The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1933-12-20
1t
Seems
to
Me
BY Haywood Broun


undoubtedly, an old softly. When I
hear the Babe announce publicly
that he has the capacity for one
more year of baseball and only the
dim possibility of another I begin
to go sentimental.
It is not. of course, on account OF
eny danger that George Herman
Ruth will be turned out into a
driving snow storm to peddle
matches. He would do well in that
line of endeavor or any other.
journalism, the radio, the silver
screen and life insurance are
among the activities which will
beckon Babe when he hangs up his
shoes.
1 do not weep for him but for
myself. Dull and gray all days
will be as far as I'm concerned
when Ruth quits the Yankee Sta
dunn.
Nobody need remind me that
many public problems OF more
weight are pressing close about
as. At the moment Ruth crushed
TO earth appears the most poig-
nant of them all.
A ND it isn't just baseball,
i N though I can make no effec-
tive pretense Of a cool indifference
to the game. The Babe is one OF
the last of the legendary figures.
It only goes to prove how closely
mortals can initiate and follow on
the heels of the demi-gods Of min
strelsy. Out of the lumber camps
of America came the prodigious
figure of Paul Bunyan. His appe-
tites and achievements were colos-
sal. And then along came Ruth
driving baseballs over fences where
none had been hit before. He came
to set new records on the diamond
and new marks for the primrose
path. Down the broad highway he
strobe filling his arms with vine
leaves and home runs. There will
not be his like again.
But perhaps that was said when
MarloWe died and Shakespeare
still lurked just around the corner.
But there is not visible any heir
apparent. Across the table sat
Jimmy Foxx. a hefty farmer lad
with the wrists and forearms of a
Young Hercules. Jimmy has driven
MANY a baseball out where the blue
begins and still it never has been
quite the same thing. There is
lacking the touch of ShOwmanship,
the CLINT and hint Of high Olym-
pus.
NOR do I feel that it is extrava-
~ CANT to talk in these terms of
Ruth. To me he holds high
place among American immortals.
I'd certainly rather be Ruth than
Washington Irving or Nathaniel
Hawthorne. OF course, Walt Whit
man is something else again. 1
could tolerate the Babes retire
ment if it we're already possible to
refer to him as the good, gray
outfelder." But he isn't gray or
. paIsied. or even more plump than
usual. Ruth looks every bit as fit
rs 1 do.
One of the tragedies Of sports re-
porting Is that the critics outlast
by so great a span the practitioners
of the arts which they evaluate. A
dramatic reviewer can grow old
gracefully with Sothern, Booth or
Eddie Cantor, but baseball re-
porter who sticks to his last Is
likely to see three generations OF
outfielders and six decades OF
pitchers pass before his eyes. Never
have 1 felt so ancient as when I
ran into people like Whitley Witt
and Bob Shawkey. I suppose there
are fledglings within the sound Of
nv voice who never heard OF
Whitley.
Do YOU mean to say that you
never heard of Whitley Witt, who
laid them down and beat them out,
and who was beaned by pop
bottle in that crucial series out in
st. Louis?
I guess they do mean it. And 1
hear that Herbie Pennock is a free
agent. Bless my soul, I can re-
member when Connie Mack way
laid him as he trudged sturdily to
school carrying a red apple for the
teacher. And Pennock could hang
a curve upon a corner of the plate
as if it we're a hatrack. And here
he is washed up. 1t seems like
yesterday.
WHY do we who merely write a'',
w about these prodigies still
cumber the earth. We not only
continue to cumber the earth but
we write about it bitterly. We
turnover columniStS who once were
sporting writer's have in us, 1
greatly fear. too great a proportion
of vinegar. OF late I have been
scrutinizing my work carefully, and
IL seems to me that "peevlSh
would be rather a mild word for 1t.
And the strange part of it is that
a number of people at Babes fare
we'll banquet reminded me that l
used to be an excellent baseball
writer. They were quite right, but
I didn't get away in time. 1 left
my heart and my enthusiasm in
the bat bag, and when I moved
into a world which knew not Bob
or Whitley and was preparing to
forget Ruth could only say. VINO
are all these strange people? III
have none of them"
Not unreaSonably. they replied
that they would have none of me.
The Babe can't run as he used to,
and I can't write. We don't seem
to cover as much territory. And
both of us are inclined to tumble.
It was, as I have said. a gay