Drumpfy at the Bat

A Political Satire of "Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Drumpfy team that day:
The score stood none to three, with but one debate to play,
For Pencey died at first, and Drumpfy twice did the same,
A pall-like silence fell on the media recording the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.  The rest
clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Putinski would help him hack back at that -
We'd put up more money then, if he'd help Drumpfy at the bat."

But Malicia Zachado stomped on Drumpfy, then Dancey O'Nell hit the brake;
The former was now heavier, and the latter he could not take,
So Upon the stricken Extremables grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Drumpfy surviving that.

But Pencey let fly many more lies, to the wonderment of all,
And Zachado was cast as a foreigner, just a complainer full of gall;
And when the dust had lifted, and the crowd saw what had occurred,
Drumpfy was safe after another debate, glaring ahead toward the third.

Then from twenty thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the microphones, it rang the rafters of Hell;
It pounded on the microphones, and speeded Drumpfy's gait,
For Drumpfy, mighty Drumpfy, walked into the last debate.

There was ease in Drumpfy's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Drumpfy's bearing and a smile lit Drumpfy's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he tipped his bright red hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Drumpfy at the bat.

Forty Thousand eyes were on him as he looked for a way to flirt;
Twenty Thousand tongues applauded as he blew kisses to every skirt;
Then as the squirming moderator held her mic in a vise-like grip,
Defiance flashed in Drumpfy's eye, a sneer curled Drumpfy's lip.

And now the first speedy question came hurtling through the air,
And Drumpfy stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the question unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Drumpfy.  "Strike one! The moderator said.

From the benches, thick with Explorables, there went up a muffled roar,
Like beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill her! Kill the moderator!" shouted someone at the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed her, had not Drumpfy raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Drumpfy's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the debate go on;
He signaled to the moderator, and once more a question flew;
But Drumpfy still ignored it and the moderator said, "Strike two!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud"
But one scornful look from Drumpfy and the Extremables were awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Drumpfy wouldn't let another question fly by again.

The sneer is gone from Drumpfy's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel violence his fist upon the plate;
And now the moderator holds the mic, and now she lets the last question fly,
And now the air is shattered with the force and weight of Drumpfy's lie.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere Explorables are laughing, somewhere Extremables shout,
But there is no joy in Drumpfville - mighty Drumpfy has struck out.