Probably sixty years after I first read it, I can still recite the opening line to Babe Ruth’s autobiography: “I was a bad kid; I say that without pride…”

   Growing up in the 1950s, baseball was THE professional sport, even in a non-professional sports region like New Orleans. (The New Orleans Pelicans were a AA team destined for dissolution by 1959.) I played it myself with relentless passion until I saw my first curveball at the age of 12 (at which moment, I switched my passion to chess) but have remained a lifelong fan of the history and the players of baseball. And the numbers.

   I grew up knowing exactly what the numbers “60” and “714” meant. They meant numbers that would never be exceeded in my lifetime.  Sixty home runs in a season, 714 in a career. Both by Babe Ruth, the Bambino, the Sultan of Swat. 

   So if any of you Gen Whatevers might be wondering why all your O.K Boomer elders were anzting in their recliners in the days after Judge had hit number 60, the dream of us all was that he’d hit 61 within 154 games and erase that g.d. ” * ” in the record books that had done nothing more than to besmirch and belittle Maris’s historic achievement.

   The Babe hit 60 home runs in 1927, twenty-two years before I was born. Thirty-four years later, in 1961, Roger Maris broke that forty-four year old record, and introduced a brand new punctuation mark into baseball lore. Since Maris hit #61 in an expanded 162 -game season, instead of the 154 the Babe had played in, his home run record of 61 would be marked with an *, indicating it had not officially topped Ruth’s 60! (Punctuation mine) done in the classic season of 154 games. 

   So if any of you Gen Whatevers might be wondering why all your O.K Boomer elders were anzting in their recliners in the days after Judge had hit number 60, the dream of us all was that he’d hit 61 within 154 games and erase that g.d. ” * ” in the record books that had done nothing more than to besmirch and belittle Maris’s historic achievement.

   Yes, the National League numbers are higher. But guess what? They all cheated, juicing with PEDs and getting caught. I’d rather believe Trump won the 2020 election than believe any of those other clowns legitimately hit their  home runs clean rather than dirty.

   Aaron Judge is an exceptional role model and an ambassador for the way the game is played cleanly and honestly. Hank Aaron (755 home runs) played it straight, yet suffered unspeakable hatred by ignorant rednecks for doing so. None of that seems to be trailing Judge, and that is good for him, and maybe a glimmer of good for the county.

People will come, Ray.

They’ll come to Iowa for reasons they can’t even fathom. They’ll turn up your driveway, not knowing for sure why they’re doing it. They’ll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past.

“Of course, we won’t mind if you look around,” you’ll say. “It’s only twenty dollars per person.” They’ll pass over the money without even thinking about it. For it is money they have and peace they lack.

And they’ll walk out to the bleachers, and sit in shirt-sleeves on a perfect afternoon. They’ll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they’ll watch the game, and it’ll be as if they’d dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick, they’ll have to brush them away from their faces.

People will come, Ray.

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball.

America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time.

This field, this game — it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again.”

– Field Of Dreams