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He was the first to hit 30 in a season, the first to hit 40, the first to hit 50, the first to hit 60. He was king of the home run from the beginning. Henry Aaron didn't become number one in career homers until he was in his 40s, near the end of his superb career. It will be the same for Bonds, knees and the law willing. But Ruth became number one in career homers when he was only 26, with 14 seasons still ahead of him. When he retired in 1935, the man closest to him was 350 homers behind. And his dominance lasted. Between 1927, when Babe hit his 60th, and 1998, when Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa led a parade past the old mark, only one player in 70 years (Roger Maris, in 1961) was able to reach 60. And during those years, any time anyone seemed remotely likely to approach 60, he was compared to Ruth. Thus, the Babe was wired into America's collective memory from the start, and the wires kept saying, "Great. Great. Great." As early as 1918, before Ruth had hit 20 career homers, when he was still a left-handed pitching star who could hit amazing home runs, an awed Boston sportswriter wrote, "The more I see of Babe, the more he seems a figure out of mythology."  More than any man of his era, Babe Ruth transcended sports and moved beyond the limits of baselines, outfield fences and sports pages. Photo courtesy Babe Ruth Birthplace & Sports Legends at Camden Yards Ruth did things with flair, exuberance. Nowadays, the delicate egos in baseball worry that a pitcher might feel "shown up" if a batter who has just hit a home run displays excessive pleasure after driving one into the seats. Hell, the pitcher has already been shown up. But the batter has to hurry around the bases as though he's hoping no one will notice what he's done to the poor pitcher. For Ruth, and for the crowds cheering him, a home run was a moment of triumph, and he wasn't afraid of showing his delight in his accomplishment. After hitting three home runs in one World Series game in St. Louis, he caught the final out of the game (and the Series) and raced in from the outfield waving the gloved ball triumphantly at the rival crowd and the rival players. When he hit his "called shot" home run against the Chicago Cubs in the 1932 World Series, even as the Cub bench and the Chicago crowd were jeering him, he made mocking gestures toward the Cub dugout as he circled the bases and afterward said, "That's the first time I ever got the players and the fans going at the same time. I never had so much fun in my life." Nor did a rival player's gloating put him off. Casey Stengel, then a hard-hitting outfielder with the New York Giants, blasted a homer against the Yankees in a World Series game. As he rounded the bases, Stengel merrily thumbed his nose at the Yankee bench. There was a little fuss about that, but when a reporter asked Ruth for his reaction, the Babe said he didn't mind it. "Casey's a lot of fun," he said. Fun. There it is. Baseball is a game, and Ruth thoroughly enjoyed playing it. The people watching or reading about him shared his joy, and they talked about it. Boy, did they talk about it. The stories and the statistics and the fun and the pleasure have come down through the years. And that's why he's still King of the Home Run. No one ever played like the Babe. No one ever looked like him. No one will ever replace him. Robert Creamer is considered by many to be America's greatest living sportswriter. You can contact him at
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