Just speed, raw speed, blinding speed, too much speed.

The great trouble with baseball today is that most of the players are in the game for the money and that's it, not for the love of it, the excitement of it, the thrill of it.

The crowd makes the ballgame.

Walter Johnson's fastball looked about the size of a watermelon seed and it hissed at you as it passed.

Every man in the game, from the minors on up, is not only fighting against the other side, but he's trying to hold onto his own job against those on his own bench who'd love to take it away. Why deny this? Why minimize it? Why not boldly admit it?

Baseball was one-hundred percent of my life.

The best recommendation for an umpire in the old days was: "He licked somebody in the Three-I League. He ought to do.