It's kind of a tradition that you get a rookie, put him in the middle, wrap your arms and legs around him, then douse him with everything you can get a hold of - shaving cream, ketchup, mustard, everything. It's kind of like a pie in the face after a guy is successful.

Sometimes you just have to play in pain.

I'll always be grateful for the dream season of 1986. In a corner of my mind I will stand forever with my bat cocked, waiting for the two-one pitch from Calvin Schiraldi.

I was going to be the best paper boy ever. I used my Sting-Ray bike and got the papers there after school. People know I porched everything. No roofs, no lawns. I stopped the bike and nailed it. And if I ever missed, I would go pick it up and do it right.

I got that nickname my first spring training camp with the Expos in 1974. Tim Foli, Ken Singleton and Mike Jorgensen started calling me 'Kid' because I was trying to win every sprint. I was trying to hit every pitch out of the park.

That's what every young kid thinks about when they first put on a uniform - is to play in the Major League and then, ultimately, play in a World Series. To me, that was the ultimate, winning in '86.

I would love to get back to the big leagues as a coach, possibly a manager. I would love that opportunity.