Casey at the Bat by Ernest Thayer
Illustrated by Steven R. Kidd

Below is a little about the author, the poem and about the artist and the illustration itself.

Casey at the Bat by Ernest Thayer It all started in 1885 when George Hearst decided to run for state senator in California . To self-promote his brand of politics, Hearst purchased the San Francisco Examiner. At the completion of the election, Hearst gave the newspaper to his son, William Randolph Hearst. William, who had experience editing the Harvard Lampoon while at Harvard College , took to California three Lampoon staff members. One of those three was Ernest L. Thayer who signed his humorous Lampoon articles with the pen name Phin. In the June 3, 1888 issue of The Examiner, Phin appeared as the author of the poem we all know as Casey at the Bat. The poem received very little attention and a few weeks later it was partially republished in the New York Sun, though the author was now known as Anon. A New Yorker named Archibald Gunter clipped out the poem and saved it as a reference item for a future novel. Weeks later Gunter found another interesting article describing an upcoming performance at the Wallack Theatre by comedian De Wolf Hopper - who was also his personal friend. The August 1888 show (exact date is unknown) had members from the New York and Chicago ball clubs in the audience and the clipping now had a clear and obvious use. Gunter shared Casey at the Bat with Hopper and the perfomance was nothing short of legendary. Baseball Almanac is pleased to present the single most famous baseball poem ever written.    The Artist Steven R. Kidd (1911, Chicago, Illinois – 1987), known to friends and students as Joe Kidd, was an American illustrator. He illustrated for various books and magazines and for many years was an illustrator for the New York Daily News. He taught fine art illustration at the Art Students League of New York.His work is featured in "The Illustrator in America" and Charles Waterhouse's "Illustrations in Black, White and Gray" STEVEN R. KIDD: A Note About The Artist Known for his fun loving, easy going spirit, artist Steven R. Kidd was often seen walking his dogs around the Hudson River Valley hills. Sporting his trademark bow tie, hat, and walking stick (usually a tree branch),Mr. Kidd would sit on a rock and sketch into the blue hours. The evening shadows in this area have been known to play tricks, leading men astray from the path home - and Mr. Kidd got good and lost, many times! He left Chicago at 17 to begin work for the New York Daily News and other well-known publications. Memorable pieces include, "Night Before Christmas", "Gift of the Magi", and "Casey At The Bat", which he donated to the Baseball Hall of Fame. His work is also in the permanent collections of the Smithsonian Institution, the Illustrators Club,and the Harvey Dunn Museum. Mr. Kidd won many awards and prizes, was a war artist in Korea and had his work hung in the White House, and taught at the Art Students League in New York. Moving to the Hudson River Valley area in 1948, he was a deacon of the Union Church of Pocantico Hills, where many of his works are displayed among the famous Chagall windows and Henri Matisse's Rosette. He is buried alongside Maurine, his wife of more than 40 years, on a sloping hill in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery which overlooks the bridge where Ichabod met his fate. Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steven_R._Kidd

Casey At The Bat Ernest L. Thayer June 3, 1888 by Ernest L. 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, And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, A pall-like 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 preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake; So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat; For there seemed but little chance of Casey 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-hugging third. Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell; It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; It pounded on 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 lit 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. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt. Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt. Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance  flashed 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 some one 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 dun sphere flew; But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!" "Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!" But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed. They 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 has fled from Casey's lip, the 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 little children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.   Source: http://www.baseball-almanac.com/poetry/po_case.shtml

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