Joey at the Bat


“Joey! C’mon, it’s just a game,” Regina shouted out, as Joey Dunning took a bat to a Gatorade water cooler. It obviously wasn’t to Joey. To Joey, it was an existential crisis to strike out three times in a company sponsored slow-pitch softball game. Companies organize these company functions, so we stupid people can have fun, and we were having fun until Joey took a bat to one of those insulated Gatorade coolers with a beverage dispenser. If Joey hits it once or twice, it’s a thing that draws attention. If he hits it as hard as he can, eight to nine times, it’s a human being imploding, and we watch with our mouths open, like this,” Barry said mimicking the expression. “We pretty much know life isn’t going the way Joey planned, and that this might be one of the worst days of Joey’s otherwise miserable life. What do we do? Do we laugh ourselves to tears? Not at the time. At the time, it’s shocking, kind of sad, and a little pathetic. We’re in tears later, replaying every second of it, every swear word he used, and replaying our reactions to it. One of my buddies actually took a picture of the Gatorade cooler after the it was all over, and he saved it. He didn’t know why he saved it, but the next time something bad happened to me, he texted that picture to me with a caption, “It could be worse.”

“Nothing excites the coward more than seeing a hero fall,” Dave Chapelle once said, “because it justifies their cowardly existence.” That doesn’t quite nail this scenario, because Joey wasn’t anyone’s hero. He was a good-looking guy, though, and a body-builder, who had none of the problems we did attracting women. So, did we kind of relish seeing the worst moment of such a man’s life? We did. All of us did.

The Germans have a term for laughing at another person’s pain. Schadenfreude. Leave it to the Germans to develop a term for laughing at the destruction of another person. And for any offended Germans out there, I’m part German, so I can say that. We laugh when someone trips and falls in the hall and leaves makeup on that carpeted wall. It’s funny, and we all know it. Even when we fall, we know it’s funny, no matter how painful and tragic it is. We know someone, somewhere will develop some material about it that they will share with their friends for years.

I laugh at other people’s pain, and I expect them to laugh at mine. Without knowing the exact definition of yin and yang, we all understand how nature balances itself out through opposite but interconnected forces. As long as it doesn’t involve something debilitating, we all enjoy seeing someone else fall. The bigger the better, and the level of emotional and physical pain one incurs corresponds to the comedic value of the situation. Some say it’s karma, and as a person who laughs at other people’s pain, I know I’m going to get mine, and you know you’re going to get yours. We know karma is going to reach around and bite us in some very tender areas.

We’ve all experienced some levels of karma, but something tells us that ain’t it. That’s just the tip. We’ve done a whole lot of laughing at others, and we know that there’s more to come. We know we’ll get ours. We know there will come a day when we’re old and decrepit, hooked up to some machine that sustains life, and some intern will come into our room, see us gasping for air, and he’ll find it hilarious.

We might expect a little sympathy from a hospital employee, but all institutions have good employees and poor ones. As death creeps up on us, the emotional hysteria will probably lead us to yell something like, “What are you laughing at? I’m dying here, for Cripes sakes!” When we cool down and recognize that we don’t have the strength to fight death anymore, we’ll either acknowledge that we deserve it for laughing so hard at so many others on the worst days of their life, or we might see the humor in it too. Seriously, are you so sick that you’ll probably be laughing with the orderly who’s laughing at your death mask?

“You should’ve seen your face,” that orderly will say, “You were all like …” Barry mimicked the orderly’s imitation of his desperate gasp for breath. 

‘I know,’ we say, chuckling, ‘but you gotta remember I am dying here. No, I’m not saying it’s not funny. I’m just saying that when you’re taking your last breath, it’s probably going to hurt, and if you’re wondering if it is your last breath, you’re probably going to make some embarrassing faces too.’

When that day comes, we might regret laughing so hard at a grown man beating a Gatorade cooler with such intense frustration, or we might not, depending on sadistic we are.

I don’t know how women would handle this situation, but when a guy strikes out three times at a slow-pitch company outing, in front of everyone he works with every day, forty hours a week, it’s our version of a Promethean hell. The story of Prometheus is that the gods wanted to find a creative way to punish him for introducing humans to fire. The gods decided to bind him to a rock and have an eagle eat the liver out of his body for the rest of eternity. Have you ever seen a bird eat? It’s not clean. Even a large eagle has a relatively small mouth, and they don’t have teeth. So, if they’re going to eat your liver out, they have to stick a talon in you to balance you, while they rip it out bit by tiny bit. Yeah, the gods knew how to bring the pain. As the tale of Prometheus tale goes, once this eagle is finally done carrying out that torturous punishment, Prometheus’ liver grows back the next day, and the eagle rips it out again, and again, for the rest of eternity. 

As horrific as that punishment is to picture, I’m willing to bet that most men in the audience here tonight would prefer that torturous afterlife, for the rest of eternity, to striking out three times in slow-pitch softball, in front of all of your friends and drinking buddies. Why, well, as with the repetitive torture Prometheus experienced, we will relive that moment over and over for the next thirty years. You might think it’s over, and you might finally reach a point where you’re no longer staring up at the ceiling at three in the morning, reliving it over and over, seeing all of the faces, hearing the silence that followed, and remembering that little kid giggling when you went Al Capone on the Gatorade cooler. If you have mean, sadistic friends like I do, you know they’re going to bring it up, and force you to go through your own version of Promethean hell.

What’s worse, physical pain or mentally reliving your worst day at-bat for the rest of your life. Now, if you’re a regular softball player, like I was, you’re going to mess up a lot. You’re going to make horrendous, humiliating errors, but you can try to erase it next week by making some good plays. Joey, to my knowledge, never played softball, or any other sports, after this game. My bet is that he remembers that moment from 10pm until 1AM, staring at the ceiling, listening to his wife snore, for the rest of his life, and then when he mercifully finds sleep, it invades his nightmares.

Joey was a big body builder type. Most of us go to the gym about two times a week. I’m betting Joey was a five-to-six-day-a-weeker, so we naturally thought the man was built for athletic domination. We could tell that Joey thought that too. He was on my team, and I was behind him in the batting order. I wanted him to do well, of course, because I wanted our team to win, but I didn’t want him to do so well that my little blooper singles would be an afterthought. The ropey muscles on this guy’s forearms made me think I was in trouble. The outfielders backed up for him. We all thought Joey was going to put on a clinic. He had brand new batting gloves that it looked like he purchased just for this company outing. He even had wrist bands. Who wears wrist bands to a company outing? Between pitches, he adjusted the fit of his gloves and fiddled with his wrist bands, just like Major Leaguers. It was so shocking to see him strike out on three pitches that first time that when the other team even ribbed him a little, in a good-natured way, we all kind of giggled. It was all polite and fun.

So, what’s the best resolution we might develop for the inability to hit a huge softball coming at you incredibly slow? Whenever we substitute a good solution with the best, most perfect solution, we often end up choosing the worst. Joey’s solution was to swing faster and harder? In his second at-bat, Joey swung so hard he fell down. Yikes! We could almost hear the nails going into the intangible walls of his nightmares, building a permanent fixture in there.

Seeing as how we were at a company function, and the sense of competition between our teams was fun more than anything else, the pitcher lofted the last two pitches up of Joey’s second at-bat, with the greatest of ease,” Barry said mimicking the soft toss. “The way we might pitch to a five-year-old who is having trouble hitting the ball, and in a scene that will probably play in Joey’s nightmares for the rest of his life, he missed both of them. Would you laugh at this man self-destructing right in front of you?” Barry paused for all the laughing yesses in the audience. “You would? While witnessing the worst moment in someone’s life?”

We all say yes at a comedy club, three to four drinks in, but when it’s someone you know, someone you see at work every day, forty hours a week?” Barry paused to survey the crowd. “We all would. We all do, because we have grievances, petty personal and impersonal grievances. We have grievances against mother nature, God, and the world and everyone in it. If you don’t find failure funny, let me add this. After Joey’s second strikeout, there were groans all over the field on our team and the opposing one. Even the men who envied how easily Joey picked up women, dropped that grievance and began rooting for him. We were all cheering for him. Even though he fell on his ass after the third strike of his second at-bat, someone yelled out, “That’s all-right Joey! Get ‘em next time!” The other team was even saying stuff to cheer him on, being good sports and all. 

Now with the third and final strikeout, let me ask you what do you think would be the worst possible reaction you can think of following a third strikeout in slow-pitch softball? Try to put yourself in Joey’s shoes, and think what reaction might haunt you for the rest of your life?” Barry asked the audience. A few people shouted some reactions out. “More teasing? Laughter? Wrong. How about silence? If you asked me, prior to this display, I probably would’ve said more teasing and more laughter too, but that day taught me that silence, claustrophobic silence is the worst possible reaction you can give to someone striking out in slow-pitch softball. Why? Every other reaction gives us some direction for our anger. If Billy laughs, we can say, “How dare you laugh at me Billy, I was trying so hard, and that was so embarrassing, and you laugh? What is wrong with you? You cold-heartless bastard?” If someone tries to soften the blow, by encouraging us in some way, we can say, “Aw, shut it!” to their condescending sympathy, but silence? Silence causes you to eat the moment whole without lubricants or anything to aid in the digestion process, and it festers in some black hole in our innards for the rest of eternity, and the only outlet we can find is an inanimate object that can be used to retain the temperature of drink products.

As cold and sadistic as we are, we’re not even close to as cold and sadistic as children can be, because they don’t understand how to apply sympathy, and they haven’t experienced enough failure in life to be empathetic. They just think a guy going ballistic on a water cooler is hysterical. “Is he joking dad?” No, now look away.

We try to cover their eyes, but they fight it. This isn’t something they see every day, so they fight to watch it. “Why is he so mad, dad?” they ask far too loud. “Was he mad because he struck out?”

Yes, now for God’s sakes quit staring and join the rest of us, pretending this isn’t happening. The other parents in the audience don’t even laugh at our boy’s innocent, loud questions. They maintain the silence.

Kid won’t let stuff like this go either. “Why did Joey do that?” they ask on the car ride home.

“Joey had no idea he was common. He thought he was special. He thought he’d be a contender, a somebody, some kind of prodigy. Some part of him thought he might be Major League baseball material. He thought that when he was your age, we all did, but he doesn’t play recreational sports the way some of us do, so he never learned that he wasn’t special. He had no idea that by the time he was thirty, the only thing anyone would pay him for was data entry. Missing those slow-pitch softballs, told him that he’s no better than the rest of us, and that was quite shocking to him. 

“Some of us played sports when we were kids, and we played softball in recreational leagues when we aged out of most sports, and we all made horrible errors everyone enjoyed. Sweet little, old ladies laughed at us, “Idiot!” they’d say. Joey, obviously, never went through all that. We made errors that were so awful they were met with silence, and trust me nothing is worse than silence. They don’t even try to cheer us up after a while, because we’re so awful. They allow us to go back to the dugout in silent shame. After that, we realize that we aren’t half as good as we thought we were. Everyone who plays any sport goes through that, but Joey never did. Joey preferred sitting in the stands, laughing at us losers, thinking about his potential for greatness. That company softball game was his big chance, the moment he thought he’d realize all his hopes and dreams of being a prodigy that no one ever heard of before. Joey believed the mythology of Joey that Joey built, and he thought he had potential to be great at something, anything, but he didn’t really do anything about it. He believed something would come along, something would happen, and when it didn’t, when he realized that he was no better than those of us he laughed at for working so hard at stuff that came naturally to him, he took it out on a Gatorade cooler.”

It was a meaningless slow-pitch softball game, at a company outing, and I’m sure that the twenty-something people who were there that day don’t even remember the day, the game, or the fact that we even had an outing. The joke here is that Joey remembers, or that he’ll never be able to forget it. The joke is that in some small way, this meaningless game ruined his life in some meaningful way. I’m almost positive it didn’t. I didn’t talk to Joey before this company outing, and I didn’t after it, so I don’t know the if, when, or how he worked through it. I don’t even know if Joey had to work through it, or if he’s the type to obsesses over such matters. Joey might have moved on as if nothing happened that day, but if he’s anything like me he dreads quiet moments, because they remind him of the silence, he heard that day after the third strike of his third at-bat. If he’s anything like me, those intermittent quiet moments have a tendency of popping up at the oddest times, and I’m sure Joey doesn’t even know why he now has a preference for some kind of noise, music, TV, or anything that makes noise in his background, because of what happened after that third and final strikeout at that company function. You’ve no doubt heard the cliché deafening silence. Yeah, that’s the type of silence that puts an exclamation point on top of one of the top ten worst moments of his life. It’s the type of silence that almost allows you to hear the facial muscles of the players, on both sides, twitch into a cringe.

It strains credulity to me to think that Joey doesn’t remember this day. If I ever asked him about it, and he said, “Huh, I don’t remember that we even had a company outing.” I’d immediately think he was lying. How could he forget falling on his keister the way he did, the way that pitcher lofted him pitches the way we would a five-year-old, the deafening silence that followed his third strikeout, and, of course, destroying a water cooler in frustration? (Even though he hit it eight, nine times, Joey didn’t damage the container, which either speaks to Gatorade’s sound construction of it, or Joey’s ineptitude as a batter, but Joey did offer the owner compensation for the cooler if there was any damage to it. The owner said it worked fine, and no compensation was necessary). If Joey is able to forget all that, because he is blessed with such a short-term memory that he only thinks about today and tomorrow, then all the power to him. It was such a meaningless game, as I wrote, that I don’t doubt that most of the players, and the people watching, have long forgotten about it.  If Joey was able to forget the specifics of his failure that day, or the day in general, it probably speaks to the sound construction of the brain, and its ability to just forget that which could, even in small, insignificant ways, plague us and diminish our quality of life. 

Don’t Drop the Darn Ball


I could’ve done that!” we say when we see professional athletes perform spectacular athletic feats on TV. We say this after developing vicarious attachments to athletes after watching sports for decades. We do no not make the same I could’ve done that attachments when they mess up just as spectacularly? Being a fan allows us free movement along the spectrum of our associations with athletes. We identify with them when they succeed, and we distance ourselves from the stink of their failure. 

I got a small taste of I could’ve done that when I dropped a routine fly ball in front of about thirty people in total. I doubt any of them remember that. Check that. One does. One person will never forget it. It wasn’t just a drop. It was the way I dropped it that might haunt me for the rest of my life. You don’t care about that, and no one else does either, because no one cares about me, my softball team, or that game. We do care about professional sports, its athletes, and the outcomes. We care so much that our association them becomes an integral part of our identity. So, when one of our favorite players, from our favorite team, drops the ball we regard it as a personal embarrassment, and if they do it in a deciding game of the World Series, they’ll never forget it, because we won’t let them. 

“Hardly a day in my life, hardly an hour, that in some manner or other the dropping of that fly doesn’t come up, even after 30 years,” Fred Snodgrass said in a 1940 interview. “On the street, in my store, at my home . . . it’s all the same. They might choke up before they ask me and they hesitate — but they always ask.”

Imagine the life of Fred Snodgrass. He made one relatively small mistake as a young twenty something, and for the rest of his life, he’s so embarrassed by it that he probably does everything he can to avoid telling strangers his name. He probably considered legally changing his name at some points, and if he wasn’t so proud of his heritage, and that which he passed along to his children and grandchildren, he probably would’ve, just so he doesn’t have to answer any more questions about the one mistake he made in life. No matter what Fred did for the rest of that game [Snodgrass later made what many call an incredible catch later in that game], that season, for the rest of his baseball career, and beyond, when people heard his name, they’d probably snicker, ask him about that drop, and never let him move on in life because he dropped a ball. 

“I yelled that I’ll take it, and waved [the other outfielder] Murray off,” Snodgrass later told author Lawrence Ritter, author of the 1966 book The Glory of Their Times, “and, well, I dropped the darn thing.”

Can you hear the pain in his words? Even reading him recount a couple seconds of his life, 30 years prior, we hear how painful it was to him. We’ve heard that time heals all wounds, but some of the times it doesn’t. No one would let him forget “Dropping that darn thing” for thirty years, and he lived for another 34 years beyond that. We can assume that some people forgot as the 1912 “Snodgrass Muff” dropped further back into the rearview mirror and future generations forgot or never knew about it, but a 1974 obituary in the New York Times stated, “Fred Snodgrass, 86, Dead; Ball Player Muffed 1912 Fly.” They (we) wouldn’t even allow the man to have a peaceful death. We can only imagine how his friends and family probably talked about it at the funeral. “Most people don’t know this, but Fred actually lived a happy life, and we’re sad that he died, sure, but at least he doesn’t have to answer another question about that fly ball. At least he can have some peace now.” 

Fred Snodgrass wasn’t the best player on the New York Giants team that won three straight pennants between 1911 and 1914, but he was a solid contributor. He was a young talent that the man some consider the greatest manager of all time, John McGraw, spotted, signed, and kept in his starting lineup for seven years. After his relatively successful career in baseball, Fred Snodgrass became a successful banker, an appliance merchant, and a rancher who grew lemons and walnuts. He was also elected mayor of Oxnard California, and he served on the City Council for three terms. For all of his successes, on and off the field, Fred Snodgrass would never forget dropping an “easy” flyball in the deciding 8th game of 1912 the World Series (the 7th was game called due to darkness), because they (we) would never let him forget it.  

Bill Buckner played Major League Baseball for twenty-two years, spanning four different decades. He had over 10,00 plate appearances, 2,715 hits, won a batting title, and received MVP votes in five different seasons, but all anyone remembers him for is the Mookie-ball that rolled between his legs in game 6 of the 1986 World Series. 

2003 shortstop, Alex Gonzalez, might’ve suffered a fate similar to Snodgrass and Buckner, were it not for a man named Steve Bartman. Gonzalez muffed a routine groundball that could’ve and should’ve gotten the Cubs out of the “Bartman inning” with a double play, so routine that Gonzalez probably executed to perfection a hundred thousand times throughout his life. He muffed the most important one of his life, but few casual fans put him on any lists, like this one, thanks to Bartman. For the record, Bartman’s relatively innocent attempt to catch a foul ball for a souvenir led to a walk, and Gonzalez error led to five unearned runs. Steve Bartman’s life was ruined in a way few fans have ever experienced, and Alex Gonzalez’s name remains unknown to everyone except writers who write columns based on a theme that the Chicago Cubs lost that National League Championship Series, not a fan named Steve Bartman. 

Most people, young and old, know the name Babe Ruth. “The Babe”, the Bambino, the Sultan of Swat. He was, arguably, the first national sports celebrity, and some say he saved the game of baseball from the 1919 Black Sox scandal. Long, soaring home runs, are still called Ruthian, 100 years later. He appeared in ten different World Series, and he helped his teams win seven of them, but some contend that Ruth’s ill-advised attempt to steal with two outs in the bottom of the 9thinning of Game 7, cost the Yankee’s a World Series ring. The truth is that the hitter behind Ruth called for a hit and run, but the hitter, a Bob Meusel, signaled to Ruth that a hit-and-run was on. Ruth ran, but Meusel didn’t get the hit. Ruth was then left out to dry as Rogers Hornsby tagged him out and the St. Louis Cardinals won the 1926 World Series. History goes to the winners of course, and some writers have attempted to besmirch Ruth’s name by saying, “He might have been the home run king for decades, and he might have been a World Series hero many times over, but did you know…?     

We all dream of becoming a professional sports athlete. They live the lives that only royalty knew in the past. They have more money than any of us could dream of making, and they have all spoils their culture has to offer, and we live vicariously through their successes. If you’ve ever dropped the ball in a spectacularly humiliating fashion, you received some taste of how awful it feels. They call these plays routine for a reason, because we’ve practiced for such moments hundreds to thousands of times, and professional athletes have performed the routine perhaps hundreds of thousands of times. Some of the times, routine becomes so routine that we accidentally take our eye off the ball for less than a second, and we’re already throwing the ball before we catch it, or whatever the reason might be. When we play sports, we make mistakes that take a fraction of a second. Every athlete has makes so many humiliating and embarrassing mistakes that contests often come down to who makes the least amount of them. Athletes are so used to making mistakes that the best ones just move on, but we never do, and we take it as a personal insult when someone from our team tries to move on from one. In Fred Snodgrass’s case, a fraction of a second ruined his life for about sixty years.    

We don’t think about how awful it would feel for an athlete to make a crucial mistake that decides a championship, because we’re fans, and being a fan allows us to move wherever we want in our relationship with them. We want to move closer when they succeed, but we distance ourselves from the stink of their failure. It also gives us a certain joy to mock and scorn them for the rest of their lives, so that they never live the worst moment in their life down. Anyone who has ever dropped the ball, even in a meaningless softball game, has empathy for those who commit errors. We think everyone who was there that worst day of our lives remembers. They don’t, because they don’t care about us, and nobody cares about an insignificant softball game. Those of us on the outside looking in have no idea what it feels like to have someone associate their lives with us. Some of us would give up everything that makes us happy now to know just one day of their life, but as many have said in so many ways, fame has so many downsides that we should be careful what they wish for. Imagine being a grandparent, and a relatively successful business man, living a quiet, happy life, and every third person you encounter says something like this in front of your beloved grandchildren, “Aren’t you Fred Snodgrass? Didn’t you drop the ball in the World Series? Yeah, kids, that play is so famous they gave your grandpa’s play a name, the Snodgrass muff.” Most people would never say such a thing, especially in front of adoring children, but some do, and they think it’s okay, because they were fans, and he let them down. 

Defending the Babe


“Your guy’s records shouldn’t count, because of this! My guy’s should, because of that.” The this and thats are asterisks, we’re talking about asterisks. Historians love them, and sports historians love them a little more when arguing the this and thats, but nobody loves the asterisk more than the baseball historian. It’s their favorite punctuation mark. Rather than write about an athlete’s athletic prowess with exclamation marks, as he chases down a record, they asterisk them or the previous record holder. The thing about asterisks is that they’re typically general and broad and opinions based on facts, but most people don’t bother sifting through those facts to find the truth. 

“But Babe Ruth had a .342 career batting average.” Pfft. (Pfft is the sound of an asterisk punctuating a point.) *He got most of his hits against starting pitchers who were tired by his third or fourth at-bat. “As a pitcher, Ruth went 65-33.” *Yeah, but (the yeahbut is another unofficial, verbal asterisk) between 1915-1917, he played for the Boston Red Sox. The Red Sox won the World Series three out of four of those years, so of course he won a lot of games on those teams. “He pitched 29.2 scoreless innings in those World Series games.” *It was the dead ball era. It was easier to pitch scoreless innings back then. “He pitched a 2.06 ERA during those years.” *Again, it was the dead ball era, and he wasn’t even in the top ten ERA leaders most of those years. “He hit a number of his 714 during those dead ball years.” *He didn’t have to face African American pitchers back then, he didn’t have to play night games, and he didn’t have to face the rigors of extensive travel back then. “He ended up with 714 after only hitting 20 the first five years of his career. Are you saying that’s not an accomplishment?” *He didn’t have to face as many teams, as many different starting pitchers, and there was only one prominent reliever back then. How many of those home runs did he hit in his third and fourth at-bats when the starters were fatigued? “Baseball was the premier sport during Ruth’s playing days, and it attracted the best athletes in the country.” *In the country are the key words here. Modern baseball now invites the best athletes from around the world to compete.

The Babe Ruth defender cannot win, as baseball historians have an asterisk ready for every single one of Babe Ruth’s accomplishments, but for every argument for an asterisk there is a counterargument, and every counterargument has its own counterargument, until we arrive at the idea if we’re going to asterisk everything from everyone then we should probably not asterisk anyone (*except for PED players), because it’s almost impossible to compare eras.

The primary asterisk we hear against calling Babe Ruth the unquestioned “Sultan of Swat” is that he didn’t have to face African-American, Hispanic, or any other minority pitchers. Between the years 1846 and 1947, professional baseball was not integrated. Was that immoral? Of course it was. The idea that an individual wasn’t allowed to compete for a job in a sport was a stain on baseball, its history and tradition, and its records. Baseball could’ve led by example, in this regard, and there are no asterisks, excuses, no ifs, ands, or yeahbuts to support why this wasn’t done from the very beginning. Full stop.

Due to the fact that Major League Baseball (MLB) participated in the stain of segregation, Babe Ruth did not have the chance to face a wide swath of the national, and international, populations. Since integration, some of the greatest pitchers of all time have been either African American, Hispanic, and Asian. Yet, if integration were introduced when it should’ve been, in the very beginning, how many of the members of other races would’ve replaced the starting pitchers Babe Ruth faced? The fact is that it was unfair that pitchers were not given the chance to compete for the jobs, but the inference that Babe Ruth’s career total of 714 home runs would be significantly lower if he faced black pitchers is just as unfair. Buck O’Neill basically reinforces the unfairness of baseball historians attaching this unofficial, verbal asterisk to Ruth’s career numbers.

Buck on Babe

Buck O’Neill, who played in the [African-American] Leagues, then scouted and managed in Major League baseball for 50+ years, said, “[African-American] League pitching lacked the depth [of pitching in] Major League Baseball [at the time].” Before we go any further, we should note that that had to be a difficult thing to say for a man who successfully fought to keep the tradition and history of [African-American] League Baseball alive. O’Neill could’ve viewed the comparisons from a subjective perspective, or even a competitive point of view, that stated how all of his [African-American] League peers were just as good as anyone in Major League Baseball. He didn’t. O’Neill could’ve also said nothing on this matter. He could’ve left the matter to historians to sort out. To his credit, O’Neill examined the two leagues objectively and said the depth of [African-American] League pitching was comparatively lacking by comparison.

Mr. O’Neill did not say that the top hitters of his league weren’t comparable however. He later said that when he heard Josh Gibson hit the ball it “created a particular sound like dynamite.” He said he only heard that crack two other times, “Babe Ruth was the first, and 50 years later, Bo Jackson was the third.” Some suggest that Josh Gibson hit 800 home runs though this cannot be substantiated for the official record. Mr. O’Neill also did not say that the best pitchers in the [African-American] Leagues would not have made the Majors. He just said that the [African-American] League rotations weren’t as deep as those in the Major League, top to bottom.

Based on what Mr. O’Neill saw in his playing days, scouting, managing, and just appreciating the game as an insider/outsider for 50+ years, we can infer him saying that if integration was never an issue, and black pitchers were allowed to play in the Major League from the beginning, the quality of pitching, across the league, probably wouldn’t have been significantly different top to bottom. Further research from The Society of American Baseball Research also notes that becoming a Major League pitcher has never been particularly attractive to the African-American athlete. After 1947, the percentage of African American pitchers peaked at around 6% in the 1970’s. A USA Today article interviewed various commentators on this subject, and they offered speculative reasons for this, but regardless what those reasons are, the fact remains that the demographic has never been particularly attracted to the position. The inference baseball historians make is that Ruth’s home run totals pale in comparison to the other more modern, hitters, because the more modern hitters faced African-American pitchers, but most of them have faced pitching staffs that are, historically, between 1% and 2% African-American on average. So, if Babe Ruth played in the 1970’s, and faced a peak of 6% African American pitchers, and he didn’t hit a single home run off of any of them, his home run total would probably be around 671.

To asterisk this asterisk, we do have one small sample of how Babe Ruth might have fared against the African-American pitchers of his era. Some might further asterisk that asterisk by stating that the sample we have for this involved a mere sixteen contests that happened to be exhibition games. It is true, but we can guess that the [African-American] League pitchers did not pitch as if they were exhibition games when they faced Major League ballplayers. We can guess that even though they were only exhibition games, the pitchers put forth their best effort to show that they were just as good if not better than the pitchers in the Major League. When they faced The Babe, especially, we can be sure that they did everything they could to get the big man out. He ended up hitting 12 home runs against them in 55 at-bats, for a 22% rate. Babe Ruth hit 714 home runs in 8,399 at bats against Major League Pitching, at a 9% clip. This isn’t to suggest if Ruth hit against African American pitchers, in the Majors, throughout his career, he would have hit home runs in 22% of his at-bats against them, but that the “lack of depth” O’Neill described would’ve become clear to baseball historians and Babe Ruth’s numbers wouldn’t have been as significantly different as they imply.

Babe Ruth in the Modern Game

Baseball historian, Bob Klapisch writes that, “Ruth was found to have had substantially above-average hand-eye coordination, intelligence and steadier nerves.”

I find this addition worthy, because Klapisch’s repeat of Ruth’s scouting report, combined with O’Neill’s description of the rare sound the ball made coming off his bat, describe intangibles that cannot be taught or coached. The jokes coaches of various sports repeat is, “You can’t coach someone to be taller, and you can’t coach someone to be faster.” You also can’t coach someone to have above-average hand-eye coordination. It’s an intangible that an athlete either has or doesn’t, and that’s one of the many reasons why I think Babe Ruth would be a top-tier baseball player in any era.

Kevin Long, the Yankees’ hitting instructor, counters, “I see too much movement in [Babe Ruth’s] stride, he’s hitting off his front foot. That’s OK only if you’re sitting on an 80-mph fastball or waiting on a curveball that only breaks on two [up and down] planes.”

Hitting instructor, Kevin Long, makes the ‘we live in the best of times’ argument many indulge in that suggests the modern athlete is so superior to the athletes of yesteryear that the latter couldn’t compete in today’s game. He states that if Ruth were playing in the modern game, he’d have tendencies that would inhibit his success, yet a hitting instructor knows that tendencies can be corrected. He then suggests Babe Ruth would have a tough time adjusting to the faster fastball of modernity, or a better curveball, as if it were a feat to which a modern Babe Ruth couldn’t adjust. It’s ridiculous on the face of it to suggest that an athlete, as superior as many describe Ruth, of “above average intelligence with steadier nerves” couldn’t adjust. Athletic ability aside for just a moment, if we could transport Babe Ruth, from birth on, to the modern era, and we could transport the conditions in which he was raised with him, Ruth would have the same driving force to learn, adjust, and succeed, because he would be as desperate to succeed now as he was then.

Those who train fighters in boxing often tell us that what separates equally talented boxers is the desperation one of the boxers has to succeed. They say that a fighter desperate to escape his current conditions, is more coachable and trainable, because they just want it more. As anyone who has played any sport knows, defeat, personal failure, and the resulting embarrassment from that are all part of becoming a better athlete. Baseball, perhaps more than any other sport, is a game in which its top stars endure more failure than success. The top hitters, for example, do not reach base 70% of the time. If Babe Ruth was the superior athlete that Klapisch and numerous others describe, he would fail to hit the modern 100mph fastball, and the modern curveball, as Long describes, but how many modern athletes fail to hit those same pitches? I believe that Babe Ruth would learn from his failures, adjust, and eventually succeed on the level he did in the 1920’s and 1930’s, because of the sense of desperation that would surely supersede his more priviledged peers.

Major League players, coaches, and managers on the Red Sox, Yankees and the other teams he played throughout the American League, in his era, considered Babe Ruth the asterisk of his era. They considered him a freak of nature athletically. *If African-Americans were allowed to play baseball in the Major League, they argue, Babe Ruth wouldn’t have appeared so freakishly talented. It’s a theoretical argument that has merit, especially if the unsubstantiated rumors about Josh Gibson are anywhere close to true, except when it comes to pitching. The principles of pitching aren’t solely based on athletic talent. If this argument focused on the NBA or the NFL, the athletic argument might take center stage. Integration of African-Americans transformed those leagues, but the eventual integration of baseball in 1947 showed very few pitchers make the jump to the Major Leagues. Did the Major League teams make these decisions as a result of racism? There were a number of hitters who made the jump, but very few pitchers did.

Buck O’Neill never explored why he thought the [African-American] League pitching staffs weren’t as deep as the Major League Baseball ones, but the inference baseball historians make that Babe Ruth didn’t face the superior athletes of his era deserves its own asterisk because superior athleticism doesn’t significantly enhance one’s ability to pitch. The difference between a dominant pitcher and an average one is not necessarily athletic, but it’s not necessarily based on intelligence either. Star-quality pitching at the Major League level is one of those things that I’m sure if we asked Major League scouts, how do we make a dominant Major League pitcher, they would probably say, “If we knew, we’d probably make a lot more of them.” A dominant Major League pitcher is as much about tangibles as it is intangibles, like perseverance through perpetual failure, that are not based on race, economic conditions, or any other indicators that we can point to in a substantial manner.

The problem with the integration argument is that we can’t argue what if’s, what abouts, and all that, so Ruth’s legacy suffers from the institutional wrongdoings of his era that now lead us to either accept his 714 home runs with asterisks, or dismiss them entirely.

Asterisk Them All

UNITED STATES – CIRCA 1926: Babe Ruth batting during an exhibition game.

Baseball historians also list ‘Babe Ruth didn’t have to play night games’ as one of the unofficial, verbal asterisks we should all place an asterisk on his .342, 714 numbers, and they usually throw it on the list of generally accepted asterisks against Ruth. I don’t understand this asterisk. I think baseball historians add this asterisk to a list of them, as opposed to saying it as a standalone, because no one parses this asterisk out to ask what difference it makes. I understand the ‘Babe Ruth didn’t have to travel extensively’ asterisk to some degree, because we all know how long flights can lead to some fatigue. If we combine the two and say Ruth never had to travel to the west coast to play a 10:00 PM game, that might have some merit, but from what we know of Babe Ruth, it appears he had no trouble playing at night.

Unless you consider a diet of hot dogs and beer performance enhancing, we might asterisk in Babe Ruth’s favor by saying he played baseball without any enhancements or supplements of any kind. Babe Ruth certainly never heard of steroids, creatine, and he likely never heard of amphetamines, as they didn’t make their way into baseball until somewhere in the World War II era of the 1940’s or 1950’s.

Though there is some evidence that The Babe lifted a barbell, but his era knew little-to-nothing about the maximized benefits of weightlifting, or the advanced training methods of the modern era. Even some relatively modern athletes, as far back as the 1970’s, report that they (team doctors and trainers included) actually considered weight training counterproductive to baseball. So, we could argue that if Ruth matured athletically in the climate of modern, advanced training methods, weightlifting, and the science behind strength and conditioning, his numbers could be significantly higher. If Ruth had the video resources, modern hitting instruction, or any of the advanced scouting hitters have today, his numbers could even be higher. As Buck O’Neill, and others allude, Babe Ruth might have been one of the most naturally gifted athletes of his century, especially when considering the stories of how much damage he did to his body with his nightlife, alcohol consumption, and his general diet.

Babe Ruth Basically Invented the Home Run

This part might be hard for modern baseball fans to understand, but before Babe Ruth, the home run wasn’t the prized athletic event it is today. Up until Babe Ruth, baseball teams didn’t sign pure home run hitters, and they didn’t strategize for the home run. Even when Ruth hit 148 home runs for the Yankees, between 1920 and 1922, the Yankees still didn’t win their first World Series title. So, while the rest of baseball saw the popularity of home runs for what it was among the fans, their version of statistical analysis led them to believe that home runs didn’t equate to wins. The myth that most of us believed that no one hit home runs before Babe Ruth is not true. Various players hit them, but the rationale back then was when you swung for the fences, it messed up the mechanics of your swing. As Ty Cobb once observed, it was Ruth’s first career as a pitcher that allowed him to perfect his reckless, from-the-heels, all-or-nothing cut, since nothing much was expected of pitchers at the plate. One of the greatest home run hitters of all time, Babe Ruth wasn’t even signed as a home run hitter, and he wasn’t utilized by the team (Boston Red Sox) that signed him, until his final, fifth year with them. His first year, he only hit four home runs, but he was a primarily a pitcher when he did that. The Red Sox viewed Babe Ruth as a pitcher who could hit, and they eventually used him in that manner.

How many years did the Red Sox cost Babe Ruth in terms of home run production? First, we’ll dismiss Ruth’s 1914 season from the record, because Ruth was a rookie, and no one knew much about him. He went 22-9 as a pitcher in the minors, but as a hitter he had 28 hits in 131 plate appearances for a .231 batting average and one home run. So, at this point even the eventual Hall of Fame home run hitter had no reason to believe he would be anything more or less than a dominant pitcher, on a Major League Level. In his next three years (1915-1917), in the majors, Ruth went 65-33 with the Red Sox and an 2.06 ERA. While that number looks great by today’s standards, some argue that these numbers occurred during the dead ball era, and that Ruth was not as dominant a pitcher as some baseball historians suggest. These naysayers also say that his win rate was influenced by the fact that he was on a Red Sox team that perennially competed for the World Series. As a counterpoint, Red Sox outfielder Harry Hooper approached the team’s manager Ed Barrow and told him the team needed to get Ruth’s bat into the lineup. Barrow said no. “I’d be the laughingstock of baseball if I took the best left hander in the league and put him in the outfield.” So, why would any manager who fears getting fired every year, allow such a successful pitcher in the batting order for more opportunity to injury, possible fatigue, and embarrassment for trying to make such a good pitcher a hitter? World War I.

There are disputes about how Ed Barrow eventually decided to put Ruth in the batting order*, but some suggest that Barrow put Ruth in the batting order out of desperation because World War I depleted the Red Sox roster to the point that Ruth was one of the few options available to him at the time. Babe Ruth didn’t go to World War I, because his number was never called, so those of us who don’t follow the rich tradition of baseball intensely, probably wouldn’t know the name Babe Ruth, if it weren’t for World War I.

Not only did Ruth hit .300 and tie for the home run title, in 1919, but the Red Sox won the World Series. When the World Series arrived, Barrow limited Ruth’s at bats, but that was probably because Ruth shut out the Cubs in the first game, to stretch Ruth’s record of shutout innings to 22.1 innings. Ruth would stretch that record to a then record 29.2 innings of consecutive shutout innings, and Ruth won his next start to help the Red Sox win the series four games to two.

The first five seasons of his career, spent with the Boston Red Sox, Ruth only hit 49 home runs. Hank Aaron already hit 140 at the same age and in the fifth years in their respective careers. We could argue that the Red Sox accidentally cost Ruth about four and a half years of potentially productive years as a home run hitter, by mostly keeping him out of the batting lineup until his fifth year.

When the Yankees traded for Ruth, they viewed Ruth as a hitter, and they switched him to the outfield. (Stats show he only pitched 20 innings in 15 years with the Yankees.) He hit 54 home runs in his first year, 1920, with the Yankees, and a star was born, and the glory of the home run was born with it. The second most home runs hit that year were by George Sisler 19, and in ’21 Ruth hit 59, and 2nd place was Bob Meusel at 24. Ruth’s success helped bring about the end of dead ball era.

Another unofficial, verbal asterisk that we could use in Ruth’s favor is the ball. How many fresh, clean balls does the modern hitter have? How many times, in one at-bat, does an umpire, pitcher, catcher, or batter ask for a new ball? If a foul ball is hit, the umpire reaches into his bag and hands the catcher a new ball. In Ruth’s day, reports suggest “the ball was sacred”. Fielders and fans were instructed to return the game ball to the pitcher after a foul ball, and Major League Teams hired security personnel and ushers to retrieve foul balls from the stands. In this era, teams played with one ball until “it was literally falling to pieces, and you couldn’t use it anymore”. John Rossi’s piece states that the ball “would be covered with grass and mud stains, along with goodly amount of tobacco juice from being spit on by the fielders. They would also lose their resiliency. Thus, the name the dead-ball era.” Some suggest that Ruth may have been partially responsible for Major League Baseball creating rules for a cleaner ball. As a result of the popularity of his home runs, the owners of Major League Baseball teams decided to feed into the massive attendance jump for just about every team in 1920. The owners made various “trick” pitches illegal, including the spitball, and they instituted a better ball, though this term would be refuted by laboratory tests. The owners wanted to keep the ball white, so hitters could see it. The spitball was banned in 1920, but numerous pitchers, who used it as their primary pitch throughout their career, were grandfathered in.

If Babe Ruth didn’t invent the home run, he single-handedly revolutionized the game from the John McGraw “inside” baseball tactics of bunt, steal, sacrifice to move over, and score on sacrifice fly to win 1-0, to a hitter’s game. Ruth’s home runs were not the sole reason for the explosion of baseball’s popularity. The end of the war, the money involved, and the more lively ball, as opposed to the 1-0 contests that tends to only please baseball purists. He wasn’t the sole reason, but he was the primary reason there was more money in the game, as attendance exploded after his home run explosions, and for the more lively ball. As Robert W. Creamer concludes in Babe: The Legend Comes to Life, “Ruth’s 1919 breakthrough did not provide a gradual evolution. It was sudden and cataclysmic.”

The First Sports Celebrity

The one other element that most baseball historians don’t mention when they discuss how Babe Ruth changed the game was that Babe Ruth became this nation’s first sports celebrity. He was America’s first athletic superstar at a time when baseball sorely needed it after the Black Sox scandal. Baseball had famous hitters before Ruth, from Ty Cobb to Tris Speaker to Honus Wagner who were just as good, and some might argue better than Ruth, but Babe Ruth’s hitting style, his personality, and his off-the-field antics made him larger than life. Those other hitters were huge in their hometown, state, and region, and every baseball fan of the era knew their name, but by the time Ruth joined the Yankees, everyone had a love/hate relationship with him. I haven’t done extensive research on this, but my guess is Ruth was baseball’s first constant headline maker. This media attention brought fans to the stands, and since the first transmission of television broadcasts didn’t occur until 1925, the primary source of revenue for owners was fan attendance. There are many bullet points to add to Babe Ruth’s claim to fame, but the idea that he almost single-handedly changed one of the three major sports and defined the idea of sports celebrity might shine the brightest, and no baseball historian can asterisk their way out of that argument.

In all of the research I did for this piece, I found authoritative asterisks that suggest while Babe Ruth might have been one of the best athletes of his generation, he couldn’t compete against the modern athlete. I found a counterargument to that asterisk that suggest most modern star athletes entering high school dream of playing in either the NFL, the NBA, and the MLB, in that order. In Babe Ruth’s era, the MLB was the premier sports organization that attracted the best, caucasian athletes in the country. Professional football and professional basketball existed, but they were nowhere near as popular as Major League Baseball. The premier athletes in the United States wanted to play baseball, and Babe Ruth faced off against the best athletes of his era. I’m sure you just thought of a counterargument to that argument, and that’s the point I made earlier. For every argument, there is a counterargument, and a counter to that counterargument, as evidenced by all the articles, opinion articles, and replies to those articles. The one definitive, authoritative, and irrefutable conclusion on whether or not Babe Ruth was a superior athlete who could compete in any era is that there is no definitive, authoritative, and irrefutable conclusion.

“Why do you care?” might be the question Babe Ruth defenders hear most often. “What difference does it make now?” might be the second most, “Babe Ruth’s (1914-1935) career now is almost 100 years old now.” My drive might have something to do with the fact that I cannot stand it when people say, “It is the best of times, right now, as far as athletics are concerned.” This argument of the tangibles suggest that athletes who dominated during “the worst of times” could not compete in today’s game. I’m not going to say there is no merit to this argument as I believe the middle of the pack and lower level athletes of today are far better than the athlete of yesteryear, but the elite athletes of yesteryear could’ve competed in any era. Having said that, we do concede that if the average to poor athletes of yesteryear pale in comparison to today’s, Babe Ruth competed against those average to poor athletes, and his career totals would probably not be as high in the modern game. It pains us to make that concession, but we still think The Babe would still be one of the elite athletes in any era. 

The “the best of times/worst of times” argument also stubbornly insists that any argument that includes a Babe Ruth must be an as-is model. We cannot transport him to today’s era of training and diet science, so why debate it? We debate it, because athletic prowess is the most important characteristic, but it’s not the only trait that defines that superior, elite athlete. When we start throwing out asterisks on Ruth, Walter Payton, Wilt Chamberlain, and other elite athletes who dominated the game during their era, we often leave off the intangibles that defined them beyond their athletic prowess. Ruth, like Payton and Bill Russell, were born and raised in situations they desperately sought to escape, and they believed sports were their ticket out. The desperation to succeed can also be combined and furthered by their will to win. The will to win can be broadly defined by an athlete doing the best they can to help their team defeat the opponent, but in just about every sport there is a one-on-one, mano y mano confrontation between two equally skilled athletes. The will to win in those showdowns defines an athlete as much as stats, wins and losses, and legacy, and I believe that these athletes would’ve used their elite talent, their desperation to succeed, and the will to win to use the advantages the modern athlete has, adapt to the current game, and succeed. As stated earlier, he who wins athletic contests are often the most athletic, but some of the times, the desperation to win and eventually succeed defines the difference in a manner that transcends the best of times and the worst of times.

I provide the numbers below, because someone once said that numbers speak for themselves, but I think we all know that they don’t, because they invite asterisks, counterpoints to those asterisks, and counterarguments to the counterargument.

Total Home Runs: Ruth 714 vs. Aaron 755 vs. Pujols 703

Total Games — Ruth 2,503 vs. Aaron 3,298 vs. Pujols 3,080

At Bats — Ruth 8,399 vs. Aaron 12,365 vs. Pujols 11,421

Plate Appearances — Ruth 10,623 vs. Aaron 13,941 vs. Pujols 13,041

Batting Average — Ruth .342 vs. Aaron .305 vs. Pujols .296

Runs — Ruth and Aaron tied at 2,174 vs. Pujols 1,914

Runs Batted In — Ruth 2,214 vs. Aaron 2,297 vs. Pujols 2,218

Walks — Ruth 2,062 vs. Aaron 1,402 vs. Pujols 1,373

Strike Outs — Ruth 1,330 vs. Aaron 1,383 vs. Pujols 1,404

Slugging Percentage — Ruth .690 vs. Aaron .555 vs. Pujols .544

Number of Unique Pitchers Hitter Hit Home Runs On — Ruth 342*(as a Yankee) vs. Aaron 310 vs. Pujols 458

Seasons — Ruth 22 vs. Aaron 23 vs. Pujols 22

World Series Rings — Ruth 7 vs. Aaron 1 vs. Pujols 2

*In Babe: The Legend Comes to Life, the author Robert W. Creamer states that Ruth’s transition was not a managerial decision, or one based on WWI depletion, but Babe Ruth’s decision. After experiencing some success as a hitter, Ruth decided he no longer wanted to pitch. Ruth’s and manager Ed Barrow argued about this, but Ruth eventually won the argument. The book also states that Ruth’s ability to avoid the draft involved him being married at the time and some squabbles between Major League Baseball and government agencies.

**Other sites say that on May 6, Barrow changed his mind and started Ruth at first base. After that, Ruth played in the field when he wasn’t pitching and the Red Sox were facing a right-hander. Ruth responded by hitting 11 home runs to lead the American League and pitching to a 13-7 record.