PART 1 of 2
I hung out with Babe Ruth last night. Sure, it was only a dream, but this was a such a mystical tale it just had to be real. I started crying like a baby when I awoke, because, well, it just had to be real.
I met him at a dive bar in Hells Kitchen. He was sitting in the corner, beer mug to his left and shot glass to his right, with a blonde by his side and a brunette on his lap. He wore a grin on his face the size of the grand canyon. He had that Ruthian look that told you there was no other place that he would rather be. He swigged from his beer mug then kissed his two lovely companions before they exited the bar.
The empty seat next to him was now mine, and there I was, sippin sizzurp with the Sultan of Swat.
"I'm a huge fan. I mean, I never got to see you play, but I've heard the stories Babe. From your struggles in a Baltimore orphanage all the way to the days when you were blasting those balls in the Bronx. The called shot, Murderer's Row, barnstorming in the winters and that final speech in the Camel Coat. Man, it's an honor to meet you sir. Your an American legend."
He smiled that smile and spoke to me out of the side of his mouth,
"Aw, thanks kid. That's awful nice a ya. But, I played with a great group of fellas. The game was different in my day kid. Life was. But quit kissin my ass. Let's go grab us a steak pal."
We went to Mickey Mantle's and boy did we have ourselves a meal. I stuck to the sirloin and the Babe ate three Porterhouse steaks. After that we barhopped for a little and then made our way over to Scores on the East side. Hey, the Babe loves his women.
The next thing I knew it was me and the Bambino, with two lovely ladies, in a cab headed for the Bronx. The Pakistani cab driver let us smoke our Cubans without a problem. The Babe, riding shotgun, put on Hot 97 for us for us as loud as it could go and the Babe was singin out, "It was all a dream. I used to Read Word Up! Magazine!"
"Babe, your a fan of Biggie?" He laughed at my question,
"Aw kid, that son of a bitch is a characta. We play poker every Monday night. He and the other fella, ahhh, TooPack, yeh, Toopack. And that heavy Hispanic fella." The Babe sure wasn't good with names. It took him some time to get Tupac's name, but I figured the "Heavy Hispanic fella" was Big Pun.
"I'll tell ya pal, those three fellas are terrific. Great Fellas." He laughed out loud while he patted his lap. "But I'll tell ya somethin kid, none of them can play poker for shit."
Unbelievable. I was trying to picture the Babe, with Pun, and Biggie and Tupac, playin cards together up in Heaven. And here I was, in a cab, headed for the Bronx, puffin on a Cuban, burnin with the Great Bambino".
TO BE CONTINUED
