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There is a story ‘bout Casey, that is but incomplete
It tells of simple ball and bat and Mighty’s ignoble feat
There we learned of failure and the storied Mudville name
Here we’ll learn what happened in the very next ballgame  

The year was long ago, it was eighteen eighty-eight
When the paperboy delivered the tale of Casey’s fate
The populace of Mudville was quite a distraught bunch
They cried from morning paper all the way to lunch

On this day the players came and sat upon the pine
Would they lose again, they were the Mudville nine
And when the Mighty one arrived and said “I will not play”
Clouds hung over both team and field, it was all so gray

The young and old with their broken nerves of steel
Returned that day to see if Casey was the one for real
“Hey, where’s da bum” yelled the boys all sittin’ in row 
Casey’s mates responded with a shallow “We don’t know”

Amidst recited “Hail Mary’s”, Blake spit these words to Flynn
“If Casey plays and hits the ball the Mudville nine will win.”
The press was there, but no noise, the crowd was mighty small
Then with black mask in his hand the villain said “play ball” 

The team dispersed to the field, their hopes and dream were full
They proudly showed the Mudville name across their suits of wool
The innings they passed quickly, still not a fan would cheer
They chased the roasted peanuts down with drafted foamy beer

And as their payers hung-in there and pushed away defeat  
Each fan inched forward bit by bit in their splinted seat
Mitts flashed at hard balls, that the crafty pitchers hurled
As they flew right back at them in this new ol’ timey world

The innings read just like a thriller and then the ninth it came
With prayers no longer muted they pleaded “not the same”
The new day score was one to nuttin’ and Casey he still sat.
Until the coach yelled down the bench “Hey, Casey get your bat!” 

Fans who saw him grab his bat and advance on towards the plate
Rained “boos” down on to the field and cursed their constant fate 
The once great and mighty Casey could never be the hero
‘Cause for sure he’d strike out n’ leave the score at zero

The bases were quite full when Casey tipped his floppy cap 
The other team drew broad smiles - the fans they did not clap
The coach said to his nervous nine “Now it’s up to him”
So, there it was, on Casey’s bat as if it were a limb 

(This Poem is continued in Double Play - Part 2, Please read it and discover the surprise ending)
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