A Memphian Mourns on August 16

Today is one of those truly historic days. A day when an historic life ended, a life that changed the world, overwhelmingly for the better. A life that will be remembered forever, honored, researched, celebrated and imitated. It was a life of genuine accomplishment, achieving feats no one else could duplicate, even years after the death that ended this remarkable person's journey. Only that assessment doesn't cover things, because, if anything, the individual's face, story and records are better known today than during his lifetime.
Babe Ruth died on August 16, 1948.
Babe Ruth was the Home Run King. His long ball escapades are not generally appreciated accurately. Last year, when the artificially enhanced Barry Bonds was surpassing the thoroughly honorable Hank Aaron, it was continually reported that Aaron had broken Ruth's 39 year old record, and Bonds was taking down Aaron's 33 year reign. Only problem: Ruth didn't become the home run champ upon his retirement in 1935; he set the career home run record in 1921, with number 139. Roger Connor, a first baseman pricipally for the New York Giants in the 1880's, had held the record since his 1897 retirement. Ruth lifted the record from 138 to 714, and held the record for 53 years. (Take just a moment to consider the extensions: Aaron went from 714 to 755; Bonds from 755 to *762; Ruth went from 138 to 714. That is an increase of 417%!)
It took Ruth only 8 years, and just three of those as an every day player, to make the record his own. You see, there is one simple basic reason that Ruth will always stand as the unquestioned best player in baseball history: before he was the greatest slugger in the game, he had been the best left-handed pitcher in the game.
As much as we enjoy Rick Ankiel's exploits this year, Ruth was the best lefty in the majors from 1915 through 1918, and the greatest hitter from 1918 until 1935. There is no comparison, and give the age at which kids are forced to specialize today, there never will be.
To this day, fantastic exploits are "Ruthian." Players who look younger than their years are still "Babe." Top guys must still be given nicknames, and we're not talking about that Chris Berman junk, either. The Sultan of Swat. The Maharishi of Mash. The Bambino. The Big Bam. That's why we have The Hammer, both Iron Horses, The Say Hey Kid, both Pudges, Mr. October and The Goose. They are all following in the footsteps, the larger than life footsteps, of George Herman "Babe" Ruth, who died sixty years ago today.
Thanks, Babe! We'll never forget you.
Or that other King who died today. You know, the rock'n'roll guy.
(It is interesting to me that Aug. 16 has seen a number of notable deaths: The two noted, Babe Ruth in 1948 and Elvis Presley in 1977, but also Bela Lugosi-1956, Admiral Bull Halsey-1959, Margaret Mitchell-1949, Gunsmoke's Miss Kitty, Amanda Blake-1989, Stewart Granger-1993, Newsman and Timex shill, John Cameron Swayze-1995, Idi Amin-2003, and, after the Babe and the King, dearest to my heart, legendary Bluesman Robert Johnson-1938)