Sometimes the best deals are the ones you don't make.
The most beautiful thing in the world is a ballpark filled with people.
I have discovered in 20 years of moving around a ballpark, that the knowledge of the game is usually in inverse proportion to the price of the seats.
I try not to break the rules but merely to test their elasticity.
What can I do, I asked myself, that is so spectacular that no one will be able to say he had seen it before? The answer was perfectly obvious. I would send a midget up to bat.
I was in the game for love. After all, where else can an old-timer with one leg, who can't hear or see, live like a king while doing the only thing I wanted to do?
After a month or so in St. Louis, we were looking around desperately for a way to draw a few people into the ball park, it being perfectly clear by that time that the ball club wasn't going to do it unaided.
The Falstaff people, romantics all, went for it. They were so anxious to find out what I was going to do that they could hardly bear to wait out the two weeks. I was rather anxious to find out what I was going to do, too.
Look, we play the Star Spangled Banner before every game. You want us to pay income taxes, too?
The true harbinger of spring is not crocuses or swallows returning to Capistrano, but the sound of the bat on the ball.
