I have eagerly returned to this wonderful piece of the planet almost bursting to share some vacation news.

The Big Bam.

Read it.

It is Robert W. Creamer’s epic tale of Babe Ruth advanced to the 21st century by Leigh Montville, erstwhile Boston Globe columnist, and if you can’t afford to buy it ($15.95) you can read my copy.

That’s how captivating (and timely) it is.

I read Creamer’s defining book on Ruth 25 years ago and declared that no other work on the Sultan of Swat would be worthy.

I was way wrong.

In the age of Barry Bonds, it is fascinating to read how the Caliph of Clout was publicly forgiven for his many flaws. He used a corked bat. He ridiculed his manager. He was selfish, childish and untrustworthy. Indeed, excessive drinking was only a small part of the Bam’s error-filled personal lineup.

Why did America so readily accept this childish character? Because he admitted his mistakes, asked forgiveness, and always seemed to hit a classic home run the next day.

And then repeat the process a week later.

The Big Bambino didn’t have a mean-spirited bone in his bulging body. If only B. Bonds could read the book.

My endorsement of Montville’s Big Bam is this: when I reached page 350, nearing the end, I began to read with dread. I did not want to finish this marvelous book.

You can thank me later.