Pete Rose is too rich a character to fit on a bronze plaque. He requires a good, trenchant, poignant (ah, Petey) book, and this is it.

It's my belief that sanity lies in realizing that reality is not exactly what we had in mind.

I do some eccentric dancing.

I prefer my oysters fried; that way I know my oysters died.

Cats have intercepted my footsteps at the ankle for so long that my gait, both at home and on tour, has been compared to that of a man wading through low surf.

I always wanted to win the Super Bowl so I could take it and hold it and see what lies beyond it. I think it may be the sun.

The local groceries are all out of broccoli, loccoli.