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The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;

The score stood four to two but with one inning more to play.

So when Cooney died at second, and Burrows did the same, A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair, The rest Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast. They thought, "If only Casey could get a whack at that- We'd put up even money now with Casey at the bat."

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, and the former was a lulu and the latter was a fake: So upon that stricken multitude a deathlike silence 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 settled and the men saw what had occured, There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell; It rumbled in the mountaintops, it rattled in the dell; It knocked upon the hillside 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 crowed could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were upon him as he rubbrd 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 leathered 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- Tht ain't my style," said Casey-Strike one," the Umpire said.

From the benches black with people ther went up a muffled roar, Like beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distance shore. "Kill him! Kill the umpire!"shouted someone in the stands; And its likely they'd have 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 stilled ignored it, and the Umpires said,"Strike two."

"Fraud!"cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered, "Fraud!" But one scornful look from Casey and the multitude 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 lips,his teeth is 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, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; A 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.

Ernest Lawrence Thayer-06/03/1888

Submitted by Lon- For your enjoyment and comparison to Y2K.

I see the the ball as the as computers and embedded chips. The pitcher is the programmers. The batters is the goverment and business. The Fans are DGI's and the umpire is time.

This fellow called it the best I way I know over a hundred years ago.


-- Lon (Lon1937@aol.com), April 25, 1999

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