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 crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day; The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play, And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, A pall-like ...

The history of "Casey at the Bat" is just as fascinating as its long afterlife. The poem was penned by Ernest Thayer, a former editor of the Harvard Lampoon whose friendship with fellow classmate ...

CASEY AT THE BAT. By Ernest Lawrence Thayer. The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day: The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.

Frank Deford puts aside his gripes this week to pay tribute to the poem by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, first published in the San Francisco Examiner 125 years ago June 3.

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.