Butcher boy, damn it, butcher boy.

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

Not after all the time my dad spent teaching me to switch-hit.

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.

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.

What did you say, Joe?

You don't realize how easy this game is until you get up in that broadcasting booth.