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.

I'll play baseball for the Army or fight for it, whatever they want me to do.

If you want to know who was better, me or Willie Mays, you have to look at our career stats. And Willie's bottom line was better.

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.

I expected him to say, 'Hang in there' or something like that. It took me an hour to talk him into giving me another chance!

Bravery is a complicated thing to describe. You can't say it's three feet long and two feet wide and that it weighs four hundred pounds or that it's colored bright blue or that it sounds like a piano or that it smells like roses. It's a quality, not a thing.

It was all I lived for, to play baseball.