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BASEBALL BAT
DATING GUIDE |
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| Ninth Impression 1919 |
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Page 297:
Casey At The Bat |
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Page 298:
Casey At The Bat |
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Page 299: Correct Attribute Ernest L. Thayer |
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A Treasury Of Humorous
Poetry By Frederic Lawrence Knowles -
"Casey At The Bat" |
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A
Treasury Of Humorous
Poetry - "Casey At The
Bat" |
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Item Details |
-
CIRCA
- 1902
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PUBLISHER
- Dana Estes and
Company
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SIZE
- 5" x
7.5" 407 pages
-
PRICE GUIDE
- $50.00-$100.00
Good -Very Good Condition
Information
Provided by:
Keymancollectibles.com
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"Casey at the Bat" is a poem written
in 1888 by Ernest Thayer. A dramatic
narrative about a baseball game. The
poem became popular on the vaudeville
circuit, and has become one of the
best-known poems in American
literature. In 1888, De Wolf Hopper, a
life-long baseball fanatic, performed
the poem for the first time in front of
an opera house audience with the New
York Giants and the visiting Chicago
White Stockings in attendance. It was
an immediate hit.
The classic baseball poem had first
appeared in the June 3rd, 1888 issue of
the San Francisco Examiner, under the
pseudonym Phin. Thayer's Nickname at
Harvard was Phinney. The poem was first
printed in a book in the 1880s, in a
Harvard Class report which is basically
unobtainable today. In 1901, it was
printed, on its own, as a softcover
pamphlet.
"Casey at the Bat" was published for the first time in a hardcover
anthology, in "A Treasury of Humorous
Poetry," by Frederic Lawrence
Knowles. A compilation of Witty,
Facetious, and Satirical Verse Selected
from the Writings of British and
American Poets." In most first
edition copies of this
book the poem was wrongly attributed to
"Joseph Quinlan Murphy," as it
appears in this book (pictured below).
Like most renditions of this poem the words are slightly altered from the
original, printed in the 1988 San
Francisco Examiner.
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"A Treasury Of Humorous
Poetry" By Frederic
Lawrence Knowles |
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| Title Page |
Poem Attributed to
Joseph Quinlan Murphy |
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"Casey At The Bat"
Words
Written by Ernest Lawrence Thayer - Published in "A
Treasury Of Humorous Poetry"
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It Looked extremely rocky
for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to six, with but one inning left
to play,
And so when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the
same,
A pallor wreathed the features of patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go leaving there the rest
With That hope which springs eternal within the human
breast;
For they thought, If only Casey could but get a whack
at that,
they'd put up even money, with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, as likewise so did Blake,
And the former was a pudding, and the latter was a
fake;
So on that stricken multitude a deathlike scilence sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to
the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And the much despised Blakey, tore the cover off the
ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and they saw what had
occurred,
There was Blakey safe on second and Flynn a-hugging
third.
Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell;
It bounded from the mountain top, it rattled in the dell;
It struck upon the hillside, and rebounded on 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 lit
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.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands
with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on
his shirt;
And while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into
his hip,
Defiance gleamed ifrom 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.
From the bleachers, 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 it's likely they'd have done it 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!"
"Fraud!" yelled 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 would not let that ball go by
again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are
clenched with 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 favoured 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.
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KEYMAN COLLECTIBLES
RELATED RESOURCES |
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