Have you ever realized a life-long dream?

Oh, I have.

On the first day of May, a Monday, in the year 2000, Kathy and I walked the short distance down--naturally, Main Street--from our quarters at the Cooper Inn to the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, New York. On the previous evening, upon our arrival, we watched ESPN's Sunday Night Baseball broadcast. In Cooperstown. Surreal.   

The idyllic village of Cooperstown was founded on the shore of Lake Otsego by the father of James Fenimore Cooper--author of The Last of the Mohicans and other classics of American literature. Cooperstown, more importantly to me, is the mythical--that is to say, not the actual--birthplace of baseball and home to the Hall of Fame.    

One scribe, reflecting upon the town's mystique, observed: "You feel close to the game's nineteenth-century roots. The town is not much more than a remote hamlet, set amid small green mountains at the tip a long, narrow strip of lake. To call it otherworldly, out of time, Brigadoonish, might seem extreme--except to anyone who has been there in summer. Then it would be almost too obvious to mention. It's a surprise to discover that the town's clocks actually move or that a Coke costs more than a nickel. You expect every local to be a farmer, tavernkeeper, or blacksmith" (Evans, Baseball: An Illustrated History, page 61).    

As we made our way up the walk to the front entrance of the Hall, I was overcome with emotion. (I know, kinda sad, but if you've ever experienced gratitude for a dream fulfilled, you'd get it.) Unable to contain my tears, Kathy left me outside while she went in and purchased our admissions.

After a few moments to settle myself and restore my dignity, we reverently walked inside the old brick, church-like edifice, dedicated in 1939. The first exhibit to greet us was a foretaste of the treasures we'd see throughout the day. There was Babe Ruth's familiar, enormous overcoat--the one I'd seen in countless old photographs--and the original contract that sent him from the Boston Red Sox to the New York Yankees.  

Henry Frazee, owner of the Sox and a theatrical producer, sold the promising young Ruth for a staggering package of cash and loans worth almost a half-million dollars--a portion of which was used to finance a new stage play, a production that evolved into No, No, Nanette. No, no, you nuts? With the sale of Ruth, Mr. Frazee unknowingly initiated a century-long inferiority complex within the Red Sox community toward the Yankees.

Ruth's overcoat and contract, along with numerous other artifacts brought life and color to a mythical man whom I had only known from choppy, old black and white newsreels.

Babe Ruth is presumed by many today to have been something of a buffoon with enormous appetites. In reality, however, the man transformed the game of baseball: from a low-scoring game marked by singles and speed and "inside-the-park" homers to a high-scoring power game dominated by towering home runs that the old ball parks could not contain. Ruth's skills altered the complexion and the strategy of the game and even affected the way stadiums were designed and built.

To illustrate, in 1914, Ruth's rookie year, Frank "Home Run" Baker--no, I didn't make up that ironic nickname--led the majors with all of nine home runs. Nine. For those of you who prefer Harry Potter or the National Hockey League over baseball, that's not very many. Over the next decade, Ruth had a propensity for breaking his own escalating records for home runs in a season until he clubbed sixty in 1927, a record that would stand for thirty-four years.

By the way, on that magical day in Cooperstown, we saw the bat Ruth used to hit number sixty. It's worth noting, many contemporary ball players would have neither the strength nor the dexterity to swing the heavy piece of lumber with any success. 

Between his appetites and gigantic home runs, Babe Ruth's name became an adjective. No, really. It's in the dictionary. When someone does something of enormous proportions, even on occasion outside of sports, their deed is often described as "Ruthian." Now, how cool is that.

That memorable week in New York began at the Hall of Fame and culminated the following Friday night with our first visit to Yankee Stadium in the Bronx, the original park built in 1923 and affectionately known as "The House that Ruth Built." Honestly, it was like sitting in a cathedral.

The trip was Ruthian.

So, if your name became an adjective, what would it mean?

What would you like it to reflect?

How then will you live to make it so?

Photo credit: <a href="http://www.shutterstock.com/gallery-58958p1.html?cr=00&pl=edit-00">9246263575</a> / <a href="http://www.shutterstock.com/?cr=00&pl=edit-00">Shutterstock.com</a>