I've never heard a crowd boo a homer, but I've heard plenty of boos after a strikeout.
As soon as I got out there I felt a strange relationship with the pitcher's mound. It was as if I'd been born out there. Pitching just felt like the most natural thing in the world. Striking out batters was easy.
I'd play for half my salary if I could hit in this dump (Wrigley Field) all the time.
What the hell has Hoover got to do with it? Besides, I had a better year than he did.
I said I'm going to hit the next one right over the flagpole. God must have been with me.
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.