One curve I'll always remember was when I was pitching for Pittsburgh. Terry Kennedy was a young player with St. Louis. I threw him an 0-2 curve and it snapped. Terry's reaction was to swing straight down, like he was chopping the plate with an axe. It was the last out of the inning. After I ran off the mound, I looked over at the St. Louis dugout. There were players rolling around on the floor, laughing. Poor Terry. I'll have to admit that was a hell of a curveball.

It enrages me to see only certain players singled out for the Hall of Fame because they were born with a God-given specialty. When I take my kids to the Baseball Hall of Fame, I want them to experience the full array of talents that make the game what it is today, not just the larger-than-life freaks of nature. I want them to know that you don't have to be the biggest or the strongest to reach your goals, and that hard work and perseverance are also rewarded.

I'm from Southern California, so I feel much more comfortable with a golf club in my hand than I do a weapon.

The problem with being Comeback Player of the Year is it means you have to go somewhere before you can come back.

I love baseball. I love watching baseball. As a broadcaster, I get to watch the best 700 players put on the uniform year after year. That, to me, is exciting.

The best thing about the New Year is your 4.90 ERA disappears and starts back at zero.

I know I've got a lock on the Dutch Hall of Fame.