He who has the fastest golf cart never has a bad lie. - Mickey Mantle

I figured that once I got past 40, that was all behind me. If I knew that I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself.

He was like a father to me, and I mean that. My dad died after I had been with the Yankees a year and I guess Casey felt it was up to him to bring me up right. He kept me when I wasn't ready for the big leagues. He had confidence in me. He taught me to think, to play hard from the first pitch to the last.

I'd never show up a pitcher by standing in the batters box and watching how far the ball goes like a lot of players do now. But it made me feel good to know I could hit a ball longer than anyone else. It tickled the hell out of me. It was like playing in a golf tournament and hearing all the ohhs and ahhs when you hit a good drive. I mean, every time I swung at it I was trying to hit it longer than the time before. I'm sure that was why I struck out so much, but I'd get a kick out of it. Poor Casey would get so mad. He'd say, "Hey butcher boy, just make contact." But he couldn't get me to change. In fact, Whitey told me just last year that I'd shut my eyes just before I lunged.