January 2, 2006

There are certain poems and literary works from U.S. authors that transcend the subject matter at hand. Many times, such as the case with Ernest Lawrence Thayer, an obscure humor columnist of the San Francisco Examiner, scribes write one piece that becomes immortal. On June 3, 1888, the newspaper ran Thayer’s last piece for the journal, a poem called "Casey at the Bat." In the 1890s, Thayer wrote an occasional satire piece, but nothing of great note. He then returned to Worcester, Massachusetts to help run the family’s mill business.

It took two decades for "Casey at the Bat" to become famous. Since then, there have been few Americans who do not know the poem or its implications.

This poem depict parts of the American psyche and can apply to today’s occurrences in the world, and in particular, Iraq. In the U.S., there are only winners and losers. Winners get everything and the losers are humiliated. This is the case with Iraq. The U.S. had to humiliate Saddam Hussein and the people whom he represented. The final act was to hang him. But, there seems to be little jubilance today in the U.S. After Saddam’s hanging; the people seemed to be let down. Their government told them that things were going to get better, but Saddam’s hanging did little to supply them with hope or mirth. There is a collective empty feeling.

Note: in the U.S., the term "strike out" is used in the sense of baseball. A batter who strikes out, failed. In international English, the term means someone who decides to take on a venture or change direction, hence the saying, "He struck out on his own." The term in the following poem is the common U.S. baseball interpretation: someone who failed to hit the ball. Compare Casey, the star of the Mudville nine to George Bush and the fans to the U.S. public.

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that ?
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat;
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped;
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, 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, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville; mighty Casey has struck out.

Today, irate Iraqis are taking to the streets in protest of Saddam Hussein’s execution. The first judge in his trial, Rizgar Mohammed Amin, resigned accusing the Iraqi stooge government of interfering in the case. On January 1, he publicly called Saddam’s hanging illegal.

The Arab world is in an uproar and even a member of the sham judge team assembled for his trial has condemned the actions of Malaki and company. Much more blood will flow and the divides among Iraqis will deepen.

Washington is desperate to stop the violence in Iraq. It has made only bad decisions in its attempts to quell the chaos. Each has been worse than the prior one. The latest, to hang Saddam, is its worst.

George Bush was awarded Saddam Hussein’s pistol after a soldier who was in on the kidnapping of Saddam gave it to the psychotic president as a gift. He proudly shows it off to his friends. However, Bush displays none of the integrity, pride and courage of the pistol’s previous owner.

There is no joy in Washington; the mighty Bush has struck out.