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TODAY’S CASEY FINDS NO JOY IN MUDVILLE

by | Apr 7, 1991 | Detroit Free Press | 0 comments

Mudville 1991

The outlook wasn’t brilliant For the Mudville nine today, The score stood 4-3 with just One inning left to play. The fans did groan when Jackson Hit a dribbler to the mound, Then Williams went down swinging He barely got around. But suddenly a hush did fall The crowd began to shake . . . Was that the Moody Casey Walking toward the plate? He flexed his arms and shook his chains He checked his Rolex watch, He spit, he chewed, he spit again Then grabbed and scratched his crotch. And when responding to the cheers, He tipped his Nike hat No stranger in the crowd could doubt
‘Twas Casey at the bat.

“When did you sign?” the catcher asked as Casey shook his girth.
“This morning,” Casey answered
“Guess what my contract’s worth?” The catcher shrugged; he didn’t know, Our hero had to grin.
“Forty million for one year, plus an island they threw in.” The catcher said, “Not bad” as Casey stepped into the box,
“you hear about Tex Johnson, who just signed with the Sox?”
“Tex Johnson?” Casey asked as the pitch sailed toward his head.
“Fifty million,” said the catcher,
“STRIKE ONE!” the umpire said.

Casey burped, then spit again His cockiness did fade. Just one pitch into the season And he was underpaid.
“Tex Johnson ain’t worth that much dough You sure you got that right?” The catcher nodded earnestly And chuckled with delight. The sneer was gone from Casey’s lips, His teeth were clenched in hate. He pounded with cruel violence His bat upon the plate. He thought about Tex Johnson As in the baseball sailed.
“Fifty million?” he repeated,
“STRIKE TWO!” the umpire wailed. Now the fans began to stir But Casey’s eyes were slanted. How dare his tightwad baseball team start taking him for granted? He sat down on home plate, untied his Nike pumps,
“I want to renegotiate!” He bellowed to the umps. His manager came running out And begged he’d reconsider. His teammates said “Just swing the bat!” lest they be late for dinner. But with the count at 0-2 He sat there like a crate And nighttime fell on Mudville Moody Casey on the plate. Soon a state of panic Descended on the park. How long would Casey sit there Just sulking in the dark? His agent flew from New York His CPA came, too. The owner of the team flew in

From a trek in Kathmandu. The TV news reported live, The headlines clearly stated:
“CASEY WON’T PLAY BASEBALL, SAYS HE NOT APPRECIATED.” Now all this time in Mudville The scoreboard stayed the same. The home team still trailed 4-3 Two strikes by Casey’s name. While on the field they argued Over bonuses and cash, As Casey sat there happily and patted his moustache. The fans began to boo and hiss How long there must they linger?

Casey showed his deep concern By giving them the finger.
“How can I survive,” he asked
“On a measly 40 mill?” If I don’t get my way I just may join the NFL.” Finally, the businessmen who’d argued this till dawn sighed that they were finished
“Play ball,” the umpire yawned . . . Now 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, But here the money’s saved For justice has hit Mudville . . . Moody Casey has been waived.

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Mitch Albom writes about running an orphanage in impoverished Port-au-Prince, Haiti, his kids, their hardships, laughs and challenges, and the life lessons he’s learned there every day.

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