Free The Selling of the Babe by Glenn Stout Page A

Ruppert had made an offer for Ruth, his performance at the Polo Grounds on May 3, 4, and 6 would have left the brewer salivating like a drunk watching the day’s kegs roll in. After the Sox dropped the first game of the series 3–2, Ruth took the mound on Saturday opposite Allen Russell. The Yankees toyed with Ruth, who was becoming more rotund by the year—the phrase “the buxom Babe” was used by more than one cheeky sportswriter—by deciding to bunt early and often down the third base line to see if Ruth and McInnis, new to the position, could handle it. They couldn’t, at least at first. Ruth made two errors and New York got an early 4–0 lead.
    The Red Sox could barely touch Yankees spitballer Russell—Ruth struck out on three pitches his first time up, but in the seventh he came to bat with two out and a man on first. This time he hit the dry side of the ball, lifting a line drive down the right field line that made the second deck, but foul by inches. According to W. J. Macbeth of the New York Tribune , the knock put “the fear of the Lord” into the Yankees.
    As he returned to the plate, the ever-confident Ruth reportedly turned to umpire Billy Evans and called his shot with godlike authority, telling him “I’ll hit this one right back, Bill.” Then he did, smacking Russell’s next pitch higher, farther, and fair. Despite cracking a ninth-inning double, Ruth still lost the game 5–4, but afterward the talk was not of the score, but of Ruth and his bat. The headline in the New York Times was emblematic, reading “Babe Ruth Is Hero, Wields Vicious Cudgel,” with the final score relegated to a subhead.
    The Great War was making it tough on everyone and everything, newspapers included. Competition was keen. Readers were both desperate for war news, loath to receive it, and eager to forget it once they’d read it. Ruth and his exploits provided a momentary escape—who cared who won the game—did anything happen that made it possible to ignore the war?
    The conflict was beginning to impact daily life in ways that no one could foresee as the government gobbled up resources needed to supply the troops and the industries that supported them. There were shortages of almost everything, and the government espoused programs like “gasless Sundays” to save resources and even the most basic goods—meat, coal, and other fuels—were in short supply. Baseball was not immune.
    As American troops entered into actual combat, their supply needs changed as the military quickly discovered that some items and materials that worked during training exercises were almost useless in the trenches of France. The company that eventually became known for “Wolverine” brand boot developed a new tanning process for horsehide just before the start of the war that made horsehide the leather of choice for high-top boots, just as it was already the preferred option for most military jackets and gloves. As a result, in May of 1918 the U.S. government, through the War Industries Board, commandeered the nation’s supply of horsehide. Similarly, once American men took to the field, they rapidly discovered that wool, which retains warmth even when wet, was the best choice for almost everything, and high-quality wool yarn was similarly appropriated for military use, both in manufacturing and by millions of American women who were enlisted to knit a wide variety of garments for Allied troops. The wool shortage was so acute that President Woodrow Wilson set an example by allowing sheep to graze on the White House lawn, and ball clubs replaced popular “Ladies Day” promotions with “Knitting Days,” allowing women with a ball of yarn and knitting needles into the ballpark free. The only raw material used by baseball that wasn’t in short supply during the 1918 season was lumber.
    Like everyone else, baseball paid a price. At the