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People, relax. It ain't my record.

By GARY SHELTON
Published May 9, 2006

Hello, I'm Babe Ruth. And what's all the commotion about this time?

For crying out loud, can't a guy get a little eternal rest?

It's noisy, that's what I'm saying. Even here. A guy can't hear the angels fiddle with harps, or harp with fiddles, for that matter, without hearing his name tossed into a debate.

Look, I'm busy being dead. Okay? Give it a rest. Give me a rest.

As I understand it, everyone is upset because they think some humanoid is hitting a spheroid with a steroid. So what? It doesn't threaten me if Barry Bonds hits another home run or two. Why should it threaten you?

Hey, I appreciate the concern. Really I do. It amazes me the way guys who never saw me play can get their blood percolating on my behalf. People tend to get lost between the memory and the mythology, and the fame and the fiction, but still, it's nice to be remembered.

But 714?

That's just a number, man.

Take the other day. I ran into Herbert Hoover at the hot dog stand - and thank goodness, dogs do go to heaven - and just like that, he says, "Babe, I hear this Bonds lunkhead is about to break your record." And I says, "Herbie, it ain't my record."

And that's the thing. It's Hank Aaron's record. Hey, Hank has had the record for 32 years now, which is 10 more years than I played. Whenever I hear the voices get loud as they argue about 714, the more it seems to disregard Aaron, which is a shame.

For some reason, people get all riled whenever my name comes up. They did with Roger Maris, back in '61. They did with Aaron in '74. With those cartoon figures, McGwire and Sosa, in '98. And now with Bonds. Personally, I was more upset when they let John Goodman play me in the movies. That stung.

Should baseball make a bigger deal of this? I'd say no, but it has nothing to do with indignation or outrage. It's just this: Since when does anyone get excited when a player takes over second place?

Oh, you can spin things if you want. You could say Bonds is chasing the "all-time record for home runs by a left-handed batter." Or you could talk about the "most home runs per at bat." But that isn't what the record is called. It's the all-time home run record. Plain and simple.

From the sound of it, a lot of people don't want Bonds to cut up in line because he's put in a lot of years proving what a misery he can be as a human being. That, and the fact they think he has more artificial ingredients than potato chips. It's cheating, they say. And yeah, if the steroid users didn't think it was wrong, why would they hide when they did it?

The pretty thing about numbers, though, is that bad guys can get them the same as good guys. And if all of this is about Bonds being a louse, well, what would his reception be if he wasn't? Say Bonds was a swell guy, fun at parties, the type of guy who would even give an autograph to a fan who gave him the ball he had just hit out of the park. Would the controversy be smaller? Would there be less heat on Bonds and more on that little commissioner guy?

I'm not defending Bonds here. I may have cursed the Red Sox, but from the sound of it, Bonds cursed everyone else. The Sultan of Snit, isn't that what they call him? The only thing we really have in common is that his head is about the size of my waistline.

I have to be honest, though. I'm not sure I would want to go through the scrutiny that comes with playing today, either.

I drank. I gambled. I was vulgar. I tried to fight umpires. I chased women, and not to brag, but I caught a few, too. I threatened to throw my manager off a moving train. (On the other hand, I never did a show like Bonds on Bonds. That's just cruel.)

In my day, it turned me into Paul Bunyan. Everyone liked the Babe, so everyone talked about what a grand fellow I was. No, I never took steroids, but that's probably because they didn't put them on a hot dog bun with a beer chaser. Also, they hadn't been invented yet.

America was different, too. Can you imagine the way the headlines would make sport of me now? The talk shows?

I'll admit it. I had some advantages over Bonds, too. In my day, it wasn't the player who was juiced, it was the ball. Also, there were all day games. There were no relief specialists. And the major leagues didn't allow black ballplayers. If they did, Bonds might be chasing Josh Gibson's records until the next century. (In all modesty, if I had had modern training techniques, he might be chasing me that long, too.)

What I would like to believe is this: For a great athlete, numbers are only part of the details. If you want to remember the Babe at all, don't hinge it on an arbitrary figure like 714. Hey, when I quit, that was more than twice as many as anyone else had ever it. If there had been a reason to pad that number, I would have pointed to a few more centerfields.

Think of it like Charles Lindbergh. A lot of people have flown to Paris since then, but it hasn't affected the way he's remembered. Just because Walter Payton doesn't have the rushing record doesn't mean he wasn't the best back ever to play football.

As for me? I played me some games. I had me some times. People seemed to like me.

That's what greatness is. It isn't about records, and it isn't about numbers. It's about lore. It's about legend. It's about a man changing a game and changing what others think about it.

Maybe it sounds like bragging, but if Bonds is going to catch the best parts of the Babe, he has a lot of work to do.

[Last modified May 9, 2006, 00:41:15]