Don't compare me to Babe Ruth. God gave me the opportunity and

Host: The stadium lights glowed like artificial stars against the indigo Chicago sky. The field below was empty now — the crowd’s roar long faded, the echo of victory and loss hanging in the humid night air like the scent of sweat and grass. In the stands, the seats still glistened with raindrops, leftovers from a storm that had passed just before the first pitch.

Jack sat on the edge of the dugout, elbows on his knees, his hands stained faintly with the chalk dust of memory. A baseball rolled slowly between his palms, the scuffed surface catching the glow of the floodlights. Jeeny stood behind him, leaning on the railing, her silhouette framed by the glow of the field — a still figure amid the ghosts of a thousand games.

Jeeny: “Sammy Sosa once said, ‘Don’t compare me to Babe Ruth. God gave me the opportunity and the ability to be here at the right time, at the right moment, just like he gave Babe Ruth when he was playing. I just hope I can keep doing what I’ve been doing — keep taking care of business.’”

Jack: (half-smiling) “You know, that’s the rare kind of humility that only comes from greatness.”

Jeeny: “Or from pressure. It’s hard to be compared to a myth when you’re still trying to be a man.”

Host: The wind picked up, moving through the empty seats with a sound like whispers — as if the stadium itself remembered every cheer, every heartbreak, every pitch that changed history.

Jack: “Funny thing about legends — people think they’re born, but they’re built. And the first thing you lose when you become one is yourself.”

Jeeny: “That’s why Sosa’s line hits so deep. He wasn’t chasing Ruth. He was trying to hold onto his own humanity. ‘Right time, right moment’ — that’s gratitude, not arrogance.”

Jack: “Gratitude’s rare in competition. You can’t look up and look grateful at the same time.”

Jeeny: “True. But he wasn’t looking up — he was looking inward. There’s a difference. The man knew he was part of something bigger than himself. When he said ‘God gave me the opportunity,’ he wasn’t talking about luck. He was acknowledging purpose.”

Host: The scoreboard lights blinked lazily in the distance — faint numbers, fading meaning. A lone janitor’s broom brushed across the dugout steps, the sound crisp, steady, the soundtrack of endings.

Jack: “You think that’s why he mentioned Babe Ruth? To remind people that greatness is just timing and grace, not entitlement?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Sosa knew comparison is a thief — it steals joy from the present and turns pride into burden. He wasn’t denying Ruth’s legacy. He was defining his own.”

Jack: “Still, you can’t play in this world without being compared. Every field, every profession — someone’s always got their Babe Ruth.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But legends don’t repeat — they evolve. The world doesn’t need another Ruth. It needs whoever’s willing to step up when it’s their turn.”

Host: Jack lifted the baseball, turning it over in his hand. The stitching caught the light — bright, red, deliberate, like veins carrying the pulse of every swing and strike that ever mattered.

Jack: “You know, when I was younger, I used to think success was about proving I was better than the ones before me. Now I realize it’s about proving I’m still learning.”

Jeeny: “That’s what ‘taking care of business’ really means — not dominance, but diligence. Staying consistent. Staying grateful. Sosa wasn’t boasting about home runs — he was talking about responsibility.”

Jack: (quietly) “Yeah. The humility of showing up.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The unglamorous truth of success — showing up again, even when the cheers fade.”

Host: A train horn echoed in the distance — the city breathing its eternal rhythm. Jeeny stepped closer, her voice softer now, carrying the kind of warmth that came not from sentiment, but understanding.

Jeeny: “What I love about that quote is that it’s not about rivalry or records. It’s about alignment. He recognized that greatness isn’t a race — it’s a moment when preparation meets divine timing. He didn’t claim to be Ruth; he claimed to belong to his own moment.”

Jack: “And maybe that’s the most we can ever ask for — to show up at the right time and not waste it.”

Jeeny: “To recognize the gift when it’s handed to you — and honor it by working.”

Host: The lights began to dim now, one by one, as the stadium fell into shadow. Jack tossed the baseball once, catching it with a hollow, satisfying thud.

Jack: “You know, there’s something sacred about that. ‘God gave me the opportunity.’ It’s not ego — it’s acknowledgment. Every swing, every moment, it’s borrowed light.”

Jeeny: “Borrowed, yes — but bright enough to pass on.”

Jack: “That’s the paradox of greatness — it’s never yours, but you still have to carry it.”

Jeeny: “Like the bat, or the crown, or the stage. All of it — temporary, yet timeless.”

Host: The last floodlight flickered, leaving them in near darkness, save for the faint blue glow of the moon reflecting off the field. The grass gleamed wet and quiet.

Jack: “You think that’s what he meant by ‘taking care of business’? Holding the line between gratitude and ambition?”

Jeeny: “Yes. It’s a vow — to work, to serve, to stay humble in the midst of noise. To remember that talent isn’t ownership — it’s stewardship.”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “Stewardship of the moment.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Sosa knew that his moment wouldn’t last forever, but while it did, he treated it like something sacred. That’s what separates the player from the legend.”

Host: Silence lingered — vast, peaceful. The kind that follows the last note of a national anthem or the closing of a curtain.

Jack: “You know, I think people remember the numbers, the records, the trophies. But what they really feel — what stays — is how you carried your moment.”

Jeeny: “And whether you shared its light or hoarded it.”

Host: The camera rose slowly, capturing them from above — two silhouettes framed against the empty field, bathed in the soft afterglow of effort and grace.

Host: “And in that quiet stadium,” the world seemed to whisper, “they understood what Sammy Sosa meant — that greatness is not a mirror of someone else’s glory, but a covenant with one’s own calling. That opportunity is divine, ability is borrowed, and taking care of business is the truest form of gratitude.”

The wind stirred again, lifting dust from the base paths, carrying it gently into the night. The city lights blinked beyond the stands — eternal, watchful, alive.

Host: “For every Babe Ruth there is a Sosa — and for every legend, a man who understands that the real legacy isn’t comparison, but continuation.”