Sandy Koufax Quotes

There were now men on first and second. The batter was Henry Aaron. I walked him on four straight balls, which was probably the smartest thing I did all year. There have been many times since when I wished I had been wild enough to walk Henry Aaron. I'm usually backing up third as I am wishing it.

It was probably the worst thing that could have happened to me, getting my first out by striking out a big hitter. Because that became my pattern for five years, trying to get out of trouble by throwing harder and harder and harder.

Mays always told me how hard it was to get a hit off me and every time I looked up, he was on second base. Yet, even with Mays, I had an idea what to do. When I pitched to Clemente and Aaron, I had no idea. They seemed to hit everything.

In 1960 I had made the transition from thrower to pitcher and had not understood that in making the transition I had made a beginning, not an end. you become a pitcher before you become a good pitcher. [...] Nor do I wish to testify under oath that I have not forgotten, do not—and will not—forget from time to time and revert to the wayward ways of my youth. It's usually when I'm tired or mad, but dumbness is not to be completely discounted either. In the 1965 All-Star Game I was terribly wild. I came into the game in the sixth inning and immediately threw seven straight balls. Although I got out of the inning, it was a struggle with every batter. [...] There was not a thing wrong with my arm. My arm was fine. My head was something else again. Knowing that I was only going to pitch an inning or two, I had thought, "Well, hell, I'll just go in and throw as hard as I can." And there I was, right back where I'd been ten years ago, wild high.

You've got to be lucky to pitch a no-hitter, and if you have good stuff, it's easier to be lucky.

The biggest thrill is the game where you give up one or two or three runs when you don't have anything, when you have no right even being out there, no reason to be out there. Those games are the difference between having a .500 year and a really great year. You figure, if you go out there 30 times, 15 times you're going to have great stuff and 15 times you're going to have mediocre stuff. If you can win a fair percentage of the games when you're mediocre, you're going to have a good year.

I know I was faster 10 years ago. I think Jim Maloney, Bob Veale, Bob Gibson and perhaps one or two others throw faster. In my best days I don't think I threw faster than Ryne Duren. He was the fastest I ever saw.

What do I strive for? Well, I go out there with the idea of shooting for a no-hit game. When the first hit is made off me, I then try to keep them or any runs scored down to a minimum. The main idea is to win. As to strikeouts, yes. I am proud of my records. I'm not out there trying to blow down every hitter. There are too many smart ones in the league. I want to get them out first, strike them out if I can.

Show me a guy who can't pitch inside and I'll show you a loser.

I became a good pitcher when I stopped trying to make them miss the ball and started trying to make them hit it.

At times it's a satisfaction and at times it's a little bit of an intrusion. You don't mind the kids. But sometimes their parents get to be...well, not bad about it, but they become demanding. The kids will ask, but the parents will demand sometimes. As long as somebody asks, I don't mind at all. But the ones who demand are tough on me. I've got so many bosses already I don't know if I can stand one or two more.

Pitching is the art of instilling fear, making the man flinch by making him look for the wrong pitch. You're trying to control his instincts. But if your control is suspect like Ryan's is, and the thought of being hit is in the batter's mind, you'll go a long way.

I'll never know. I've never been in a fight. But I doubt whether pitching speed would have any significance. You can't go into a windup in the ring.

The game has a cleanness. If you do a good job, the numbers say so. You don't have to ask anyone or play politics. You don't have to wait for the reviews.

It is a curious thing that while a home-run hitter is expected to fatten up in the routs, and the pitchers are certainly not supposed to let up, the opposing team becomes furious when a base is stolen after a game is apparently out of reach. Particularly the manager. The theory seems to be that the stolen base is somehow extraneous to the game, that it is an extra effort, a thumbing of the nose. Not on our team it isn't. Stealing bases is Maury's game, and—to a sometimes alarming extent—it was the Dodgers' offense. Maury's game is to get the other team upset, to get them into a frame of mind where they are so eager not to let him show them up that the catcher throws the ball too hastily and the fielder rushes his tag. Result: the hasty throw is off the mark and the infielder neglects to wait for the ball. Maury's game is called Panic!