Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard tales of a man known as Case
Who’s had trouble getting from home plate to first base.
Maybe this will end with a better conclusion
Instead of a story of a team that keeps losin’.

The day was so sunny, the type where you might
Go to the park and fly a cool kite
Or maybe play kickball, frisbee or soccer.
Not the kind of day set up for a shocker.

Mudville was winning this time, in the top of the last,
Four to two, when Woodstown’s Smith hit a blast!
Cleared those bases, one after one,
And when he touched home, the damage was done.

Woodstown had the lead now, and the fans started leaving.
The Mudville coach’s chest started heaving.
“Not again,” he thought, wiping sweat from his brow
for he knew that Mudville would never get their bow.

Diggs K’d the next three, ending the inning,
But things looked worse now than at the beginning.
The first 2 Mudville batters struck out on blasters.
This game was becoming another disaster.

But Bean whacked a liner and Rodriguez did follow.
Casey’s stress was so great that he could not even swallow.
Two on, two out, we’ve seen it before,
Mudville down 2, this time six to four.

Casey stepped to the box, his heart started racing.
He called for time and then began pacing.
This story’s gone on for a hundred nineteen years,
He wanted to finally remove the fans’ tears.

He stepped back in the box; his muscles were straining.
He felt like A-Rod; his fan support was waning.
He gritted his teeth, stared down the southpaw,
Tensed all his muscles and even his jaw.

The hurler let the first pitch fly.
High and tight it was, so he let it go by.
One and Oh was the count, this was different than before.
The pitcher was scared; he knew what was in store.

Next pitch was a sinker, down below the knees.
“I’ve got ‘im now,” thought Casey enjoying the breeze.
“I’ll bet next’s a fastball right over the plate.”
And for that very pitch, the Mighty Case did wait.

It came right over, Casey was right!
He swung hard and gave that ball some flight.
He sprinted toward first, not sure if it would leave.
It barely cleared the fence and Casey was relieved!

The others touched home, knotting it at six.
Casey took his time; let the fans take some pics.
As he rounded third, he glanced up in the stands.
There sat a man, stone-faced, cell phone in hand.

Casey knew who it was, the Mighty Commish.
“Go away, go away,” Mighty Casey did wish.
The man ended his call and descended the stairs.
He had Casey in his sights, like Manning to the Bears.

He stepped onto the field, looking mad, looking mean,
And Casey knew it was ‘cause he once was lean.
As he got older, his muscles got a lot
Bigger from the hormones he took in the form of a shot.

HGH it was called, a steroid for fools.
Casey had taken it, ignoring the rules.
It helped him get big, get strong, stay tough.
He thought that his talent just wasn’t enough.

His foot touched home and the crowd noise swelled,
But the Commish, his hand up he held.
The crowd got silent, keys could be heard jingle
And for a microphone the Commish did signal.

His words came out slowly, deliberate, and clear.
“Mr. Casey will never again be welcome here.”
The fans started crying; the teammates were yelling,
But the facts were all the Commish was retelling.

Oh somewhere in this crazy world, fathers teach sons to hit.
“You’re talented,” they’re told. “Make the most of it!”
But Casey took the easy way, drugged his body with doubt.
There is no respect in Mudville; Baseball’s thrown Casey out!!