This time each year, a growing excitement envelops me as baseball season is ready to start. Every spring, I get transported back to my youth and a certain contentment washes over me. Baseball is such a good sport. While many say that baseball is past it's prime, and compare football, basketball, and NASCAR attendance figures, the naysayers just don't know. After all, they write poetry about baseball and one would be hard pressed to find any poetry written about those after-mentioned sports . Casey at the bat was the quintessential baseball poem as it included every human emotion wrapped up into a neat little package. There are many good trading lessons in "Casey at the Bat."

Casey at the Bat - The Original Poem

Ernest Thayer wrote the poem in May, 1888.

It was published in the San Fransisco Examiner on June 3, 1888 under the byline "Phin".





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1 Comment so far

  1. Steve on March 30, 2010 6:13 pm

    I live in Melbourne Florida and my spring training team is the Washington Nationals. The worst team in baseball. Last season they lost over a hundred games. I attended a night game last Thursday when the Nats hosted the Detroit tigers. Probably 4000 in attendance. I sat in the left field seats across from Johnny Damon. The pitcher for the Nats gave up 5 runs in the top of the first. Damon committed an error in the 5th. The atmosphere was who cares. It was about fun Parents taking their children to a baseball game, Grandpa and even grandma in the stands buying the little ones a dog peanuts and a soda. Perfect evening too,temperature in the low 70’s a slight breeze and so much conviviality.

    “How do you think the Tigers will do this year” ” Who will make the playoffs?” “Would you care for a peanut?” Lots of conversation around. Hardly a profanity uttered in the crowd. It would have been blasphemy. No this was an event an experience a snapshot in time. A return if you will to a bygone era.

    Had you asked me where in the world would you want to be other than right here right now I would have emphatically stated nowhere.

    We stayed through the 7th inning stretch, sang “Take me out to the ballgame” rocked back and forth and cried a bit. I cried because I missed my mother who died in 2002 of Als (Lou Gehrig’s disease) She would have liked to have been there. Then in the bottom of the 8th we decided to leave because a hint of rain was in the air. All in all, a magnificent evening.

    And I still miss my mom.


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