Casey at the Bat?
This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville Nine that day, though exactly where the score stood, the city couldn’t say. Then when Jeter died at first, and Giambi did the same, a sense of desperation fell upon the patrons of the game.
They clicked and kicked and stomped around their living rooms and bars, fell asleep over soccer games or went out and washed their cars. Then the pitcher clumb the mound and began his mighty wind, while all across the city, the loyal fans stood blind.
And then the pitcher gripped the ball, and then he let it go, while the fans in Mudville ached for a look at Joe. Then the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, and Casey stood-a-watching it as the town played solitaire.
Whatever happened next, the fans could only guess, for their blasted TV sets didn’t carry YES.
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 is blacked out.
