Someone told me just recently that poets are eulogists. It's their job, to eulogize. I didn't know that, but it makes sense. Because in almost every poem of mine there is a loss.

A manager uses a relief pitcher like a six shooter, he fires until it's empty then takes the gun and throws it at the villain.

When I came over here (the National League), I always heard it was a stronger league, with amphetamines all over the clubhouse, but all I found was Michelob Dry.

It (his contract) has options through the year 2020 or until the last Rocky movie is made.

I became a better pitcher when I found a delivery in my flaw.

I have seen the future and it's like the present, only longer.

Natural grass is a wonderful thing for little bugs and sinkerball pitchers.