Aw, everybody knows that game, the day I hit the homer off ole Charlie Root there in Wrigley Field, the day October first, the third game of that thirty-two World Series. But right now I want to settle all arguments. I didn't exactly point to any spot, like the flagpole. Anyway, I didn't mean to, I just sorta waved at the whole fence, but that was foolish enough. All I wanted to do was give that thing a ride... outta the park... anywhere.

A part of control is learning to correct your weaknesses.

I only have one superstition: I make sure to touch all the bases when I hit a home run.

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

If it wasn't for baseball, I'd be in either the penitentiary or the cemetery.

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.

The only real game, I think, in the world is baseball.