By now you’ve heard the story of Mudville’s great defeat
The day that Casey whiffed as the crowd was on its feet
“What a disappointment!” echoed thousands, exit-bound
But not one person credited the man atop the mound
That man is me, Ernie Split, best pitcher in the league
The real hero of the story, who suffers Casey lore fatigue
For Casey was a subpar batter, no accolades deserved
While he may have statured mightily, he couldn’t hit my curve
A classic case of body judgment from all the shoddy critics
If only they’d read Moneyball, they’d’ve grasped the analytics.
While Mudville screamed its worst, your boy was muy tranquilo
I knew my nasty curveball would negate Casey’s exit velo
I was throwing cheese that day, nothing Mudville could wrangle
Plus I knew Casey’s swing had an unfavorable launch angle.
My command was unrelenting, peppered on the strike zone border
And my pitches danced by batters, even third time through the order.
Even if he had made contact, I had faith in our shift
Against my offspeed, a grounder would not dare run adrift
All year I’d pitched to defense, a new trend in the game
It lowered down my BABIP and garnered much acclaim
My game’s sweet redemption was noted on Twitter threads
Exalted on the baseball blogs and ranting TV talking heads
My year to be the hero, World Series MVP
So why is Casey titular? He’s undeserving of marquee
Even with a title ring and new flourishing narration
A new foe awaits: My contract has more years in arbitration
Greedy owners manipulated minor league service time
A gross plan to keep me from the majors, the team in Anaheim
My year should have been a triumph, a champion’s parade
But now, it seems that ownership thinks they’re the ones who played
I hope the union takes them deep, not like Casey and his “might”
Or once again, my story ends with an untimely strike.