Baseball has never been known as a perilous pursuit; seldom is the Grim Reaper seen, his scythe laid by, warming up with four bats. Yet, at the present time, twilight has fallen upon the Gods, managers have made mutterings to the effect that the state of affairs is baseball's Götterdämmerung. Babe Ruth, home run magnate, "attended by the sympathy of the Nation" and press, lay in Manhattan, stricken with cold, run-down condition, influenza, indigestion and a bump on the head. In Nashville, Tenn., visited with far less solicitude, Tyrus Cobb, "the greatest...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
