Base-Ball Ballads/The Man Who Played with Anson on the Old Chicago Team
THE MAN WHO PLAYED WITH ANSON ON THE OLD CHICAGO TEAM.
(A case parallel to Eugene Field's account of "The Man Who Worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.")
Thar showed up out in Mudville in the spring of '83A feller evidently just recoverin' from a spree.He said his name was Casey, and he wuz a sight to viewAs he walked into the ball park, and inquired for work to do.Thar wuzn't any openin', for you should understandThat wuz the time when Mudville had a bunch of stars on hand;But the stranger lingered, tellin' Mickey Nolan and the restWhat an all-fired battin' av'rage he possessed when at his best,Till finally he stated, quite by chance, as it would seem,That he had played with Anson on the old Chicago team.
Wal, that was quite another thing; we owned that any cussWho'd played with old Pop Anson must be good enough for us;So we took Casey at his word and signed him while we could,Well knowin' if we didn't that some other ball club would, For Kankakee wuz lookin' round for people that could play,And Pikeville wouldn't overlook this feller any day;And we give him quite a contract, tho' it made the others swear,Sayin' we had done 'em dirty and it wuzn't on the square;But we laid back and cackled, for the pennant warn't no dreamWith the man who'd played with Anson on the old Chicago team.
It made our eyeballs nigh pop out and pop back in againTo hear that Casey tellin' of old Anson and his men;Why home runs wuz so common that nobody waved a hat,With Williamson, King Kelly, or Fred Pfeffer at the bat;A man who didn't hit above .500 couldn't stickWith that old bunch, for Anson would release him mighty quick;They handled ground balls with their teeth and often shut their eyesWhile in the act of pullin' down the longest, hardest flies;And after all the "fannin' bees" each night we used to dreamOf the man who played with Anson on the old Chicago team.
But somehow this feller Casey never felt like goin' in;He spent his time at Wilson's shakin' poker dice for gin.Whenever he wuz needed he wuz always sure to shirk,Remarkin' he would have to wait before he started work.If any other gent had loafed the way he used to do,We'd have fined him fifty dollars every day, and benched him too;But you see the fans respected him and backed him to the lastOn account of his connections with the diamond in the past,For no one felt like knockin' or handin' out a callTo the man who'd played on Anson's team, the greatest of 'em all.
Wal, finally the climax came—the big test of the year—And the fans wuz there in bunches from the country far and near,Especially attracted by the statement made that dayThat, having rounded into shape, big Casey wuz to play.The other nine wuz lookin' kinder worried and upset,And the wouldn't even listen to an even-money bet.We kidded 'em and joshed 'em, but no wagerin' wuz done,Till at last they placed a thousand at the odds of ten to one;But even at these odds it looked an easy-money scheme,With the man who'd played with Anson on the old Chicago team.
But Casey never drew a chance to shine in any way;They handed him a base on balls without the least delay;The pitcher didn't seem to care to put one over straightWhile the man who'd played with Anson was a-standin' at the plate.He only had one fly in left, which bounded off his head(It seems the sun was shinin' in his countenance, he said);And so the people waited in much anger and suspenseFor Casey's opportunity to drive one through the fence;And it came—O yes—it landed with a nauseating rapFor the man who'd played with Anson, and referred to him as "Cap."
Old Mudville was a run behind when that last inning came;The bases full and two wuz out—a hit would win the game."He's got to put it over now," each rooter waved his hat,And shouted in delirium as Casey stepped to bat.The first two inshoots jumped across the center of the plate,As Mr. Anson's college chum found out a bit too late;The next looked good and Casey swung—there came a mighty crack—But the noise originated from the spine in Casey's back.
In reaching for that outshoot he had wrenched the spinal beamOf the man who played with Anson on the old Chicago team.
•••••••••
That night we wired to Anson to discover if he knewA man by name of Casey, as we felt we ought to do;And when the answer came next day it stirred up quite a fuss:"Yes, I remembered Casey well—he carried bats for us."
We hunted for him quite a spell, but he had gone away,Else the daisies would be bloomin' over his remains to-day.But if you land in Mudville on the lookout for some fun,Don't ever mention Casey's name unless you wear a gun.