I'd play for half my salary if I could hit in this dump (Wrigley Field) all the time.
After all, there's only one aswer to be made to the young fellow who is asking constantly for advice as to how to hit. The answer is: "Pick out a good one and sock it!
Well, the good Lord and good luck must have been with me because I did exactly what I said I was going to do.
I only have one superstition: I make sure to touch all the bases when I hit a home run.
If it wasn't for baseball, I'd be in either the penitentiary or the cemetery. I have the same violent temper my father and older brother had. Both died of injuries from street fights in Baltimore, fights begun by flare-ups of their tempers.
The only real game, I think, in the world is baseball.
Gee, its lonesome in the outfield. It's hard to keep awake with nothing to do.
They started something here, and the kids are keeping the ball rolling.
How to hit home runs: I swing as hard as I can, and I try to swing right through the ball... The harder you grip the bat, the more you can swing it through the ball, and the farther the ball will go. I swing big, with everything I've got. I hit big or I miss big. I like to live as big as I can.
Aw, everybody knows that game, the day I hit the homer off ole Charlie Root there in Wrigley Field, the day October first, the third game of that thirty-two World Series. But right now I want to settle all arguments. I didn't exactly point to any spot, like the flagpole. Anyway, I didn't mean to, I just sorta waved at the whole fence, but that was foolish enough. All I wanted to do was give that thing a ride... outta the park... anywhere.
To my sick little pal. I will try to knock you another homer, maybe two today.
I don't give a damn about any actors. What good will John Barrymore do you with the bases loaded and two down in a tight ball game. Either I get the money (more than Barrymore), or I don't play!
(Ty) Cobb is a prick. But he sure can hit. God Almighty, that man can hit.
The curve and the fast one are important; the change of pace and the other trick deliveries are great but they're not worth a plugged nickel unless you have control to go along with them. And by control I don't mean the ability to put the ball over the plate somewhere between the shoulders and knees. I mean the ability to hit a three-inch target nine times out of ten, the sort of control that lets you put the ball in the exact spot you want it, and to play a corner to the split fraction of an inch.
I didn't mean to hit the umpire with the dirt, but I did mean to hit that bastard in the stands.
Let me show you how it's done... Loser!
How about a little noise. How do you expect a man to putt?
Paris ain't much of a town.
You know this baseball game of ours comes up from the youth - that means the boys. And after you've been a boy, and grow up to know how to play ball, then you come to the boys you see representing themselves today in our national pastime.
I've never heard a crowd boo a homer, but I've heard plenty of boos after a strikeout.
I hit an inside-the-park home run! I beat it out! Can you believe that?
What the hell difference does it make?
What the hell has (Herbert) Hoover got to do with it? Anyway, I had a better year than he did.
Hotter 'n hell, ain't it, Prez?
What the hell has Hoover got to do with it? Besides, I had a better year than he did.
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