Catching up with the news

It's been a crazy week out here, sorry I've been out of touch. Being Babe Ruth is kinda hard sometimes, you know. Whenever there's a disagreement among all the old-timers, everybody always comes to me for advice. It's like high school and I'm the prom king. Just the other day, for example, Speaker complained to me that he was being snubbed by some of his old teammates on the Indians like Bill Wambsganss and Stan Coveleski. I asked him, Well what did you do? And Speaker goes, All I said was that I thought my '12 Sox could've kicked my '20 Indians three ways to Sunday. Speaker had no idea why that might offend people. Guy's dumber than Cobb when it comes to inter-personal relationships and shit. Anyway I told Speaker to stick to his guns and snub them right back. WTF is a Wambsganss anyway?

Anyhoo, I've been dealing with crap like that non-stop for the past week or so, and I'm just now coming up for air. So I'm a little behind, but I want to give you my takes on some of the recent baseball news:

1. First order of business, the MSG network* in New York is running a series about the all-time greatest players at each position in New York history, and next week they're going to be selecting right fielders. I'll have more to say about this in a separate post, but here is a taste: It is not fair to Reggie Jackson, Mel Ott, Darryl Strawberry, and the other nominees to go up against me. They really should have created a separate category for me and let the other guys fight it out for the scraps. More later.

*On a side note, I had always wondered about Chinese restaurants posting signs in their windows saying, "No MSG." Finally it makes sense: They didn't pay extra for the MSG network on their cable package! I guess Chinese people really don't like that network, because it's pretty pervasive.

2. Speaking of greatest Yankees, the Wall Street Journal ran a piece in which they judged and ranked a bunch of us "by stats, economic impact and cultural relevance" to select the Greatest Yankee. Guess who's number 1?

I guess there's really not much going on in the world of finance -- no major institution is being investigated, no major reform bills are being considered by Congress. So the Journal could easily afford to allow some young cub reporter to develop a "comprehensive" methodology to determine the world's most obvious conclusion. I hear the Journal is also going to come up with a comprehensive methodology to determine who is America's blackest president.

3. Ryan Howard's new contract is obscene, but I love every $$ of it. I love that he still had a couple years left on his current deal, so they didn't even need to extend him. I love that the Phillies are gonna be paying Ryan $25M per year when he's 37 years old, even though you can probably count on one hand the number of players of Ryan's type -- big, strong power hitters -- who were still putting up big numbers. Sure, when I was 37, I was still awesomely Ruthian, but that's just me. Much as I love Ryan Howard, he's not me. He's not even Frank Thomas (sorry to break it to you, Phans). You know what Thomas did at age 37: .219 with 12 HRs in 34 games.

You know why I love the contract? Because it shows the Phillies are now trying to compete with the Yankees, and it's just not possible. They're going to spend all this money and still come up short, and it's just gonna make it that much easier for the Yankees to keep dominating.

4. It looks like major league baseball is wading into the controversial Arizona law that, from what I understand, allows the police to demand the documentation of anybody who looks like he might be in the country illegally, and if he is unable to produce "papers," to then tattoo a scarlet "I" onto the poor guy's forehead. I really don't know what all the fuss is about. They did something similar in Germany back in the 1930s, and that turned out just fine.

What should baseball do? How about supporting a law to make every member and fan of the Boston Red Sox walk around with a big blue B on his head? There's no better way to subject them to the public ridicule they deserve than to force them out into the open.

5. That's all I got for now. See you next time.

Tampa Bay is not a major league city

So I was perusing the American League standings today, enjoying where the Yankees were situated, when I discovered something amazing: There is a major league baseball team in Tampa Bay! Not only that, but they're up there in first with my Yankees!

I'm sure you're as stunned by this development as I am, but it's true. As a public service, I did a little research, and it turns out that the Tampa Bay Rays (as they're known) actually played in the World Series two years ago. They may have even won it, I don't know how to check.

Anyhoo, what surprises me so much about this is that based on my experience, Tampa Bay was not a major league city, not in the least. The speakeasies were pathetic -- only one type of whiskey! And I visited better gentlemen's clubs in Hot Springs, Arkansas, than in Tampa Bay. And you would never put a major league baseball team in Hot Springs, Arkansas.

If you live in Tampa Bay, I'm sorry for you.

On the other hand, St. Petersburg, Florida, is a great city and light years away from Tampa Bay in terms of major league quality. If they were going to put a baseball team in Florida, they should have built the stadium in Ol' St. Pete. They had this one club there called The Sunshine Club that I used to love. They had truly major league dames there, almost as good as the dames in Manhattan.

So bottom line: What a mistake major league baseball made when they put the team in Tampa Bay instead of St. Petersburg. Maybe someday they'll fix their mistake. If they do, you can thank ol' Babe for the idea.

The first ambidextrous player?

So apparently the Yankees are considering calling up from the minors some pitcher named Pat Venditte. His claim to faim is that he's an "ambidextrous" pitcher, maybe even the first of his kind.

That's total bullshit. Have the Yankees really forgotten about me? Your ol' Babe was the first ambidextrous pitcher. For the first few years, I pitched, and pitched great. I would've won the equivalent of the Cy Young Award two or three times if it'd been around. (In fact, they probably woulda named it the Babe Ruth Award.)

Then, after I got tired of pitching, I became a hitter, and the rest is history. I truly dominated.

So I was first a star pitcher, then a megastar hitter. That's about as ambidextrous as you can get!

Jimmy Rollins: You are on notice

Last week, Jimmy Rollins announced he was going to use some new-fangled technology to attempt to break my record for the longest home run ever recorded.

But just before he was going to try it, he backed out, claiming some injury.

Dear readers, do not believe that for one second. I might be dead, but I still have some juice.

Here's what I did. First, I visited Jimmy in his dream, as we are allowed to do. But I was sneaky. I didn't visit him as myself, because that would be too obvious and Jimmy might get suspicious. Instead, I visited him as a florescent green dolphin wearing a Yankees cap. We were standing there on the Phillies' practice field and I flapped my flippers and shouted, "Ooh ooh ooh" over and over until I got his attention. In the dream, he turned, slipped on a bat, and strained his calf muscle. The hook was baited.

Next, I visited the dream of one of the clubhouse boys, little Timmy Dugan. This time, I appeared as a giant purple dinosaur, figuring he would have never seen one of those. I convinced him that placing a bat on the ground near Jimmy Rollins the next day would result in untold glory and fame for little Timmy. And also that I would hit a home run for him the next day because I love kids, and kids love me, and we're a happy family. Then I gave him a great big hug and a kiss from me to him, and then he said he loved me too. Then, because we were in Philadelphia, I threw up on him.

All that was Sunday night. Monday, before the home opener, Jimmy strained his calf during warmups. Was it caused by a stray bat laying on the ground? I'm not tellling, wink wink.

Bottom line: My record lives on. Let this be a warning to anybody else who dares to threaten something that belongs to me.

A tribute to Jackie Robinson

So today is Jackie Robinson Day across the majors, celebrating the 60-whatever anniversary of his first game in the majors when he broke the color barrier in baseball.

I don't hang out much with Jackie out here. We just don't travel in the same circles. But I do run into him from time to time at reunions and Hall of Fame get-togethers. He's usually holding court with a group of his guys, and I'm usually holding court with a group of my guys. Occasionally our groups get all mixed up and I end up telling stories about the best gentlemen's clubs in St. Louis to his guys and he's talking about race and politics to my guys, who, frankly, have no idea WTF Jackie is talking about. Makes for an interesting evening.

Anyhoo, so today is Jackie Robinson Day, and I would like to honor him and his achievements. I remember the first time I met him, back in '47. He seemed so impressed to meet me. And why wouldn't he be impressed? I was quite a man back then.

I was impressed with him too. I remember telling Claire, "That Jackie Robinson is going to be famous some day. I'm not sure how or why, but I really think he's going to change the course of American history in some way." Claire doesn't remember me saying anything of the sort, but trust me, I said it. I knew in my gut that Jackie was going to be one special mutha.

What else do I remember about Jackie Robinson? A lot of guys out on the Internets are talking about how Jackie played the game with such ferocity, how he led the Dodgers to the World Series all those times, how he put up with all the taunts and beanballs, and all that crap.

What I remember most about him was the way he tied his shoes. Once, I was watching him practice before a game at the 1947 World Series, and someone told him his shoe was untied. He looked down, then looked back up at the guy and said, "Thanks." Then he took his glove off, dropped it on the ground, bent over, and tied his shoe. He picked up his glove, stood up, and started running again. It was just so dignified, yet there was such passion and intensity in the way he tied that shoelace. Sure, he could've had the clubhouse boy do it for him -- that's what I used to do -- but he didn't. He just tied it himself. And just the act of tying his own shoe showed that he was capable of anything, whether it was standing up to a court-martial for not moving to the back of an Army bus or stealing home against my Yankees in one of those World Series games.

I once asked Jackie if he remembered tying his shoe during that pre-game practice back in '47, and I'll never forget what he said to me: "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Yes, even the way he talked to your ol' Babe demonstrated the fire in his belly.

That Jackie was one of a kind, I'll tell you that. He reminds me of me. There was only ever one Jackie Robinson, but even more so, there was only ever one Babe Ruth.

I hope you enjoyed my tribute to Jackie Robinson.

Earl Woods is even more pissed

Tiger's not winning the Masters has sent his dad into a slight rage. And when I say slight, I mean Godzilla-like. I'm keeping my distance for a while. And Tiger better watch out, because ol' Earl is about to go all Freddie Krueger on Tiger's dreams.

Earl Woods is Pissed

Tiger's dad just watched the Tiger commercial, and he sought me out because he knows I have this blog that is read by millions of smart and wonderful fans. Here's the ad in case you haven't seen it:



When I saw it, my first thought was, WTF? Turns out, Earl's reaction was more like WTF?!?!?!?!?

Earl doesn't even remember saying those things, and he thinks that what they did was put take a bunch of his recordings and splice them all together, Roger Ebert-style, to create the commercial.

I asked him what he would really be saying to Tiger in this situation. He said he already has spoken to Tiger about the scandal when he visited one of Tiger's dreams. Here's what he told him in that dream:

Tiger, this is not the way we raised you. We raised you to stand up for your beliefs, not apologize and cower at the first sign of trouble. And your core belief is that, whatever you do, you do 110%... whether you're playing golf, or you're whoring yourself out to whatever corporate sponsor will have you, or you're having sex with as many ladies as possible. Where most golfers lay up and go for par, you get out the wood and go for the birdie. Where most married men stay faithful or maybe have one or two affairs, you have one or two affairs PER WEEK. That's who you are. That's who we raised you to be. You're Tiger fucking Woods.

And when you get caught--yes, it was inevitable you'd get caught--you don't apologize for it. You embrace it! You say, Yes, me likey the ladies! (Or however you want to say it.) You remind people that If they were in your shoes, they'd do the same. But of course, nobody could ever fill your shoes. Because you're Tiger fucking Woods.

Now get back out there. Go break Nicklas's record for winning Major tournaments. And break Wilt Chamberlain's record for bedding the ladies. I will accept nothing less.

Well said, Earl. People have been calling Tiger Woods "The Babe Ruth of Golf" for years. If he follows Earl's advice, he will have truly earned the honor.

Frank Deford needs a new hobby...

...because this writing thing ain't really working out for him. Here's his latest screed, titled Until a salary cap, MLB outcomes will remain predictable. The money quote:

[A]s long as there is no salary cap to equalize things, the Yankees and a few other rich teams are going to buy championships, while the little old mid-major cities really can't compete.

Here's something that also "remains predictable": complaining about how the Yankees "buy" their pennants. How about an original thought, Frank?

I've addressed this issue before, so I don't want to repeat myself too much. But there is one point I want to amplify: Major league baseball as a whole is better when the Yankees are spending money and winning ballgames. It's more popular and more exciting. More interesting. More fun. More Ruthian.

On the other hand, it's shitty and boring and forgettable when the Yankees suck. Just look at the periods in baseball history when the Yankees sucked. Does anyone know who won the World Series between 1965 and 1975, or between 1982 and 1996 Did they even play World Series those years? Nobody knows or cares.

Over the past 15 years, meanwhile, major league baseball has become more popular than ever, even as the Yankees have been winning like crazy! Attendance is at or near all-time highs, baseball is all over TV, and kids are playing it around the world. Even minor league baseball is more popular than ever.

If you're a fan of the lowly Royals or crappy Pirates, whose teams are so poorly run that they do shit like trade Jermaine Dye for Neifi Perez or give big contracts to scrubs like Pat Meares, just... be happy. Watch your guys play hard, be proud of them when they hit the cutoff man and go from first to third. Enjoy the smell of the grass, the taste of a hot dog, the little nuances of the game. So what if you don't win, you had fun didn't you? You couldn't really handle winning anyway. Leave that to the big boys.

One other thing: If you don't love the Yankees, then you must hate us. MUST hate us. On those rare occasions when we don't win it all, just bask in how good it feels to watch us lose. You'll have almost as much fun watching us fail as you might have if you ever were to succeed. Ol' Babe guarantees it.

But the one thing you should never do is whine about it. We're the New York fucking Yankees, and you're not. That's the way it is and ever will be.

Asked and answered part 2

From a column by someone named Danny Cross of something called Cincinnati CityBeat:

It’s often difficult to judge people who lived in different eras because so many things change: Consider that babe Ruth hit 714 home runs without steroids but Barry Bonds hit 762 after America let people who weren’t white play in the games too. Which is more impressive?

Mine.

You know what else was impressive? That I did it all while my body was maintaining a perfect equilibrium among all the venereal diseases that I contracted and the booze and hot dogs I ingested. I truly was a marvel of biology.

Opening Day Memories

Ahh, Opening Day. It brings back a floodgate of memories. All the home runs I hit, the batters I struck out, the dames I bagged, the booze I drank... it was all wonderful.

Let me tell you about my favorite Opening Day. It was the first game at Yankee Stadium, and I remember every detail like it was the back of my hand yesterday.

I think it was 1923. Maybe 1924, but I think 1923. I guess it was April something, because Opening Days always come in April. Yeah, it was April. There must be a record somewhere where I could look it up.

Anyway, I remember vividly stepping up to the plate for the first time in front of all those fans inside the building that they were already calling The House that Babe Built. The fans went wild. I don't know what I did in that at bat, but the next time I came up, I whallopped a big home run--the first one anyone ever hit at Yankee Stadium. I sure had a flare for the dramatic, don't you think?

I still remember how it felt to smack that jack. I have no idea whether we won the game or not, but that home run off Howard Ehmke is burned into my memory. Every now and then I run into ol' Howie and remind him of that slowball of his that I turned on in 1923 or 1924. He claims not to remember, but I know he does.

You know what else I remember about that day? The gentleman's club where I spent the hours of 8pm till 8am. It was in a red building on 93rd Street. I walked in smoking my cigar and announced boldly that I was going to take care of every lady in the house. And damned if I didn't do it! My two favorites were named Lillian, a lovely blonde, and Mildred, a fiery redhead. I'm not gonna get into any further details because a gentleman doesn't talk, but rest assured that it was the highlight of their day. And my day, except for the home run.

Anyway, I hope all of you have similarly great Opening Day memories. (Though I doubt it.)

The Babe's Season Preview

All the internets are posting their 2010 season previews, so I figured I gotta jump on the bandwagon. Here are 10 thoughts and predictions for the upcoming baseball season.

1. Yankees all the way
2. MVP: Jeter
3. Cy Young: Sabarthia
4. Rookie of the Year: Montero
5. Who gives a shit about the N.L.
6. Tigers will suck. (Hear that, Cobb?)
7. Biggest mid-season trade: Greinke to the Yanks
8. Biggest surprise: Just how bad the Tigers will suck
9. Biggest dissapointment: That I am physically unable to use an Apple iPad
10. Biggest prediction: Batshit insane Hall of Famer and Senator Jim Bunning (R-Kentucky) will appear on the Senate floor wearing his old Phillies uniform (minus his pants) and introduce legislation to retroactively award his Phillies the 1964 National League pennant. "Now, no one call call us chokers ever again!" he will say, over and over. Bob Gibson will appear out of nowhere and stick one in his ear. It will be the greatest moment in U.S. Senate history.

Just one more day!

The anniversary that wasn't

Some jackass brought up this bit of "history" today:

On April 2, 1931, a girl named Jackie Mitchell, 17, struck out Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig in an exhibition between the Yankees and the minor-league Chattanooga Lookouts. Ruth took a ball, swung and missed two pitches then took a called strike. Gehrig swung and missed three straight pitches. Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis voided her contract a few days later and said women could not play baseball because it was "too strenuous."

I can't let this go without comment.

First of all, I seriously doubt this really happened. I don't remember it at all, and I asked Lou, and he doesn't remember it either. He asked his mom and she also doesn't remember it. I asked Claire and she told me to take out the garbage, and I said fuck you, and she said go to hell, and I said you first, and then we made up and now here I am.

Secondly, if it did happen, I can tell you that there's no way I was really trying all that hard to hit that girl's pitches. I wouldn't have wanted to crush her spirits.

Third, I was probably drunk, or at least hungover. Or trying to get the hell out of there so I could hook up.

Fourth of all, she did NOT look 17 years old. She looked much older. And her father did not have any right to point that shotgun at me just for chatting her up.

Fifthly, look, sometimes when you see a pitcher you've never seen before, even if it's a girl, and the lighting is bad and you just want to get out of there and grab a steak, you may not be able to concentrate as well as you should and you might swing and miss a couple of times before you get the hang of it.

Not that that's what happened here or anything. Because I'm SURE it never happened. But if it did, that's what happened.

Or didn't.

Opening day: just two more days.