i would think he was probably the most beloved athlete ever. No saint, but that was part of the appeal.
Was There Ever a Guy Like Ruth?
By John Kieran 1927
You may sing your song of the good old days till the phantom cows come home;
You may dig up glorious deeds of yore from many a dusty tome;
You may rise to tell of Rube Waddell and the way he buzzed them through,
And top it all with the great fastball that Rusie’s rooters knew.
You may rant of Brouthers, Keefe and Ward and half a dozen more;
You may quote by rote from the record book in a way that I deplore;
You may rave, I say, till the break of day, but the truth remains the truth:
From “One Old Cat” to the last “At Bat”, was there ever a guy like Ruth?
He can start and go, he can catch and throw, he can field with the very best.
He’s the Prince of Ash and the King of Crash, and that’s not an idle jest.
He can hit that ball o’er the garden wall, high up and far away,
Beyond the aftermost picket lines where the fleet-foot fielders stray.
He’s the Bogey Man of the pitching clan and he clubs ’em soon and late;
He has manned his guns and hit home runs from here to the Golden Gate;
With vim and verve he has walloped the curve from Texas to Duluth,
Which is no small task, and I beg to ask: Was there ever a guy like Ruth?
You may rise and sing till the rafters ring that sad and sorrowful strain:
“They strive and fail–it’s the old, old tale; they never come back again.”
Yes, it’s in the dope, when they hit the slope they’re off for the shadowed vale,
But the great, big Bam with the circuit slam came back on the uphill trail;
Came back with cheers from the drifted years where the best of them go down;
Came back once more with a record score to wear a brighter crown.
My voice may be loud above the crowd and my words just a bit uncouth,
But I’ll stand and shout till the last man’s out: There was never a guy like Ruth!
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