I hit an inside-the-park home run! I beat it out! Can you believe that?

What the hell has (Herbert) Hoover got to do with it? Anyway, I had a better year than he did.

I had only one superstition. I made sure to touch all the bases when I hit a home run.

All I can tell them is pick a good one and sock it. I get back to the dugout and they ask me what it was I hit and I tell them I don't know except it looked good.

If it wasn't for baseball, I'd be in either the penitentiary or the cemetery. I have the same violent temper my father and older brother had. Both died of injuries from street fights in Baltimore, fights begun by flare-ups of their tempers.

Well, the good Lord and good luck must have been with me because I did exactly what I said I was going to do.

All ballplayers should quit when it starts to feel as if all the baselines run uphill.