By Mark Stone

And we thought that our dear brother Herbie Lewis was old, this year will mark the 122nd birthday of another renowned baseballer, Casey of the Mudville nine. A friend of mine sent me a little background from the Baseball Almanac on the epic baseball poem that I thought I'd share.

According to the BA, it all started on June 3rd, 1888 when the poem "Casey at the Bat," first appeared in that day's issue of The Examiner. The poem's author was merely identified as "Phin." "Phin," it turned out, was the pseudonym for Ernest Lawrence Thayer who was a staff writer for The Examiner. How do we know this? Well a little more history.

In 1885, The San Francisco Examiner was purchased by George Hearst, who had decided to run for state senator in California and used the newspaper to self-promote his brand of politics. Following the completion of the election, Hearst gave the newspaper to his son, William Randolph.

William had been editor of the Harvard Lampoon while at Harvard College. When he came west and began to run The Examiner, he brought with him three Lampoon staff members, one of whom was Thayer who was known to sign his humorous Lampoon articles with the pen name "Phin."

Now, as Paul Harvey would say, "the rest of the story."

Thayer’s poem received very little attention when first published. A few weeks later it was partially republished in the New York Sun, although this time since the Sun did not know who “Phin” was published it with an anonymous author “Anon.”

A New Yorker named Archibald Gunter clipped out the poem from the Sun and saved it as a reference item for a future novel. Weeks later Gunter found another interesting article describing an upcoming performance at the Wallack Theatre by a comedian by the name of De Wolf Hopper, who, as it happened, was a personal friend of Gunter. At a show in August 1888, the exact date is unknown, members from the New York and Chicago ball clubs were in the audience and the clipping now had a clear and obvious use.

Gunter shared "Casey at the Bat" with Hopper and the performance was nothing short of legendary.

"and that's the rest of the story."

By the way, if you haven't heard our brother Teddy Tannenbaum recite "Casey" you haven't heard another legendary performance.

And now . . . "Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence 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 but 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 someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-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"