Running nearly 19 hours, Ken Burns' documentary Baseball is at the very least a testament to the sport's endless capacity for mythmaking, as its epic duels and larger-than-life icons intertwine with a full century of American life. In many ways, the simplicity of the game holds the potential for unassailable heroes, less open to the natural corruption of politics or celebrity. While a few such as "Shoeless" Joe Jackson or Pete Rose tarnished their legendary status, Aviva Kempner's deeply felt documentary, The Life And Times Of Hank Greenberg, unearths a genuine folk hero in a Hall Of Fame slugger whose hits resonated well off the field of play. Told in a scrupulous assemblage of vintage radio broadcasts, archival footage, and interviews with teammates and family members, Greenberg's story is inextricably linked to the plight of Jewish-Americans in the '30s and '40s. It was a heavy burden for Greenberg, but the 6'4" Detroit Tigers first baseman had strong shoulders, weathering an ugly period of pre-war anti-Semitism while amassing numbers and pennants to rival Babe Ruth. While Jewish ballplayers had played in the majors under altered names, the Bronx-raised Greenberg never denied his roots, even though he did not consider himself religious. When he would set aside baseball to observe Yom Kippur—which unluckily edges right on the season's home stretch—he did so out of an abiding respect for his heritage. The Life And Times Of Hank Greenberg makes a good case for him as both an extraordinary athlete (his single-season RBIs and HRs still rank among the best) and an inspiring figure, like the Jewish Jackie Robinson. Kempner is content not to question his heroism, which is usually a suspicious practice for a documentary, but a myth as powerful and sustaining as Greenberg's is better left unpunctured.