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There were 19,589 people scattered about the grand ballpark that day, and mostly they were there playing defense. Yes: They were also there hoping to watch the Yankees stretch their lead in the American League over the Athletics — the infidels from Philadelphia who’d beaten the Yanks out three straight years for the pennant. 

But they were there as bodyguards, too. 

Because the mighty Babe — Herr Ruth as he was then called in the newspapers — was in trouble. More specifically, his most prized personal possession — the record 60 home runs he’d hit in 1927 — was in trouble. The day he’d swatted No. 60 against Tom Zachary of the Senators some five years earlier, the Babe had crowed to his friends in the press box: 

“Sixty! Count ’em! SIXTY! Let’s see some other son of a bitch match that!”

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