Me and The Babe

There are certain people that I know I could have been or could be friends with. Perhaps I have World Series fever, but I have no doubt that back in the day, me and George Herman Ruth were BFF and we were totally tearing up the town prohibition style.

Me and Babe Ruth would have hit if off famously and he would have been wowed by my extensive knowledge of Yankees baseball. And when I say extensive knowledge, I mean the Richter Scale of Hotness that I rank all the players on. Matsui? He's for the birds, I prefer a more rugged man … Swisher is definitely a 10.0. Dip, mohawk, and all.

Also, I could have totally been his wingman doing the late-night thing. He was known for being a playboy of sorts and enjoying the hooch and the love of a lady friend or two. I am sure he worried if the ladies loved him for 'George', or if they loved him for being 'The Babe.' I sympathize with the man because I know what it's like to have people throw themselves at you because you are so rich and beautiful. I do have a fur jacket and not to toot my own horn, but I was a Paul Mitchell hair model.

Come to think of it, perhaps there is more to this fictitious friendship than I originally suspected. Our lives most certainly overlap … there is our love of the good life, the rubenesque figure we both share, and of course our appreciation for the greatest baseball team ever. The House that Ruth Built is kind of like a home to me, I've spent quite a few hours there over the years. Now, I am not saying that in another life I was Babe Ruth, I'll leave that up for you to decide, but I will say that there is nothing that is making me believe otherwise. Period. End of story.


Go Yanks!