Sandy Koufax Quotes

Maury had been made captain in the first week of spring training, a title which usually entitles its bearer to carry the lineup card to the umpires and draw an extra $500 on his salary. Maury took it seriously, and his leadership had a strong, cohesive effect. [...] Maury has become a dominant figure in our locker room. He has come to believe that there is nothing he cannot do if he sets his mind to it. There is something almost mystical in his belief in himself, especially when you remember that he came to us after nine full years in the minors with all the uncertainties of the fringe player hoping to hold on.

Well, I already have a fork ball, but it's not really another pitch. I use it instead of a change of pace. If I have a good fast ball and a good curve ball I hesitate to use anything else. But if they're not getting me by, I try to use anything I can, including the fork ball. [...] I don't know if I can throw any other pitches. I used to try the slider once in a while, and some other pitches, but since I had this little problem with my elbow it seems like only my old standby pitches don't bother me. All the new stuff, like the slider or the others I used to try, it seems like they all hurt my arm.

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

People who write about spring training not being necessary have never tried to throw a baseball.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Roberto Clemente hit an outside fastball that was still rising when it hit against the light tower in left center field, 450 feet away from home plate. And on a 1-2 pitch at that. But there is no such thing as a good pitch to Clemente. Ask me how to pitch to Clemente, and I will tell you with complete confidence, "How do I know?" Roberto can hit any pitch, anywhere, at any time. He'll hit pitchouts, he'll hit brush-back pitches. He'll hit high, inside pitches deep to the opposite field, which would be ridiculous even if he didn't do it with both feet off the ground.

Last year wasn't Seaver's kind of year, but he's still an impressive pitcher, still strong. Like McLain, Marichal and Gibson, he has the good stuff and control. I mean he can make an excellent fastball or curve and throw it in good spots. A guy who throws what he intends to throw—that's the definition of a good pitcher.

You know what happens? Somebody writes a story 10 years ago and it never changes. If the guy 10 years ago was wrong, the stories are gonna be wrong for 20 years afterward. [...] They used to annoy me a lot more, but now I've begun to feel they're going to be written, there's nothing I can do about it and I'm not going to worry about it. Sometimes things don't come out the way you say them. You run into one of those reporters who's more interested in the dictionary and the very good usage of the English language, and he thinks that when says cool it means cold. But you can't let it annoy you.

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!

If I could straighten it out, I'd be pitching at Dodger Stadium tonight instead of playing golf.

I was known for my fastball and curve and did well with just those two pitches, but people don't know that I tried to add a third pitch, any third pitch. For a long time, I tried to learn the changeup. The Dodgers taught the changeup in a certain way - it was the Dodgers' changeup - and I tried to learn it for ten years but never got the hang of it. I never liked my changeup, and I never wanted to throw it. One day, I was playing catch and started to fool around with the forkball, and it felt more comfortable to me. I said, "Well, I'm gonna try this instead of the changeup." So I started to throw it, but I only used it occasionally in games, because I didn't throw it hard enough.I also threw the slider a couple of times. I threw the slider to Henry Aaron and Roberto Clemente, because I figured if it worked on those two great hitters, then I had something there. So I threw it to Aaron and almost hit him in the face. He reached out to get it, and it came right at him. And I threw it to Clemente. You may remember that in Forbes Field in Pittsburgh, there was a light tower by where they used to park the batting cage. Halfway up. there was a bunch of transformers. Well, Clemente hit it off a transformer. I said, "Well, maybe I don't have a slider," and I gave it up. So, I never came up with a third pitch.