Whatever else I do before finally I go to my grave, I hope it will not be looking after young people.

As the game enters its glorious final weeks, the chill of fall signals the reality of defeat for all but one team. The fields of play will turn brown and harden, the snow will fall, but in the heart of the fan sprouts a sprig of green.

Although the world proved not yet ready for the brotherhood of baseball, that would be only a matter of time, baseball magnates believed.

We play because we are wired for joy; it is imperative as human beings.

Life is more about losing than winning.

I'd just like to see - in writing about baseball - more energy and better craft, minus statistical bludgeoning and invective.

Planning to play: that's what saving for retirement is today - and it is antithetical to the nature of play, fully within the definition of work, and blissfully ignorant of the reality of death.