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 in the stand; And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

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 little children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville mighty Casey has struck out.

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 […]