Bob Gibson Quotes

The basis of intimidation as I practiced it was mystery. I wanted the hitter to know nothing about me.

Nobody has won thirty games in a season since Denny McLain did it in 1968. No other pitcher has drunk as many Pepsi-Colas, broken as many team rules, or played the organ as famously as McLain did. And there has never been another World Series game in which both starting pitchers had won the Cy Young and Most Valuable Player awards that year.

McLain this early in the game? It was a loaded

MAKES: 2 quarts COOKING METHOD: stove COOKING TIME: 20 minutes This is an all-purpose barbecue sauce, with a distinct garlic and tomato flavor. We have used this recipe to rave reviews at the James Beard Foundation and the American Institute of Wine and Food’s “Best Ribs in America” competition. Use it as a finishing glaze or serve it on the side as a dip for any type of barbecue. 2 TABLESPOONS OLIVE OIL ¼ CUP CHOPPED ONION 1 TEASPOON FRESH MINCED GARLIC 4 CUPS KETCHUP 1⅓ CUPS DARK BROWN SUGAR 1 CUP VINEGAR 1 CUP APPLE JUICE ¼ CUP HONEY 1½ TABLESPOONS WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE 1½ TABLESPOONS LIQUID SMOKE 1 TEASPOON SALT 1 TEASPOON BLACK PEPPER 1 TEASPOON CAYENNE PEPPER 1 TEASPOON CELERY SEED Heat the olive oil in a large nonreactive saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and lightly sauté. Stir in the remaining ingredients and heat until the sauce bubbles and starts to steam. Remove from the heat and cool to room temperature. Transfer to a tightly covered jar or plastic container and store refrigerated for up to 2 weeks.

The plane touches down on very rough ground: its wheelbarrow wheels bounce and one set of wings rises alarmingly while the other dips. Now the Masai and the plane are converging. It's a magnificent shot: the Masai run, run, run, run; because of the optics it is dreamlike. The little plane bounces, shudders, slews and finally makes lasting contact with the ground. At exactly the right moment, as the plane comes to a halt, the Masai warriors, in a highly agitated state, reach the plane, and the camera closes on the pilot, whose face as he removes his leather flying helmet and goggles, appears just above the bobbing red ochre composition of plaited hair and fat-shone bodies. It is Mel Gibson, with a grave expression, which can't quite suppress his unruly Aussieness.

Whether blustery in words or weather, there’s no putting on airs in Chicago. It’s too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer to walk around with any pretenses. You’ve got to be as real and solid as one of those bone-in rib eyes served at Gibsons Steakhouse. It’s a city where you say what you mean, mean what you say, and, most importantly, where you must be able to back up what you say. All in all, this makes it a great place for comedians to sharpen their acts.

Mona recognized the voice. It was the groundhog, Mr. Gibson. He was supposed to be in bed! She found him just outside the ballroom, staring at his shadow on the wall. “Mr. Gibson, can I help you?” asked Mona. “Oh! Is the party over?” The groundhog turned around. He was holding a small sweet-smelling pillow in one paw and a cup in another. His nose was shiny and sticky with honey. “Yes,” said Mona. “It finished a while ago. But if you’re still hungry, I can find you something to eat.” She knew how important it was that the hibernators were well fed. “So kind of you. The staff at the Heartwood is always so thoughtful. You even gave us gifts.” He shook the lavender pillow. “But no, I am stuffed,” he said, patting his stomach. “Even my shadow is full.” He chuckled, then gave a big yawn. Before Mona knew it, he’d fallen asleep right on his feet! Mona smiled and leaned her broom against the wall. “Come on,” she said, gently waking him. “Let’s get you to bed.” “Ah, so kind, so kind,” replied Mr. Gibson. The groundhog trundled sleepily after Mona, down the hallway, through the lobby, to the stairs. He kept on mumbling to himself, “Ah, shadow, come along, too. Bed for both of us.” His shadow, and Mona’s too, did follow them down the staircase, bobbing on the wall in the light cast by the glowworms. Down, down, down Mona and Mr. Gibson went, past the kitchen, laundry, and staff bedrooms to the suites deep underground, nestled between the Heartwood’s roots. The hallway was darker here, earthy and cool. There were special vents that carried air from outside to keep the rooms just the right temperature. Too cold and the guests wouldn’t be able to sleep. Too warm and they might think it was spring and wake up early.

I am sorry that your prayers were disturbed in such a terrible manner,” the cop said in Hōpponese, consoling the old fungal in soft tones and massaging his hunched back. The hophead cop’s unsettling mushroom head bobbed, gills flaring as if breathing. “Take your time and answer when you are ready.