Mighty Casey Did Strike Out

March/23/2011 16:00PM
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An incident last week brought back two memories from my youth. A kid named Casey was being bullied. He finally had enough and his response was caught on video. His name was Casey and here is the  link if you didn’t see this already.


As I kid I hated bullies. Like everyone else, I was bullied, but I was too dumb not to fight back. Getting your butt kicked often enough you learn skills. If you win one or two, the bullies move on. My problems came when the kid being bullied didn’t fight back. I was too dumb not to step in, and that seldom worked out well. But, I developed a distaste for bullies that in still with me today.

Reaction to Casey’s response is mixed around the globe. Even his father felt he might have used excess force. Others say Casey was much bigger and older and could have stopped it short of what he did.  I guess I just see Casey having enough after years of being bullied. The smaller, younger kid thought he could get away with what he was doing because Casey wouldn’t fight back.  You notice at the end, a kid bigger than Casey, who may have been a friend of the kid attacking Casey, started moving aggressivelly toward Casey. But, he didn’t pursue it. It may be a long time before Casey is bullied again. Regardless, do you really believe Barack Obama can stop this practice? Only Casey or a kid watching who hates bullies can stop this practice.  

The name Casey brought back my favorite poem as a kid. Casey at the bat. It, too reminds us that things don’t always work out in life.  

Most poems and stories about sports are different than this. This, like the other, Casey, is a dose of reality.    

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning left to play;
And then, when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

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

But Flynn procede Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a no-good and the latter was a fake;
So, upon that stricken multitude grim meloncholy 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 despised, tore the cover off the ball,
And when the dust had lifted and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin’ third.

Then from five thousand throats and more threr rose a lusty yell,
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell,
It knocked upon the mountain 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 croud could doubt `twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tounges applauded as 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 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 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 from 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.”

“Fraud,” cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered “Fraud,”
But one scornful look from Casey, and the multitude was awed.
The 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 lip; his teeth are 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;
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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