Casey Duos

HALLEY'S CHILDREN

Toast in a London Pub - 1977

WE FOOLS destroy our fortune's gifts; there's something
   says we must;
And that which makes us be such clowns, rides in us to the
   dust.
Could we but curb that inner fool that makes our ills its aim,
Then what we seek and what we find might sometimes be
   the same.

I, Alan, of the Mudville Mudds who gave the town its name,
TO KAREN, of that family that gave it all its fame,
Sweep off my cloak of love and dreams I wear in fantasy,
And spread it at her feet, in dust, in gentle hope that she
Has trod more gently on my love than love has trod on me.

THE GREAT RED COMET flamed the sky the night that
   we were born--
She to love and a silver spoon, and I to my pride and
   scorn.
TO MUDVILLE we were on our way when Halley's Comet
   came,
And we'll go with it TO THE STARS when it comes back
   again.

Strikeout at Mudville - 1927

While Mudville's team played ball in dreams on Opening
   Day that fine May,
The town's most envied girl and I sat in her new cabriolet.
There was no score, with only four short innings left to
   play.
Her dad was rich and mine was poor--that was the score
   that day.

Our players dreamed of a wonderful year--a year they
   would win them all.
I dreamed of controlling a wonderful life, like our pitcher
   controlled the ball.
Their's was an old, yearly-blasted dream, renewed with
   winter's wane.
Mine was born that morning when she asked me to the
   game.

As if it were a thing they'd planned and only those two
   knew,
As if they knew the things I'd wished and much that I'd
   wished were true,
She'd walked into the town's best store, where I was a
   soda jerk,
Declaring to the owner I'd be needed at the park.

"HE WILL!" boomed Mighty Casey's son, beaming a mile
   of smile,
"TO DEDICATE THAT BRAND-NEW CAR AND WATCH
   US WIN! IN STYLE!"
That way, in happiness with her--and later, and alone--
I knew the truth I'd hid for years to them was always
   known.

We were parked at Mudville's playing field that Thayer tells
   about.
Then, in the stands, some aging fans relived Great Casey's
   rout.
A pitcher's duel held the game, with little else to see;
The ball was going to and fro--the batters, "one, two,
   three!"

When Casey'd swagger up to bat he'd get a quick "BALL
   FOUR!"
And Casey'd walk, and scowl, and talk, with never a
   chance to score.
While other batters swung their bats in most determined
   way,
The pitchers pitched in arrogance. It was a pitcher's day.

The fans were more divided now, the "HAVES" and the
   "have nots";
The "nots" were sitting in the stands; each "HAVE" was in
   his box,
Or sat, as we, within a car close-parked along the fence.
I'd never seen a game before. I'll never see one since.

"We're marked," she said. "You're a HALLEY'S CHILD,
   and you never can be `just you.'
And you're better for all your hardship years and bitterness
   now through.
From Mudville--from this lovely place--we'll drive away, this
   fall,
To college where we both shall play a fairer game of ball.

"Together there we'll write and sing, and there we'll win or
   lose
According to our lives and songs, and not to our names
   and shoes.
You say you have no money--that's what a friend is for;
Our bank will lend you all I've asked, and more if you need
   more.

"Through life we'll earn our happiness, and then, at this old
   park,
When Halley's Comet nears again, we'll smile and face The
   Dark
With memories of what we've had and each to each has
   been:
This world is not a lonely place to one who has a friend."

While pitchers pitched in vanity, while batters swung in
   vain,
While awed spectators in the stands sat silenced by the
   game,
I sat as dazzled in her car by all of the things she told,
As if my shabby, worn-out shoes were turning fast to gold.

Her blessed words had changed the world as she
   conversed along
In her enchanting Irish voice. With her I could write song.
For years, at work, I'd made up verse in jest and irony
While Casey'd tell our customers I talked "in poetry."

The Ninth began just like the rest--two batters up, two
   done.
Their pitcher hit a high fly ball that, helped by the blinding
   sun
And two wild, hurried overthrows, he stretched into a run
That let him last face Mudville with a lead of one to none.

But, shaken by his close, wild run, and his tremendous
   pride,
He walked two batters, and struck one. Regaining then his
   stride,
He fanned the next two men he faced, and then faced up
   to Fate.
For Casey, Mighty Casey's son, waited, smiling, at the
   plate.

The first two balls--two streaks of light--so straight for
   Casey sped
That Casey swiftly moved his bat, in close, to save his
   head.
He started for the pitcher, fast. "STRIKE TWO!" the
   umpire said.
The fiery shouts of Casey turned their faces burning- red.

The fans were standing in the stands--a screaming,
   threatening throng!
Wild waves of vengeful fury carried even me along.
The pitcher threw a floater then--the first of his career;
He'd saved it just for Casey while he practiced it a year.

Then Casey shattered air and dreams and drove them off
   to Heaven,
Just as his father, Casey, did in Eighteen Eighty- Seven.
At first, my teeth held back my words. Alas, they let them
   go,
And made my dream be shattered, too, by force of Casey's
   blow.

"Come back!" she cried, "They're only words!" They're not
   just words to me:
I hear them twenty times a day within my memory.
And now it's only nine years more until we two shall see
The Great Red Comet from the place the ballpark used to
   be.

I'd stepped into her car, A Prince, and out, again a jerk.
There'd be no wonderful years for me. I started back to
   work;
But as I walked, I saw my path and followed it away
This world from Mudville and my dream that shattered
   there that day.

In miles of homes upon this earth there's happiness galore;
The people dine, and dance, and sing--no wolf is at their
   door.
Song and Dance within my house have never happened.
   Yet,
Those two, with love, were sure as life had Casey got a hit.