Sandy Koufax Quotes

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I don't regret one minute of the twelve years I've spent in baseball, but I could regret one season too many. [...] I've got a lot of years to live after baseball and I would like to live them with complete use of my body.

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

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

The only time I really try for a strikeout is when I'm in a jam. If the bases are loaded with none out, for example, then I'll go for a strikeout. But most of the time I try to throw to spots. I try to get them to pop up or ground out. On a strikeout I might have to throw five or six pitches, sometimes more if there are foul-offs. That tires me. So I just try to get outs. That's what counts — outs. You win with outs, not strikeouts.

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!