And there was Casey of the big bat, of Mudville, which does not sound like Palm Springs. Casey whiffed. Fanned. Pushed the brake instead of the clutch. Mighty Casey, always muscled, once adored, struck out with all sacks occupied.
It is funny you don't remember the winning pitcher. It may be because the next season Casey hit this fellow like he owned him, batting in the high threes and leading the league in RBIs. Casey was MVP, and they renamed the community Happy Hollow.
Which is another way of saying defeat is not terminal as long as there is another day to plan another game.