Let's celebrate these winning numbers, not hide them away

Here and there, in private and public places, numbers mean special things to different people.

Numbers can represent a significant milestone - a mother's 85th birthday - or spark a debate over the memory of a baseball icon.

Out of town recently to celebrate my mother's birthday, I read a story in the Baltimore Sun about a woman who wants Major League Baseball to retire the number worn by her grandfather - Babe Ruth.

Linda Ruth Tosetti doesn't understand why the Babe's No. 3 is still in circulation around the major leagues. Like Jackie Robinson's

No. 42, she thinks the Babe's number should never be worn by another big leaguer.

For more than a year, Tosetti has been petitioning the commissioner's office and collecting signatures on her Web site - retirebabesnumber.com.

"I'm not going away," she said. "If they think this girl is gonna go anywhere and shut up, they're dead wrong."

Robinson's number was retired because, as the player who broke major league baseball's color barrier in 1947, his career contained great sociological importance.

Tosetti has no problem with that.

"I think what Jackie did was very, very important," she said. "I think what my grandfather did was just as important."

The game's first great home run hitter, Ruth is credited with rescuing baseball from the morass of the 1919 Black Sox scandal. In so many ways - on the field and in American folklore - the Babe was a transcendent figure. Still is.

Does that mean the figure on his uniform should be taken out of circulation?

I don't think so.

For that matter, I think baseball made a mistake when it removed Robinson's No. 42 from the game in 1997.

Baseball's tribute to Robinson is well-intentioned, but if the purpose is to help people remember the man and his unique accomplishments, preventing anyone from ever again wearing his number might create the opposite effect.

Putting No. 42 back in circulation - and explaining why - is a better way of making Robinson relevant to today's history-impaired players and fans. If I ran the game, I'd require one African-American player on each big-league team to wear No. 42. That way, the number - and the significance behind it - would serve as a daily reminder of Robinson's legacy.

The same remedy could apply in the case of Roberto Clemente, and the nascent campaign to retire his No. 21 throughout baseball.

Clemente's number represents something special to an ethnic group that has contributed so much to the game. But No. 21 shouldn't be placed behind glass. Give the digits to an Hispanic player on every team and instead of collecting dust, No. 21 could spark conversation, helping to keep Clemente's memory alive.

In Ruth's case, though, No. 3 isn't a magic number. The Babe played several seasons before players were even assigned numbers. When numerals came into vogue, he was given No. 3 because he hit third in the Yankees' order.

The number for which Ruth is most remembered didn't hang on his back - it's 714, the career home run mark that Hank Aaron passed, before Barry Bonds overtook them both. For many fans who can't recall the final home run counts for Aaron or Bonds, 714 remains burned into memory.

"My grandfather is remembered," said Tosetti, "but I don't think he's honored."

I'm not sure what she means by that. Speaking of special numbers, this is the 60th anniversary of Ruth's death. How many other athletes who have been gone so long are still as revered or vital to the fabric of America?

That number would be zero.

Bob Molinaro, (757) 446-2373 or bob.molinaro@pilotonline.com