"He instinctively can find the shining greatness of our American culture and does a good job of highlighting it (although he also does have those rare lapses when he writes about hockey, but that is something caused by impurities in the Eastern waters or something)." Erik Keilholtz
Under the patronage of St. Tammany
Mark C. N. Sullivan is an editor at a Massachusetts university. He is married and the father of three children. Email
You can have your Barry Bonds. I'll stick with the Babe. The only juice he was on was fermented from hops and barley.
The Baseball Reliquary's shrine to the Bambino includes a sacristy box from which he was given the Last Rites when he was dying in 1948.
The funeral was on August 19 at St. Patrick's Cathedral with Cardinal Spellman presiding at the Requiem Mass. It was a very hot day in New York, and among the pallbearers were the Bambino's former Yankee teammates Joe Dugan and Waite Hoyt. "Christ," Dugan whispered, licking his dry lips, "I'd give a hundred bucks for a cold beer." Hoyt, nodding at the coffin, whispered back, "So would the Babe."
Other Ruthian artifacts in the Baseball Reliquary include a partially consumed hot dog from a Brobdingnagian eating binge in 1925, and a cigar butt dropped on the floor of a Philadelphia brothel on April 27, 1924:
That evening, a Yankee player observed Ruth sitting in a big chair in an upstairs room with a brunette on one knee and a blonde on the other. As the girls poured a bottle of champagne onto his head and shampooed his hair with it, Ruth smiled and exclaimed, "Anybody who doesn't like this life is crazy!" The next afternoon at Shibe Park, the Bambino, with barely two hours sleep, hit a pair of home runs.
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