Baseball quotes

In December 1944, a Japanese troop ship was torpedoed off the island of Formosa. Among those lost was 26-year-old Eiji Sawamura, the pitcher who had once struck out Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig.

What about the Satchel Paiges of the future? Will they be playing in the Big Leagues? The question becomes more pressing yearly. It has been tossed into old Judge Landis' lap more than once. And the spectacularly adroit manner in which this articulate apostle of Lincoln tosses it out the window, is a source of much marvel.

He'd helped restore the game's integrity after the Black Sox Scandal of 1919. He'd also done all he could to keep it white. It was true that there had never been no written law banning black players, but Judge Landis had worked ceaselessly to ensure that the old "gentleman's agreement" against hiring them remained firmly in effect. When the Pittsburgh Pirates sought permission to hire slugger Josh Gibson in 1943, Landis bluntly refused: "The colored ballplayers have their own league. Let them stay in their own league." When Bill Veeck Jr. attempted to buy the 8th place Phillies, then restaff it with stars from the Negro Leagues, Landis made sure the team was sold to someone else. And when Leo Durocher told a newspaper man that he'd seen plenty of blacks good enough for the big leagues, Landis forced him to claim he had been misquoted.

On July 6, 1944, a month after D-day, a young army lieutenant named Jack Roosevelt Robinson boarded a military bus near Fort Hood, Texas. The driver ordered him to get to the back of the bus where the "colored people belong." Robinson refused and was court-martialed. But the Army judges found him fully within his rights and acquitted him. "I had learned," Robinson wrote, "that I was in two wars: one against a foreign enemy, the other against prejudice at home." A few days after Robinson's trial, Kenesaw Mountain Landis died, at the age of 77.

And Wendell Smith, still pressing for integration, arranged a tryout for Robinson and two other young Negro League players with the Boston Red Sox. Although Boston manager Joe Cronin was impressed by Robinson's skills, Boston passed up the opportunity to become the first major league team to integrate. Instead, it would be the last.

I don't think there was any other ballplayer who they tried to intimidate more than they tried to intimidate Jackie Robinson. He had tons and tons of guts. Because, boy, let me tell you; when they start throwing at you, at your noggin, you get real mad, but you better be awful careful while you're doing it.

Swung on, belted... it's a long one... back goes Gionfriddo, back, back, back, back, back, back, back... heeee makes a one-handed catch against the bullpen! Oh, Doctor!

I never threw an illegal pitch. The trouble is, once in a while I toss one that ain't never been seen by this generation.

I can't honestly say that I appreciate the way in which he [Babe Ruth] changed baseball..., but he was the most natural and unaffected man I ever knew...I look forward to meeting him again some day.

At the funeral, Ruth's old teammates had served as pall bearers. "I'd give $100 for an ice cold beer," said Joe Dugan to Waite Hoyt. Hoyt nodded. "So would the Babe."

It was one of the greatest times, watching Mickey, Willie, and the Duke. And you go out to the corner bar, and you would hear the arguments. [Harlem accent] "Willie's the greatest! He can do anything!" [Brooklyn accent] "You're nuts, it's the Duke! The Duke is a classic! You ever see him running with his elbows in like that?" [Bronx accent] "Guys, you are both wrong. It's Mickey and that's it! He's strong, he's blonde, he hits from both sides with power, I think you should really reconsider."

DiMaggio played his last game in October of 1951. I was born in March of 1952. So, my dad, and every man that I ever met from my dad's generation, would all tell me the same thing: "Mays: terrific. Mantle: hit the ball out of sight. You never saw DiMaggio, kid. You never saw the real thing."

That was the great tragic moment in the 50s in New York. It was the beginning of the decline we continue to observe today. Both O’Malley and Stoneham decided to pull their teams out. Both were profitable. There were just more profits to be made in California. It was a cynical, purely commercial-oriented move, which was immensely profitable in that narrow sense and ripped out the soul of New York City.

I met Ted Williams last year, and it was like seeing John Wayne. He's a gigantic man. He has a very large, imposing head, but he's very handsome. He's very distinguished, and if you said, "Why, that's Mr. Baseball," if that was his name, you'd buy it. And I walked up to him. And I had a picture, and he signed it to me and all that stuff. And I said, "Ted, I have home movies of you striking out against Bobby Shantz, 1957, Yankee Stadium, second game of a doubleheader." He says to me, "Curveball, low and away."

For my money, Ted Williams is the greatest hitter of all-time. I'd take him over Ruth, I'd take him over Cobb. I'd take him over Cobb because of the combination of power and average. I'd take him over Ruth because with Ruth, you can only speculate about what he would have done in the modern era. Ted Williams hit .388 at the age of 39 in 1957. He was what few of us ever become; he was exactly what he set out to be. He said he wanted to be able to walk down the street some day and have people say "There goes the greatest hitter who ever lived". And if they don't say that, it's only because they don't know what they're talking about.