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| Babe Ruth's Ghost|
|Author Fred Cooprider|
|Script (Min 8 needed)||$5.50||Purchase||Purchase|
|Performance Royalty |
(1 needed for each performance)
| The play opens with the audience seated at Fenway Park, Boston. The Peanut Vendor relates the history of Fenway Park and her beloved Boston Red Sox (and actually sells peanuts). The audience learns of Babe Ruth's start in Boston as a pitcher in 1914, and of the sale of Babe to the Yankees in 1920. |
In Act I, Scene 2, a drunk and angry Babe Ruth sells his soul to the devil in exchange for living the high life, setting baseball records, and The Curse of the Bambino. Boston will never win another World Series. Babe dies in 1948 and the Devil collects his due; Babe is condemned to haunt Fenway.
We forward to opening day of the 2004 season. Babe befriends 13-year-old Samantha and invites her to Fenway the next day for batting practice. Sam thinks Babe is a groundskeeper, but discovers his identity during batting practice when Babe hits two mammoth home runs. And she learns that only she can see him. Before she leaves Fenway, she goes to make a phone call and is followed by a man.
Babe thinks this man is stalking Sam and is about to punch him when Sam returns, and we discover that this man is Sam's deceased father, Bill Collins, whom Sam cannot see. Sam exits and Babe is perplexed. Why did Bill come back if Sam can't see him? Bill didn't come back for Sam, he came back for Babe. Why? Well, Babe, you probably don't know this but, God is a Red Sox fan. The rest of the play is devoted to the resolution of several conflicts, including The Curse.
While this is obvious fiction, the details in the play about Babe Ruth's life are researched and accurate. Of course, legend, myth, and embroidery may have entered in. A card game between Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig is an embroidery of my own, but the temporary falling out between the two men is fact.
This play was written in 2001. It has been updated to the 2004 baseball season for obvious reasons. The Curse ended when Boston won the 2004 World Series. I do not know if art is imitating life, or life is imitating art. The writer says he is just a happy Red Sox fan.