On baseball: An unlikely World Series journey

What an unbelievable and unlikely baseball journey it’s been for my adopted (hometown) team, the Washington Nationals. A week ago, at 11:08 p.m. Eastern Time, the Nationals completed a four-game sweep of the St. Louis Cardinals to win the 2019 National League Championship Series. After beating the Milwaukee Brewers in a winner-take-all Wild Card game, then prevailing over the Los Angeles Dodgers in the National League Division Series, the Nationals captured the team’s first pennant in its brief history since the franchise grew out of the defunct Montreal Expos after moving to Washington, D.C. in 2005. It’s been a time to remember.

Not since the days of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1933 has there been a World Series played in the nation’s capital city. It involved the original Washington Senators, who played their games at the long-since-torn down Griffith Stadium in the Shaw neighborhood, near Howard University. Those Senators left town three decades later and are now the Minnesota Twins. Then, a second Washington Senators franchise arrived in 1961 and promptly left town in 1972 to become the Texas Rangers.

In 1904, the Senators were playing so poorly that well-known baseball writer and humorist Charles Dryden famously wrote: “Washington – first in war, first in peace, last in the American League.”

Finally, Washington’s baseball fortunes all changed a week ago on October 15.

⚾️ Prize least expected.

⚾️ Pop the corks. Raise the pennant.

⚾️ Improbable team.

Now, the Nationals will face the mighty Houston Astros in the 2019 World Series starting tonight. Pretty good for a Nationals team that was 19-31 on May 23 and seemed hopeless. The team wasn’t hitting in the clutch, it wasn’t pitching effectively, it wasn’t fielding particularly well. The team’s manager, Dave Martinez, was on the verge of being fired.

Then, the team started winning – and people started paying attention.

“Since baseball time is measured only in outs,” the esteemed longtime New Yorker baseball writer Roger Angell wrote in The Summer Game, “all you have to do is succeed utterly; keep hitting, keep the rally alive, and you have defeated time. You remain forever young.”

While I’ve long been a fan of the San Francisco Giants from living 21-plus years in the San Francisco Bay Area before moving to suburban Maryland two years ago, I’ve (finally) begun taking an interest in the Nationals, too. After all, Nationals Park is only 6.5 miles from our home just across the District line – and I’ve been a baseball fan all my life.

As longtime Washington Post national baseball columnist Thomas Boswell, who’s been around the nation’s capital city writing about baseball through good times and bad – mostly bad – wrote upon the Nationals’ pennant-clinching victory over the Cardinals: “What the Washington Nationals have done this season is like going into your backyard with a spade to plant petunias and, instead, striking oil.

“Their appointment with the World Series, just 14 days after facing elimination in the wild-card game, is like spilling water on Grandma’s painting of an old farm house and finding out she had painted over a still-pristine Picasso.”

Last week’s Game 4 pennant-clinching victory over the Cardinals – another “Curly W in the books” as the team’s radio play-by-play broadcaster Charlie Slowes bellowed in a celebratory tone across the air waves – was part comedy, part horror show. But in the end, the Nationals won 7-4. Indeed, as NLCS MVP Howie Kendrick of the Nationals said, “Some of the best things come from the unexpected moments.” Indeed, they do. How else do you explain the “Baby Shark” phenomenon that’s unified the Nationals and rallied their fan base? I witnessed good fortunes for the Giants in 2010, 2012, and 2014. Maybe, good fortunes will come to the Nationals, too.

So, I say: “Congratulations to the Nationals and good luck!

#STAYINTHEFIGHT

A World Series postscript:

The Washington Nationals won their first World Series title on Wednesday, October 30. They beat the Houston Astros 6-2 in the decisive Game 7 of the best-of-7 series and won the series four games to three. It brought the city of Washington its first World Series title in 95 years.

⚾️ Can you believe it?

⚾️ World Series Curly W!

⚾️ A great victory.

#FIGHTFINISHED

Photo: Courtesy of Google Images.

125 years later: Still no joy in Mudville tonight

Casey at the Bat /
At 125, still no joy in Mudville.

The baseball season is in full swing. Across the country, America's Summer Game is heating up with pennant race fever.

Here in the Bay Area, we're fortunate to have two Major League teams, the San Francisco Giants and the Oakland Athletics, to cheer and support. Each team has its own personality and rhythm, just like the cities they represent. Both teams are full of colorful players, too.

One need only look at the Giants' lovable slugger, Pablo Sandoval, nicknamed (Kung Fu) Panda for his friendly demeanor and girth, who often changes the outcome of games with one mighty swing of the bat.

Sandoval hit home runs in his first three at-bats  bats during Game 1 of last year's World Series. It earned him most valuable player honors, and the Giants amazingly swept the Detroit Tigers in four straight games to win their second World Series title in three years.

While Sandoval loves to swing for the fences ~ and his Ruthian home runs are truly a thing of beauty ~ sometimes, he swings and misses, striking out to kill a rally. Sandoval's successes, and his sometime failures at the plate, bring to mind another mighty baseball swinger. Mighty Casey.

"Casey at the Bat", a baseball poem by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, was published in the San Francisco Examiner 125 years ago on June 3, 1888.

As you might imagine, the poem is filled with a lot of references to baseball as it was in 1888, and in many ways, the game hasn't changed too much in 125 years. The poem captures a lot of the appeal of America's National Pastime and there is a lot of audience involvement and baseball jargon, too.

In the beginning of the poem, we learn of the baseball team from the fictional town of Mudville, which is losing by two runs with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning. The team and fans are hopeful that they can win if Mudville's star, Mighty Casey, who is scheduled to hit fifth, comes up to bat with the game on the line. With two outs, Mudville's Flynn and Blake both successfully reach base on a single and a double, and it brings to the plate Mighty Casey with runners in scoring position and Mighty Casey representing the potential winning run. 

As Mighty Casey is so confident of his abilities, he does not swing at the first two pitches and both are called strikes. Suddenly, he finds himself behind in the count 0-2. On the next pitch ~ the game's final pitch ~ an overconfident Mighty Casey strikes out, ending the game. Then, as now, Mudville has lost and the home crowd goes home unhappy.

For 125 years, "Casey at the Bat" has been part of baseball's lore and literature. And, still, there's no joy in Mudville tonight.

* * * 

Here is the text of Ernest Lawrence Thayer's "Casey at the Bat":

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 sickly 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 get but 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 he former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little change of Casey's getting to the bat.

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

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon 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 on 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 writing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed 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 someone on the stand;
And it's likely they'd a-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 spheroid 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 is gone from Casey's lip, his 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 and laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has struck out.

* * *

To listen to a reading of "Casey at the Bat" by NPR's Frank Deford:
http://www.npr.org/2013/05/29/186913673/one-more-swing-casey-at-the-bat

To learn more about "Casey at the Bat": 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casey_at_the_Bat

Baseball player figurine by Mississippi artist Walter Inglis Anderson, courtesy of Shearwater Pottery.
Baseball tile art "American Game" by Michael Dickens.