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.

Then the new Ump blinked its lights, in a final test.
While the hopes of Mudville sprang eternal from the rest;
They thought, “If only Casey could but get a whack at that—
We’d put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.”

Then 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 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.

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 slinked —
“That ain’t my style,” said Casey. “Strike one!” the umpire blinked.

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 blinked, “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 a 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, how Casey connected, drove it high o’er the right field line
It was in or out by molecules, Casey’s hitting was so fine
So all turned to the new-age Ump to see how Casey slugged
But the Ump just stood there uselessly, for he had come unplugged.

So somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
Somewhere men are laughing — but in Mudville teeth are gnashed,
For just when it was needed, the blasted Ump had crashed.