by Michael Ceraolo
The outlook wasn’t hopeful for the Mudville nine that day,
Trailing four to two with but one inning left to play.
We’ll cut to the chase to bring this puppy home,
Skipping several stanzas of Thayer’s celebrated poem.
We will pick it up again as the umpire calls strike one,
Little realizing as he does so, what will soon be done.
For at the call, though a good one, Casey throws up his hands,
And as though awaiting the sign, the fans rush from the stands.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
But there are consequences when the fans act like horseshit:
And there is no joy in Mudville–the riot caused a forfeit.
i am Rob Manfred and i approve of this poem.