When the pitcher hit the second and gave “four balls” to the third.
Three men on bases—no one out—three runs to tie the game,
A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville’s hall of fame;
But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night
When the fourth one “fouled to catcher” and the fifth “flew out at right,”
A dismal groan in chorus came—a scowl was on each face—
When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place;
His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed; his teeth were clinched in hate
He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate.
But fame is fleeting as the wind, and glory fades away;