The Babe and Jimi

I can't say with relative certainty who the greatest baseball player of all time is. And I can't say who the greatest guitar player of all time is. I have my opinions. You have yours. But I am certain of two things. I would love to wake up one day and feel what it would be like to hit a baseball the way George Herman Ruth did. And I would love to wake up the same day and feel what it would be like to play a guitar like James Marshall Hendrix did.

I'd like to play a whole game like the Babe did. Feel what it would be like to clear the roof with a home run at the old Polo Grounds in right field, or blast one over the center field bleachers at Navin Field in Detroit, and circle the bases while the fans roared, and Ty Cobb fumed. Or knock out three bombs in the World Series, like the Babe did to the St. Louis Cardinals - twice.

Then... after the game was over, and it were time to celebrate, I'd like to head to the nearest blues club with some of my teammates. I'd be invited to sit in with the band up on the small stage. There I'd like to pick up a guitar... a Fender Stratocaster... sling it over my triumphant, home run hitting shoulders, and tune up. Being a southpaw like both Babe and Jimi, I'd sling the Strat over my shoulders backwards... upside down... lefty! And I'd play a set with the band... Little Wing, Hey Joe, Voodoo Child (Slight Return), a fourteen-minute blistering rendition of Red House, and of course, Purple Haze. I'd also play some old blues standards... maybe some Muddy Waters stuff, or John Lee Hooker, or even some Leadbelly. And I'd play it just like James Marshall Hendrix. People in the club might stop what they're doing and stare. Some might say, "What the hell is he doing?" And others would say, "He knows exactly what he's doing... and so do I."

Mind you, I wouldn't want to come back as either of these two gentlemen. I'm not a hero worshipper-wannabe-wish-I-was. I'd just like to know what it would feel like... to make that baseball bat whip around... make that audible 'crrrackkk!' when bat met ball... feeling the tingle up my arms (like Moonlight Graham says)... and making everyone else on the field jerk their heads around because my 'crrrackkk!' of the bat was distinctly louder and more powerful sounding... even in batting practice. Everyone has heard stories of all activity stopping when the Babe, Teddy Ballgame or the Mick stepped in the batting cage. I wouldn't care if they stopped when I stepped in, because it's not the attention I would care about. But when that BP pitcher threw one in there, and I stepped into his offering ('crrrackkk!' )... and everyone jerked their heads around to follow the flight of the soaring baseball as it headed for the furthest reaches of the upper right field grandstand... and then turned to look to the batting cage to see who hit that bomb... that I wouldn't mind, even as i reset myself and once again bore down, awaiting the BP pitcher's next offering.

And later that evening, I wouldn't care, as I slung that Fender Stratocaster over my shoulders and began to jam... if there were only 17 people in that blues club... including bartender, waitress, and my six teammates who tagged along. I wouldn't even mind if they lacked a non-smoking section. But I'd love to be able to feel the fingers of my right hand running up and down the frets, dancing nimbly, powerfully, lightning quick at times, deliberately, agonizingly slow at others, bending the notes... my left hand picking and strumming away... my hands making the guitar cry and sing and talk and say whatever the hell I wanted to say... making the 17 people shake their heads... nod their heads, and maybe smile because they know what I'm trying to say.

One thing that music and sports have in common. The joy that often manifests itself does not occur on the performing stage, but rather, in the informal playing around... the batting practice... the impromptu jam session... the limitless exploration and re-discovery of why you love this thing in the first place. You swing freely. You laugh as you foul one off, knowing that another one is coming, and you'll crush it! You play the guitar, or the sax, or bang that piano, playing loose as a goose and free... taking eight bars wherever the hell you want it to go, and if you miss it... don't quite get there... screw it... you take another eight bars... and you know you're gonna nail them! And you laugh and relax, because you got all night to express yourself... to let those pals jamming with you know just what it is you're trying to say.

Know what I'm trying to say?

"Shoot! I'd play this game for nothing!" (Bronx Bomber Mac..)
"Shoot! I'd play this gig for nothing!" (Jammin' Bronx Mac...)

Know what I'm trying to say?