartrains, this poem is an easy one to memorize--the end rhymes help, as does the rhythm. The story line helps, too, as we are immediately thrown into a baseball game and that is where the action of the poem takes place.

It is a poem of all action. There is no backstory--what does Casey look like? What is in his heart? How did Mudville get its name? There's no common tools of poetry beyond the rhyme and rhythm, no metaphor (the crowd was like . . . or Casey was an oak tree . . . ), no language play (although the use of period slang certainly also is a reason for its popularity), no allusions to contemporary culture (an epigraph by Mark Twain).

The last stanza provides a literal break in the action; Thayer provides description to establish contrast. Somewhere things are bright. Somewhere people are happy. But not in Mudville. Not the people we have followed for 12 previous stanzas, all of which seem to have been setting us up for victory. Casey inexplicably strikes out.

And the poem ends! Not only on this sad note, but without explanation, which to our modern sensibility is NOT HOW THINGS ARE DONE. (If, like me, you read the 1882 short story by Frank R. Stockton, "The Lady, or The Tiger," in elementary school, and it haunted you because it is open-ended, you know that most of us like things tied up. We like reasons. So, yes, we know Casey strikes out, so this is not entirely open-ended, but WHY??? We will never know.)

More evidence that this is a classic? This poem has been made filmed numerous times! In 1899, 1916, 1923, 1927, 1946, 1954, 1986, a variety of people turned the story of this poem into a movie, usually a short (1954's film is really a sequel, but I am going to count it). You can click on the years above to see the film or read about it.

More on Ernest Thayer can be found here.