Good Afternoon Everyone!
This is my first attempt at entering the #sankofa contest. It is my spin on the Deal with the Devil tale. One part history drenched in Americana and one part pure folktale.
If you have any interest in learning more about the contest and how to enter you can read more here! Thanks 
I have a tale to tell and it goes something like this.
The Devil and The Babe
Bitter Winter ’17, Rural Massachusetts
Well, it was the winter of ’17 and most of the boys had gone to War but not even that ruinous machine could stop America’s Favorite Pastime. The game played on, or it would come Spring.
It was bitter cold and a young pitcher by the name of George Herman Ruth stood outside of his Massachusetts cottage cutting wood, not for the first time, in order to keep from freezing.
“Damned this Northern winter,” said Ruth to nobody in particular “I won’t be any good for Spring ball, used up from all of this chopping. I’d give anything to be finished!”
“I can chop that wood for ya.”
“The devil!” he exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his boots “And who are you mister?”
“Just so and you can call me Jack,” genuflected the stranger.
The tall lean man sported a finely trimmed goatee. Of peculiar Victorian dress, not at all conducive to the frigid morning, finished with a top hat and cane.
“I was merely out for my morning stroll and thought I heard you mention you could use some wood choppin.”
“Out for your morning stroll? Mister, umm, Jack, there isn’t a soul around here for miles.” The young player said incredulously.
“Just one. Say…….you’re that fella, plays for the Red Sox, the one they call ‘Babe’?”
Ruth shook his head in the affirmative as the stranger continued.
“Well, I love baseball and the Sox in particular. Let me help you with that wood. Let’s make a deal.”
“Well now, I am awfully cold and have been wasting away at this infernal task all winter, I am afraid there will be little left of me come Spring. What did you have in mind?”
The stranger reached into his petticoat and with a flourish of smoke withdrew a rolled sheet of paper and pointed at the blank line on the unfurled bottom.
“I just need you to sign right here, George, and I’ll have you squared away for the rest of winter, won’t have to split another twig.”
“Alright, I think I have now deduced who you may be and if what I suspect is true, you’re a gambling man like me.”
“I am”
“Good then, it is settled, on account of you being generous enough to save me a season of ridicule I’ll sign your contract straight away with no questions, but once training starts if I am able to hit the ball farther than anyone that’s come before me, this contract is void.”
“A pitcher!”
The tall stranger doubled over in laughter at the very thought of a pitcher being the longest hitter in baseball, especially one with as little experience as ‘Babe’.
“Tell you what, George, I’ll take that bet, payment is as sure as mine.”
He handed paper and pen over to the shivering young man who proceeded to scrawl his full name across the bottom of the contract.
“Well, thanks, Mister Jack. Suppose you’ll need to be borrowing my axe?”
“The deed is done, George.” The long slender hand pointed to the cottage.
Stacked from ground to roof and then again over, was the finest seasoned wood a man could have asked for.
“I’ll be watching you come Spring, George.” He tilted his hat in salutations. “A pitcher…” chuckling, and was gone.
A month of hard work done in a flash but at what expense, Babe thought. He’d better win that bet. And with that he put down his ax and picked up his bat.
Spring Training ’18, Hot Springs, AR
A man could have anything he wanted in Hot Springs, AR - women, liquor, a game of cards, but what most wanted was to watch Baseball. America’s Premiere Institution had long ago been attracted to the area on account of the purported therapeutic properties of the town’s namesake. It is here that we now find our young star, ready to make history.
The Great War has left the once surging ranks of Baseball in a depleted state, including the mighty Red Sox. Management is forced into the unorthodox and must move their young pitcher, seemingly on his way to stardom at the mound, onto the field. It is the first exhibition game of the season at Whittington Park, against the Brooklyn Dodgers.
The stands are full, fans for both teams in a clamor, as the game enters its fourth inning. Babe approaches home plate, bat in tow. He stares down the pitcher and looks to the fences, he remembers his deal. The ball comes flying, released at the height of the pitch, straight down the middle. Babe swings with all of his might and a prayer. The crack of the bat echoes across the field, the crowd is on its feet. Soaring over the fielder’s heads it comes to rest in a wood pile at the back of the park. Babe takes his bases and rounds into home to a tide of applause. But he knows it’s not enough, not even close, the contract still stands.
Walking back to the bench he hears, “Babe! Babe! Yoo-hoo!”
He turns to look and lays eyes on the most stunning woman he had ever seen. Blonde bobbed hair and a sequined white dress, a starlet come to life. Always the gambler, he took his chance and sauntered over, leaned against the rail and said “Hey there angel, what’s your name?”
“Angel.” She replied giggling, with a wink.
“Angel, huh?” He said wryly.
The game played on as the Babe and Angel talked. Him all gusto, her, coy as a fox.
The fourth inning ended and the fifth was a blur.
“Hell, Ruth, get your head out of the clouds, it’s the sixth inning. You’re up!” Yelled the team manager.
He stood to take his place at the plate and heard Angel shout from the stands “Hit it out of the park for me, Babe!”
A kiss as good as blown.
“Sure thing, Angel.” He said under his breath.
He ground his cleats into the earth, adjusted his grip on the bat, could feel his heart in every breath. The pitch came sailing in, the contact shook to his very core. A thunderous crack and the ball was up, up and it was gone. Over the right field fence, over the road, it landed with a splash. An alligator farm, a local attraction, had neighbored the park for years. The fans on both sides rose to their feet. The Dodgers stood in amazement, jaws dropped. With that hit Babe rounded the bases into history.
It wasn’t until many years later that the measurements were made. Five hundred feet. At the time the longest hit in Baseball. The contract was void and in his heart Babe knew. He never saw Angel or Jack again.
An employee of the local alligator farm for years long past told a story of that day.
When the baseball went into the water one of the alligators went to cursing up a storm and rose onto two legs and marched out the front gate, upon following the peculiar reptile to the street the employee saw nothing out of the ordinary, just a well-dressed man walking down the avenue away from the roaring scene.
Thanks again for your time and attention!
