Every baseball crowd, like every theatre audience, has its own distinctive attitude and atmosphere.

What can I do, I asked myself, that is so spectacular that no one will be able to say he had seen it before? The answer was perfectly obvious. I would send a midget up to bat.

The true harbinger of spring is not crocuses or swallows returning to Capistrano, but the sound of the bat on the ball.

I try not to kid myself. You know, I don't mind romancing someone else, but to fool yourself is pretty devastating and dangerous.

I was in the game for love. After all, where else can an old-timer with one leg, who can't hear or see, live like a king while doing the only thing I wanted to do?

An island of surety in a changing world.

The season starts too early and finishes too late and there are too many games in between.