In the Yankee dugout, Charles Dillon Stengel, visiting "Perfessor" from The Bronx, shuffled, scratched and sprawled elegantly, then announced in learned accents that any fool could see who was holding those Cleveland Indians up in first place. Old Casey scowled across the green infield of Cleveland's Municipal Stadium: "That young feller," he gestured grandly, "that feller's a ball player. He'll give you the works every time. Gets all the hits, gives you the hard tag in the field. That feller's a real competitor, you bet your sweet curse life."
Out of the Doldrums. Anyone familiar with Casey's floating pronouns knew his man:...
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