If you could equate the amount of time and effort put in mentally and physically into succeeding on the baseball field and measured it by the dirt on your uniform, mine would have been black.

Philadelphia is the only city, where you can experience the thrill of victory and the agony of reading about it the next day.

You're trying your damndest, you strike out and they boo you. I act like it doesn't bother me, like I don't hear anything the fans say, but the truth is I hear every word of it and it kills me.

It isn't that hard to get RBI's when you're hitting home runs, you generally get a least one.

But remember this: in the final analysis, you can believe in your dream, you can be taught, supported, motivated, and loved by others, but ultimately, your success depends on you. You must take responsibility for your body, your mind, and for your character.

If you're associated with the Philadelphia media or town, you look for negatives. I don't know if there's something about their upbringing or they have too many hoagies, or too much cream cheese.

Any time you think you have the game conquered, the game will turn around and punch you right in the nose.

I need to be out earning. I can make more in two hours at a card show than I did [as a minor-league manager] all year.

I'm 61 now, and I'm comfortable in my lifestyle... I don't yearn for the limelight on a regular basis. I get a kick out of it every so often. I go to Philly and go to a game, and they make a big deal about me. That's fun for a couple of days, and I can go back to my own private life.

They read their sports pages, know their statistics and either root like hell or boo our butts off. I love it. Give me vocal fans, pro or con, over the tourist types who show up in Houston or Montreal and just sit there.