INSPIRED BY ERNEST THAYER’S
“CASEY AT THE BAT”
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play…
The side struck out, all hopes were dashed—so close and yet so far…
Then someone turned the TV off at Sam McCluskey’s bar.
With Happy Hour just starting and the room devoid of cheer,
Disappointed patrons drowned their sorrows in their beer.
Mudville is a baseball town, through their team they live and die.
It doesn’t matter much to me, for I’m a hockey guy.
Been a fan since ’64, when there only were six teams.
Drank champagne from the Stanley Cup (though only in my dreams).
The league now numbers thirty, and not that I’m berating—
But two are now in Florida, a state not known for skating.
Having seen so many games in the fifty years that passed,
And versed in hockey trivia—can’t be stumped by what I’m asked.
I know the players’ faces, from Dick Duff to Bobby Orr.
So imagine my surprise, seeing Casey at the door.
He strode into McCluskey’s, as the jukebox played Adele.
He hadn’t really changed much, since he left the NHL.
The greatest goalie of his time—he could have been, hands down…
Instead all went astray, and they ran Casey out of town.
He was a goalie phenom rated highly by the scouts;
He was superstar material, of that there were no doubts.
Toronto celebrated. He was drafted by the Leafs!
“We’ll win the Stanley Cup now!” was the popular belief.
Fans all hoped that this was true: it was time to dry their tears;
They hadn’t tasted victory in over forty years.
Could this Casey spur the team? At that thought, the fans did foam…
Could this finally be the year that the Stanley Cup came home?
The promise started early with a ten-game winning streak.
The way the team was playing, not one person could critique.
The forwards, they were scoring. All believed the hype:
This team could not be beaten, not with Casey ’tween the pipes.
Nailed the Eastern Conference, due to Casey’s acrobatics.
Playoff fever swept through town; it really was dramatic.
Casey took the league by storm; he was the King of Hockey.
And then, oh-oh, it all went south, for Casey became cocky.
He was growing quite conceited, which much concerned the Leafs.
Case in point: website photos of Casey in his briefs.
Without expressing sorrow as other people would;
He arrogantly smiled and said, “Man, I’m looking good.”
The team got through the first round, then the second and the third.
It almost felt too easy, these playoffs were absurd.
They made it to the finals, every hockey team’s one wish.
Casey said, “We’ll win in four! All comers we will squish.”
This spurred the opposition, as the Leafs fans feared it would—
The Penguins won the first game. (Casey wasn’t very good.)
The Leafs bounced back the next match, they won the third one too,
The Penguins ruled the next one, scoring five on you know who.
The fifth went to the Penguins, but the next was theirs to lose.
A seventh game was needed. Who would win? Too hard to choose.
Leafs fans, ever hopeful that the Cup would come their way,
Longed with such intensity that even atheists prayed.
The hockey game was started, back and forth the teams did skate.
Both played their very best, every player pulled his weight.
It came to pass the score was tied, one minute left to play.
Surely there’d be overtime. Oh no!—a breakaway!
An errant pass was picked up by a player from Pittsburgh,
He headed for the net, but Casey didn’t seem perturbed.
He calmly touched the goalposts with his custom-made Sher-Wood,
Then gliding to his crease’s edge, there mighty Casey stood.
The Penguins lad raced closer—the fans were on their feet.
Thousands screamed their lungs out, “Casey, don’t get beat!”
Casey spun upon his skates, then bowing to the crowd,
Slipped and lost his balance, falling hard and big and loud.
The Penguin shot, he scored the goal, then jumped in celebration.
Boos rang out, they said it all: crushed hopes of a Leafs Nation.
“Casey, Casey, what a bum!” The crowd was all agreeing.
Don Cherry ranted from the booth: “He must be European!”
The newspapers were vicious; the fans called for his blood.
From hero down to scapegoat, Casey’s name had become mud.
He was run right out of town, speeding in his fancy car.
That was the last I saw him till he walked into this bar.
Turning to the barkeep: “What’s the story with that guy?”
I gestured then to Casey, who was giving girls the eye.
The barkeep looked and smiled, “Mr. Casey is his name.
He comes here every night, leaving with a different dame.
“The women they all love him, and the men, they all turn green.
For Casey, mighty Casey, is the best they’ve ever seen.
He might not be most handsome, and not the very smartest,
But that there Mr. Casey is a mighty pickup artist.”
I watched as Casey sauntered by the tables where girls sat,
His eyes searched out the talent, like a horny alley cat.
He circled very slowly round the barroom, no mistake.
His movements showed to everyone: Casey’s on the make.
So easy was his manner as he walked around the place,
He took his time just looking, knowing love was not a race.
And from his average visage, confidence did ooze
From the curls upon his head to his fake Italian shoes.
Two hundred eyes were on him as he walked up to a blonde,
Two hundred ears were straining to hear how she’d respond.
He wavered for a moment as he saw her in the light.
“She’s way too drunk,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t be too fair a fight.”
He quickly passed her table; his eyes flicked round the room.
He paused for just a second, then his hunt he did resume,
A brunette in the corner looked like she might be the one
That Casey, mighty Casey, would pick up to have some fun.
She sat there in the shadows, then lit up a cigarette.
The flame was like a spotlight; Casey broke into a sweat.
He quickly changed direction, as though it was meant to be.
What in the dark seemed thirty, in the light looked sixty-three.
I thought he’d call it quits, but no, Casey was determined—
His eyes blazed like a zealot’s in the middle of a sermon.
And then he saw her standing there—the Beatles song come true.
Casey now had found his prey—I had the perfect view.
Her eyes shone like two diamonds, and her cheeks were rosy fair,
Her lips were quite inviting; blonde and curly was her hair.
With more curves than mountain roads, her lush body was divine.
Though I couldn’t read his mind, I’m sure Casey thought, “She’s mine!”
He smoothed his hair and gave a nod, then checked out his reflection.
Satisfied with how he looked, he moved in her direction.
Uncoiling like a cobra, he appeared right at her side.
Oh, he was in his element, and wouldn’t be denied.
He started off by asking, “Tell me, is this seat here free?”
Before there was an answer, he plunked down rapidly.
He sat there for a moment, then he ordered up a drink,
Then Casey, mighty Casey, glanced at me and gave a wink.
He leaned upon his elbow, not quite looking at his prey,
Joking with the barkeep, overtipping all the way.
His eyes then locked upon her, and he gave a little start
As though he had just noticed her, whose beauty stole his heart.
He started with some small talk, in his soothing sexy voice.
She looked like she might weaken. Did she really have a choice?
Then slowly she leaned forward, whispered to this ladies’ man:
“Ain’t never gonna happen, guy, ’cause I’m a huge Leafs fan.”
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the bars now have last call;
Guys and girls have hooked up, with each other are enthralled,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.