by Frank Deford

Posted: Wed July 22, 1998

It's only midway through l998, but already it's obvious who the athlete of the year is. It's only somewhat complicated by the fact that he's been dead for half a century. But really now, who's having a better year than Babe Ruth?

The Babe's springtime was spent being constantly recalled in Michael Jordan's reflection: Michael Jordan—the Babe Ruth of our times. The more Jordan accomplished, the more his achievements promoted Ruth—for who else was there to compare Jordan with?

And the summer, with Mark McGwire and Ken Griffey Jr. busting home runs, and the Yankees running up a stupendous record—that has brought back all the special memories of that magic 1927. That was when The Sultan of Swat hit his 60, while leading what may have been the best and the most glamorous team ever. Moreover, as the 50th anniversary of Ruth's death on August l6th approaches, not one, but two major documentaries—first by ESPN, then by HBO—are set to air.

It was, too, only a few years ago that another film biography was made of Ruth—even if it was pretty dreadful—and a whole museum has been dedicated to the man, an athlete, in his native Baltimore. In the last years of the century, there is no reason to think that interest in the big fellow will diminish, as every media entity assembles its official remembrance of the best of the l900s.

The amazing thing about this continued fascination with the Babe, is that there's absolutely nothing new to say. What? Is there going to be a revisionist biography of George Herman Ruth? Like any athlete of the 20th century, his records are preserved, indisputable, and it's hardly more possible that any significant new personal history can be discovered to make us think much differently of his character. It's not exactly like reviewing anew the Jefferson presidency with some fresh material. No, there are no revelations here. Ruth was simply an amazing athlete, the savior of the National Pastime, and also, coincidentally: a carouser, a perennial boy. As Paul Gallico painted him, simply and forever: "a swashbuckler built on gigantic and heroic lines." That's the whole of it, in l928, '48 or '98.

In fact, maybe what's so most continually appealing about the Babe is that it was all so simple. Efforts to read too much into him—as the producers tried to do in that recent biopic, starring John Goodman—simply are doomed. Obviously, the fact that the Babe's family dispatched him as a child to a quasi-reform school, wounded him. So did baseball's refusal to give him a chance to manage a team, to lead other men. Yes, but also: nobody gets it all, scot free. Ruth's was neither a particularly tragic nor complicated life.

But of all the popular cultural figures of his time—Valentino and Paavo Nurmi, Dempsey and Will Rogers, Chaplin and Sonja Henie, Dietrich and Rudy Vallee—who do we remember more than the Bambino? Well, I can only suggest maybe Winnie The Pooh, another fond product of the '20s ... but then, the bear has the advantage of going on forever as a child.

Of course, that may be the Babe's signature, too, that he was the most powerful child we ever had in our midst. Maybe he is most unforgettable for that wonderfully innocent combination—which is, coincidentally, just what America wanted to be, itself, too, in those good old days.

These commentaries, which appear each Wednesday on National Public Radio's Morning Edition, are posted weekly by CNN/SI.

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