It wasn't Casey at the bat…
By Phil Palladino
9/14/2007
The crowd was silent, Phil stepped to the plate
He did not have a hit to date.
It wasn't Casey at the bat.
The first eight batters George had faced
All reached first; round bases in haste.
Coach Doherty thought it was a crime:
"Let George rest, to pitch another time!"
George proclaimed: "He's my brother, I'll get him out!
If not, I'll leave without a shout."
(… It wasn't Casey at the bat…)
Coach gave George this one redo,
To get one out in his debut.
Phil shivered when he went to the plate,
A wayward pitch could wreck his tete.
He often wished that he could stand
And face the pitcher with brave hand.
This gift eluded him every time
He shuddered, struggling to hold the line.
He signed himself, a silent prayer
Hits for Phil were so rare
How he knew he wasn't Casey at the bat!
The umpire stood tall in array,
behind the catcher, masked in scary way.
As Phil stepped into the box,
He kicked some pebbles, they felt like rocks.
The bat seemed heavier than usual,
The fielders took positions casual.
They all knew it wasn't Casey at the bat.
A confident smile came on George's face,
The usual fear was Phil's case.
The pitch came in, no drama here
It was a strike, the bat shouldered there.
And again the pitch came fast and true,
but this time the batter had a clue.
Phil's bat had come half way round
Before brother George had hardly wound.
And then was heard a different sound
No thud in the catcher's mitt resound.
But a tiny crack, ball on bat,
Cheerful shouts! Imagine that!
The ball soared high into the air,
His heart racing Phil ran; a soft flare.
The ball landed short of the charging right fielder
Just over the second baseman's head - a Texas leaguer.
When the dust settled; smiling Phil stood on first,
Red faced George had faced the worst.
It wasn't Casey at the bat!
