I don't give a [expletive] what Beckett thinks. I'm out there competing. I don't care what he does on the mound. I hope he doesn't care what I do when I hit.

I don't even remember facing him. I think I might have faced him once when I got traded in 2003. He can do what he does. I'm going to make my living regardless of what he says or what he does. I never met the guy, so I don't even care. If he's going to do that, it just makes him look bad.

I think it's the atmosphere, it's everything involved with the Yankees and Yankee Stadium.

I don't think I see myself (as a DH) now. Anything can happen. There are a lot of variables involved. I broke spring training as a DH last year, I guess -- I didn't know that then -- and the majority of the games I played (were) in the field and I made the all-star team.

You’re not too bad, Finley Sinclair.”
I couldn’t have looked away from this boy if the room had caught on fire. “You’re okay yourself. At times.”
“But we can’t get involved.”
“No.” I swallowed. “Definitely not.”
His face lowered a fraction of an inch. “Because I’m infamously bad.”
“And I’m staying away from trouble.”
His voice was rough, husky. “It would never work.” I took a step closer. “Impossible.”
He traced my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “We don’t even like each other." “I pretty much can’t stand you.”
And then his lips crushed to mine.

He thought of hanging himself, to pass the time.