The Pecan Park Eagle

People have been searching for the famous “other side of the story” forever. This morning, on a research swipe at “Mudville” in the digital newspaper archives, I ran across this delightful article in the Leavenworth Crawford County Democrat, May 23, 1895, Page 1. Another late 19th century writer had decided to answer the other pole question posed by author Ernest Thayer in his 1885 poem, “Casey at  the Bat.” This time, a fellow named Nat Wright wrote another poem about what happened “when Casey slugged the ball.”

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“When Casey Slugged the Ball”

Of course everybody has heard of Casey: of the way he swatted ozone and the paralysis of grief that fell upon Mudville of course, everybody has heard of De Wolf Hopper. But the other side of Casey’s life has been written by Nat Wright,  of Cincinnati, as follows:

WHEN CASEY SLUGGED THE BALL

Oh, you all have heard of Mudville,

Heard of the mighty Casey, too;

Of the groans amid the bleachers

As the ball thrice past him flew;

 

But you haven’t heard the story,

The best story of them all,

Of the day in happy Mudville,

When great Casey slugged the ball.

 

Twas the day they played the Giants,

And the score stood 10 to 8;

Two men were on the bases,

And great Casey at the plate.

 

Swipe her, Casey,” yelled the rooters,

And the hero doffed his cap;

Three to win and two to tie

And Casey at the bat.

 

‘Mid a hush of expectation,

Now the ball flies past his head;

Great Casey grins a sickly grin;

“Strike one,” the umpire said.

 

Again the pitcher raised his arm,

Again the horse-hide flew;

Great Casey spat upon the ground,

And the umpire said, “strike two.”

 

“It’s a roast,” came from the grandstand,

“He is bought without a doubt.”

“He is rotten,” roared the bleachers.

“Throw the daylight robber out!”

 

“I’ll break your face,” says Casey,

“That wan wint below me knee;”

“If I miss the nixt, ye blackguard,”

“Ye won’t live long to see.”

 

The next one came like lightning.

And the umpire held his breath,

For well he knew, if Casey missed,

“T’would surely mean his death.”

 

But Casey swung to meet it,

Backed by all his nerve and gall –

Oh if you had but heard the yell

As Casey smashed the ball!

 

He caught the pigskin on the nose,

It cleared the big town lot,

It sailed above the high church tower,

In vain the fielders sought.

 

And Casey didn’t even run,

He stopped a while to talk,

And then amid the deafening cheers,

He came around in a walk.

 

And now he keeps a beer saloon;

He is mayor of the town;

And people flock to see him

From all the country round.

 

And you need not look for Mudville

On the map upon the wall,

Because the town’s called Caseyville,

Since Casey smashed the ball.

 

~Leavenworth Crawford County Democrat, May 23, 1895, Page 1.

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The Astros could wear this patch, but they have yet to qualify as a team that knows both the yin and the yang of agony and joy. In Houston, unfortunately, our major league experience has been all yin and yearn for 54, or all, of our big league seasons. But this is spring. And Opening Day is next week. And hope still springs eternal. Even in all the Mudvilles of this land.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tags: Csey Slugs the Ball

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