It's easy, man. I just take the ball and throw. Hard! It's a God-given talent! No one can teach it to you. They either hit it or they don't.

I think I have already signed some scrap of paper for every man, woman, and child in the United States. What do they do with all those scraps of paper with my signature on it?

I just pick it up and throw it. He hit it. They scored. We didn't. That's it. It's over. It's history. OK?.

Charlie Finley has soured my stomach for baseball.

It's a weird scene. You win a few baseball games and all of a sudden you're surrounded by reporters and TV men with cameras asking you about Vietnam and race relations.

Sometimes in this game it's as good to be lucky as it is to be good.