Every time I see his name (Dean Chance) on a lineup card, I feel like throwing up.

He can run, steal bases, throw, hit for average, and hit with power like I've never seen. Just don't put him at shortstop.

I've often wondered how a man who knew he was going to die could stand here and say he was the luckiest man on the face of the earth, but now I guess I know how he felt.

I can't play any more. I can't hit the ball when I need to. I can't steal second when I need to. I can't go from first to third when I need to. I can't score from second when I need to. I have to quit.

If I had played my career hitting singles like Pete (Rose), I'd wear a dress.

Because the players knew that if Billy asked them to jump off a roof, he'd jump off with them.

My dad taught me to switch-hit. He and my grandfather, who was left-handed, pitched to me every day after school in the back yard. I batted lefty against my dad and righty against my granddad.