Ernest L. Thayer’s famous poem “Casey at the Bat” was first published in 1888.  From a historical perspective, that was well before the drug culture invaded baseball, and a short time before the Chicago Cubs last World Series win.  Ironically, the poem first appeared in the San Francisco Examiner – in the same city, of course, where the center of the performance enhancement storm patrolled the outfield in recent years for the Giants. 

The problems with steroids and the use of other enhancers have exploded over the past ten years, under the watch of current Commissioner Bud Selig.  With that in mind, I offer you a revised version of the famous poem…

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Nation’s Game that day:
The fans tuned to the news, to hear what Mitchell had to say.

Four-hundred and nine pages, sitting heavily upon his shelf,

No longer was Selig’s only fear Donald Fehr himself.

A vocal few long ago warned of such despair. The rest 
ignored the growing pecs adorning many a player’s chest;
They thought, if only Selig could be in charge of this -
We’d put up even money now, that he surely wouldn’t miss.

But McGwire bested Maris, as did Bonds to Hammerin’ Hank,
The former using andro,  the latter resembling a tank;
And within the many stadiums the record crowds sat,
Now there seemed but little chance of Selig risking that.

And all held tight to secrets, to the wonderment of all,
And some, the much deceived, told stories of juicing the ball;
But when the truth was revealed, and all saw what had occurred,
There was Balco, Games of Shadows, and Canseco being heard.

Then from the throats of Congress there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the Bronx, it rattled in Pac Bell;

They said clean up your game or we will do it for you,

And Selig, mighty Selig, quickly decided what to do.

There was ease in Selig’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Selig’s manner, very stern was Selig’s face.
And when, responding to reporters, he announced who he had hired,
No stranger doubted that Mitchell would dig until he had tired.

Over seven hundred interviews as he dug up years of dirt;
Twenty million dollars spent, sleeves rolled up on his shirt.
Then while the rumors bubbled like liquid from a syringe,

Bud Selig realized - on Mitchell’s report, his legacy may hinge.

And then the rumor-filled news came hurtling through the air,
And Selig sat a-listening with a nervous posture there.

They said that all-star players would be listed in this report,

“I’m clean”, “I’m shocked”, “No Comment” so many would retort.

From the pages, black and white, there were listed eighty-eight,
Both hitters and some hurlers who had tried to improve their fate.
"This is a call to action," Selig said as a matter of fact,

No wavering to his voice, he added, “And I will act!”

To describe Selig’s work, much too little, much too late;

Ignoring what was right, for more revenue from the gate.

And now the Commish holds the ball, and what will he decide?

Asterisks?  Suspensions?  Blame others to save pride?

Oh, somewhere in this baseball land there’s a place for the best;

Where heroes are enshrined and separated from the rest.

But Bud’s conflicted tenure leaves him where within this game?

Row 1, Seat 1, Section HGH - in baseball’s Hall of Shame.