The ball started climbing from the moment it left the plate. It was a pop fly with a brand new gland and, though it flew high, it also flew far.
When last seen the ball was crossing the roof of the stand in deep right field at an altitude of 315 feet. We wonder whether new baseballs conversing in the original package ever remark: “Join Ruth and see the world.”
I have played baseball on a summer day starting at eight o’clock in the morning, running home at noon for a quick meal, playing again till six o’clock in the evening, and then a run home for a quick meal and again with fielding and batting till it was too dark to see the leather spheroid.
There are a few guys in baseball fortunate enough to be able to bring it late in their career: Roger Clemens was one, and Nolan Ryan was another one. And I’d like to be that kind of a writer, who’s still able to bring the fastball.
If I didn’t make it in baseball, I won’t have made it workin’. I didn’t like to work.
There’s nothing cooler than a baseball glove. You put one on and all of a sudden it’s like you’re a wizard. People might be showering you with rockets or pelting you with eggs, but it doesn’t matter, because everything goes quiet inside the glove. Maybe a bat looks like a magic wand, but a glove feels like one.
~Jim Naughton, My Brother Stealing Second
Now I don’t care how big a goof a man is, he’d ought to know better than get smart round a fella that’s slumped off in his battin’.
~Ring Lardner, “Where Do You Get That Noise?”
Now the game is all different. All power and lively balls and short fences and home runs. But not in the old days. I led the National League in home runs in 1901, and do you know how many I hit? Sixteen. That was a helluva lot for those days.