The base paths belonged to me, the runner. The rules gave me the right. I always went into a bag full speed, feet first. I had sharp spikes on my shoes. If the baseman stood where he had no business to be and got hurt, that was his fault.
When two doctors pass each other on the street they wink at each other.
Don't come home a failure.
When I came to Detroit I was just a mild-mannered Sunday-school boy.
A ball bat is a wondrous weapon.
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.