Casey at the Bat

Casey at the Bat was a story my Grandpa Briggs would read to me when I was little. As a child, I always viewed it as just a story about a baseball player.

A picture of my baseball loving Grandpa

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.

This is the American game. It describes hope, success and the hurt of failure in the world today.  I love the line “Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast” which is an allusion to Alexander Pope’s “An Essay on Man”. The line is able to explain the emotions to this game. It isn’t just a sport but it is the hope within the human heart. This is the emotions my grandfather had toward the game. It wasn’t just baseball but it was his hope and his love in the world.

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.

This part always reminds me that people are more than what is expected of them. These two players weren’t expected to be able to get a hit off, and yet they amaze the crowd by hitting the ball and opening a chance to winning the game. In the world I live in, I see people do great things that I never expect of them. 

Casey, the hero

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.

The introduction of our hero always got me excited as a child. The way he is described is as this man that could always succeed. I had total faith in him. As I am older now, that hero is now flawed to me. The characteristic that sticks with me is that “there was pride in Casey’s bearing.” All this leaves me with is that his pride will be his downfall.

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.

This is the first sign of trouble. Due to Casey’s pride, he misses a chance at success because it “ain’t my style”. Strike one.

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."

The crowd cheers on Casey because he is their hero. Casey, knowing it isn’t the umpire’s fault, calms down the crowd. And then he ignores another pitch. 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.

My father also read this story to me

This is the last hope we have in Casey. His last chance. He prepares to focus and to take on the challenge. And we are led to believe he succeeded.

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.

Strike three. Unlike the audience expectations, Casey fails. It wasn’t because he didn’t have the ability or the opportunity. It was because he allowed his pride to interfere. This is more than just a story about a baseball game that ended with the hero being defeated. It was a lesson to a young child to not allow pride to interfere with success. I didn’t recognize the lesson when I was a little girl, but the love I had for this story has led me to recognize the lesson now.
I loved this story as a little girl because of my Grandpa. And my father. I was read this poem as a little girl and it has left me with loving memories. It might not be a classic on love and death, but it is a sweet story that taught me not to let my pride interfere  with my hopes of success in life.