Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped…
‘That ain't my style,’ said Casey. ‘Strike one!’ the umpire said.”
“He’s gonna strike out, I know it,” the real Casey said, sitting by the fire.
“Shhh,” Jackson said. “Wait. So back to Mudville...
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 it's 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 still ignored it and the umpire said, ‘Strike two!’”
The real Casey’s eyes were like sauce
