OPINION: There’s no argument about Babe Ruth
Baseball and I go back a long way — nearly seven decades, to be exact.
I predate the wildcard play-in game, the divisional and championship series, instant replay, names on the back of uniforms, the fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth inning pitching specialists; the five-man rotation; gyrating mascots; batters dressed in full body armor; pitch counts; exploding electronic scoreboards; deafening piped-in stadium music; PEDs; designated hitters; late lineup scratches for players with mysterious, unidentified limb discomfort or tenderness; batting helmets and gloves; sliding mitts; four-hour games and Sabermetrics.
Before readers might wrongly conclude that I must be America’s oldest living fan, let me quickly add that I wasn’t around for the first World Series, 1903 Boston Americans triumphing over the Pittsburgh Pirates in the best of nine, five games to three. The deciding eighth game was completed in a tidy one hour and 35 minutes.