Lessons from Casey

One hundred twenty-five years ago today, the San Francisco Examiner published Ernest Thayer’s poem, “Casey At The Bat”

For those of you who are unfamiliar with it, you can find it in its entirety here.

Or, perhaps reading isn’t exactly your thing (for which case I am confounded that you’re checking out this post)...if that’s the case, may I interest you in James Earl Jones reciting the work here?

For those of you more inclined to watch a movie than read a book, allow me to offer you Disney’s rendition of the piece here...

Regardless of how you familiarize yourself with “Casey”, take a moment and do so now...I’ll wait...

...welcome back (you chose Disney, didn’t you?).

As someone who has long been deeply involved with sports, this poem is one with which I am closely acquainted...or at least I thought I was.

I remember the drama of it all and can recount Casey striking out.  I even recall taking heed to its message at various times in my athletic career.

But, it wasn’t until I reread it early this morning that I picked up on a lesson 125 years in the making...

...Casey only swung at ONE pitch!

Sure, he “went down swinging” but he didn’t swing three times.

The first pitch “wasn’t (his) style” and yet it still counted against him.

The second pitch he seemed to haughtily allow to pass by, certain he’d clobber the next offering.  When the umpire called it a strike as well, the mighty batter was down to his final chance...

...and he failed.

It never really occurred to me that Casey struck out mostly because he allowed himself to fall behind 0-2 in the count.  The great slugger allowed someone else to determine 2/3 of the fate of that at-bat and, ultimately, the game.  And, judging by Casey’s reactions, the umpire was probably correct.  But, even if he wasn’t, Casey was at the mercy of his assessments of the first two pitches.

Because there’s a good chance you may have picked up on this long ago, I won’t belabor the point...

In life, as in this poem, I wonder how many times I have failed because my approach was like Casey’s and I was waiting for an opportunity which was more “my style” (like the first pitch).  

Or, how many times have I blown opportunities for heroics and greatness because I allowed someone else to pass judgment on what I was doing (like the umpire on the second pitch)?

Whether driven by conceit or cowardice, failing to “swing” relegates me to only having the possibility to be a negative factor in the game’s final outcome. 

Of course we need to be discerning and not just flail wildly at anything coming our way.  But, in matters when the proverbial “game is on the line”, keeping the bat on our shoulders and allowing others to decide our fate with their judgment is fool-hearty.  What’s more, if the “pitch” is close and something with which we can connect, it is silly not to even attempt.

When Casey finally shattered the air with his single swing, he missed.  He lost. 

Today, more than ever before, I “get” Casey.  I can relate.  Perhaps you can, too.  I’ve had my fair share of swings-and-misses in life.  With each one, I feel like I’ve let myself and countless others down.  I often feel (real or imagined) the disdain of people who I thought were on my side. 

No joy, indeed.

Like Casey, though, if I’m honest with myself, my “failure” was probably more due to my not “swinging” than it was by my sole unsuccessful effort. 

I don’t know if I’ll be around to see “Casey” turn 126 (none of us do).  As a result, I’m going to endeavor to not allow my success or failure be left up to the judgment of others.  With each chance I get, I want to “swing” and see what happens...

Who knows, it may be something “mighty”.