THE BASEBALL MUSIC PROJECT Bob Thompson, conductor ...

The Umpire Is a Most Unhappy ManAn umpire is a cross between a bullfrog and a goat.He has a mouth that’s flannel lined and brass tubes inhis throat;He needs a cool and level head that isn’t hard to hit,So when the fans beat up his frame, they’ll have anice place to sit.The only job that’s worse is driver on a hearse.How’d you like to be an umpire, work like his ismerely play,He don’t even have to ask for all the things thatcome his way.When the crowd yells, “Knock his block off!”“Soak him good,” says every fan,Then who wants to be an umpire,The brickbats whiz when he gets hisFor the Umpire Is a Most Unhappy Man.Napoleon and Washington were generals of old,Their lightest word moved regiments and armies weare told;Where ’er they led men followed them, but onlycame for hire,Just think of all that gratis come, to follow the boldumpire;He leads them with his vim, because they’re chasinghim.How’d you like to be an umpire, work like his ismerely play,He don’t even have to ask for all the things thatcome his way.When the crowd yells, “Knock his block off!”“Soak him good,” says every fan,Then who wants to be an umpire,The brickbats whiz when he gets hisFor the Umpire Is a Most Unhappy Man.For the Umpire Is a Most Unhappy Man.Casey at the BatThe outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine thatday:The score stood four to two, with but one inningmore to play,And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows didthe same,A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. TherestClung to that hope which springs eternal in thehuman breast;They thought, “If only Casey could but get a whackat that—We’d put up even money now, with Casey at thebat.”But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was acake;So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,For there seemed but little chance of Casey gettingto the bat.But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off theball;And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what hadoccurred,There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-huggingthird.Then from five thousand throats and more there rosea lusty yell;It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon theflat,For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped intohis place;There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile litCasey’s face.And when, responding to the cheers, he lightlydoffed his hat,No stranger in the crowd could doubt ’twas Casey atthe bat.Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed hishands with dirt;Five thousand tongues applauded when he wipedthem on his shirt;Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball intohis hip,Defiance flashed in Casey’s eye, a sneer curledCasey’s lip.And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtlingthrough the air,And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeurthere.Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheededsped—“That ain’t my style,” said Casey. “Strike one!” theumpire said.From the benches, black with people, there went upa muffled roar,Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern anddistant shore;“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted someone on thestand;And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Caseyraised his hand.With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visageshone;He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dunsphere flew;But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, “Striketwo!”“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echoanswered, “Fraud!”But one scornful look from Casey and the audiencewas awed.They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw hismuscles strain,And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that ball goby again.The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth areclenched in hate,He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he letsit go,And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’sblow.Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shiningbright,The band is playing somewhere, and somewherehearts are light;And somewhere men are laughing, and somewherechildren shout,But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey hasstruck out.22 23