There were no wild and woolly cheers, no glad acclaim this day.
They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored “strike him out.”
But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard this shout.
The pitcher smiled and cut one loose; across the plate it sped;
Another hiss, another groan—“strike one” the umpire said.
Zip—like a shot, the second curve broke just below his knee—
“Strike two” the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.
No roasting for the umpire now—his was an easy lot.
But here the pitcher whirled again—was that a rifle shot?
A whack, a crack, and out through space the leather pellet flew—