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.

You never have to wait long, or look far, to be reminded of how thin the line is between being a hero or a goat.

Ralph (Houk) brought out the best in everybody, and that included me. I consider myself lucky to have played for him.

You don't have to talk to me about pensions. I won't be around long enough to collect one.

His fielding leaves you wondering. Then he steps up to hit and all doubts start to fade.

I never understood how someone who was dying could say he was the luckiest man in the world, but now I understand.

Butcher boy, damn it, butcher boy.