When I came to Detroit I was just a mild-mannered Sunday-school boy.
When two doctors pass each other on the street they wink at each other.
The great American game should be an unrelenting war of nerves.
Just speed, raw speed, blinding speed, too much speed.
I have observed that baseball is not unlike war, and when you get right down to it, we batters are the heavy artillery.
When I played ball, I didn't play for fun. . . . It's no pink tea, and mollycoddles had better stay out. It's a contest and everything that implies, a struggle for supremacy, a survival of the fittest.