No one ever grew up intending to be an umpire, except perhaps my friend Bill Haller. His brother Tom wanted to be a catcher, so an affinity for masks must run in that family.

Being an umpire is like being a king. It prepares you for nothing.

Like some cult religion that barely survives, there has always been at least one but rarely more than five or six devotees throwing the knuckleball in the big leagues . . . Not only can't pitchers control it, hitters can't hit it, catchers can't catch it, coaches can't coach it and most pitchers can't learn it. The perfect pitch.

The practical joke is the psychiatry of baseball.

Any umpire who claims he has never missed a play is . . . well, an umpire.

I never called a balk in my life. I didn't understand the rule.

One reason I never called balks is that I never understood the rule.