© 2007 Mark Robert Gates
We all know how this works, we send in our operative, with an agreement, if caught we in America will deny all knowledge of this person having any existence. In Iraq, and given today's Iraq policy, it is time we "We American's" fall back on this, plausible deniabilty, as, there is still time and, as, there is still a possibility of maintaining, America's pristine, war image, by denying any involvement, by those past operative's now caught, in Iraqi war failure's, and involved in our current Ameri-government affairs. So, lets get our stories' straight and make sure we do not spill our guts, in a mistaken fear of loss, of our credible use of plausible deniability. Please, fill out your, Plausible Deniabiltiy Sweepstakes, entry, and send it in today, "We" could be America's next big winner.
We simply, all deny together, there is anyone, we know of, named, George W. Bush, who ever was, or who is now, an American president.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Monday, January 08, 2007
CASEY AT THE BAT
by Ernest Lawrence Thayer
Published in The Examiner (San Francisco) (3 June 1888)
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 the former was a lulu and the latter was a fake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to 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 writhing 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 shown;
He stilled the rising tumult; he made 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 are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.
"Phin"
Retrieved from "http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Casey_at_the_Bat"
This page was last modified 05:30:14, 2006-08-13. Content is available under the GNU Free Documentation License.
Commentary:
© 2007 Mark Robert Gates:
This inning replayed, for those unaware,
George W. Bush' league warfare,
struck out last October, and for all:
lame duck, pseudo-Christian, right-wing,
Bush' Leaguer's, the war is over,
and the pennant is lost.
This even a diehard Cub's fan knows.
3000 to 1, is enough swings at one bat.
When I get my room, in the house on Gold Street,
in God's New Founded Kingdom on Earth,
I will ask for a radio, from which to listen,
for maybe, one day the Cub's will win a pennant.
Published in The Examiner (San Francisco) (3 June 1888)
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 the former was a lulu and the latter was a fake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to 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 writhing 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 shown;
He stilled the rising tumult; he made 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 are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.
"Phin"
Retrieved from "http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Casey_at_the_Bat"
This page was last modified 05:30:14, 2006-08-13. Content is available under the GNU Free Documentation License.
Commentary:
© 2007 Mark Robert Gates:
This inning replayed, for those unaware,
George W. Bush' league warfare,
struck out last October, and for all:
lame duck, pseudo-Christian, right-wing,
Bush' Leaguer's, the war is over,
and the pennant is lost.
This even a diehard Cub's fan knows.
3000 to 1, is enough swings at one bat.
When I get my room, in the house on Gold Street,
in God's New Founded Kingdom on Earth,
I will ask for a radio, from which to listen,
for maybe, one day the Cub's will win a pennant.
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