It must have been a Saturday 
            for dad was in the living room 
            coaching the Pirates 
            from the old tweed couch. 

I, at the cantaloupe-colored 
            kitchen counter 
            was reading Heidi
            and nibbling an ice cream bar. 

Dad had one eye on the TV  
            and one ear on the transistor 
           Alley, Mazeroski, 
           Double play, two away 

As dad tuned in, I tried tuning out 
            the cheering, moaning fans 
            the “stee-rikes” and “balls” 
            and dad shouting “slide!” 
 
Here at Forbes Field, the bottom of the ninth 
            The radio spit, crackled. 
            Dad yelled “swing!” 
            Silence groaned through Steel Valley. 

Dad stood, sighed, came my way 
            and said, “Well, there is no joy in Mudville” 
            as he opened the brown fridge door 
            and poured a glass of Coke. 

“Daddy, what did you say? 
            What’s Mudville?” 
            “Mudville is the place 
            where the mighty fall.” 

 I swear the steel man’s blue eyes shone. 
            He straightened up his spine, 
            sipped his Coke,  
            and then, it seemed, he sang. 

“The outlook wasn’t brilliant  
            for the Mudville Nine that day…” 
           His voice robust, began, 
           his hands danced in midair. 

I was stunned, then mesmerized. 
            Dad’s recitation rang   
            like music through the screen 
            up and down the street. 

“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.” 

It was the power of the rhythm,  
            the pleasure of the rhyme 
            and the utter surprise  
            that this blue-collar dad—mine!— 

had committed to his memory 
            some forty years ago 
            “A Ballad of the Republic,” 
            a song of hope pinned on a hero.  

There was no joy in Pittsburgh— true. 
            Roberto Clemente had struck out, 
            but dad had knocked it out of the park 
            and I’d been lit by that poetic spark. 


Susan Delaney Spear is an associate professor of English at Colorado Christian University. She is the author of On Earth... (Resource, 2022), Beyond All Bearing (Resource, 2018) and the co-author of Learning the Secrets of English Verse (2022). You can find her at susandelaneyspear.com.