Locker Room Wall Quotes

Ana feels like pushing her neighbour up against the wall and telling him that the locker room where those boys sit telling their stupid jokes end up preserving them like a tin can. It makes them mature more slowly, while some even go rotten inside. And they don’t have any female friends, and there are no women’s teams here, so they learn that hockey only belongs to them, and their coaches teach them that girls only exist for fucking. She wants to point out how all the old men in this town praise them for “fighting” and “not backing down,” but not one single person tells them that when a girl says no, it means NO. And the problem with this town is not only that a boy raped a girl, but that everyone is pretending that he DIDN’T do it. So now all the other boys will think that what he did was okay. Because no one cares.

You want me to say something about Bill? Bill who? Bill Schroeder? Never heard of him… I’m kidding, of course.

We did pretty well in the ACC that year and we ended up going to the College World Series. Paul Molitor was there, playing shortstop for Minnesota. I caught one game in that World Series, going 2-for-5 at Rosenblatt Stadium against Temple

Look at me." I stood in front of both of them. To Liz I said, “You and Davis are adorable together.” I moved to Chloe. “And you and Gavin are—” She raised her eyebrows at me. “—interesting together. You can’t let my fight with Nick ruin your relationships with your hot boyfriends. Come on, now. My fight with Nick has been going on for years. It’s like this black hole, with gravity so strong that not even light can escape, sucking in winter breaks and dates and whole relationships, until the world—are you listening to me?” When I’d started waxing poetic, Chloe’s attention had wandered around the room. I grabbed her chin and turned her face to me again. “Until the very world is devoid of love!” “It’s not that bad,” Nick’s voice came faintly through the locker room wall. We all looked at one another.

I took a few dragging steps toward the locker-room door. 'You're doing something to me that I wouldn't do to a dog,' I mumbled. 'What you're doing to me is worse than if you were to kill me. You're locking me up in shadows for the rest of my life. You're taking my mind away from me. You're condemning me slowly but surely to madness, to being without a mind. It won't happen right away, but sooner or later, in six months or in a year - Well, I guess that's that.' I fumbled my way out of the locker room and down the passageway outside, guiding myself with one arm along the wall, and past the sergeant's desk and down the steps, and then I was out in the street. ("All At Once, No Alice")

Every time I see Sandy Koufax, I apologize. I always thought I was going to keep him out of the Hall of Fame.

Actually, I had two career highlights: I got an intentional walk from Sandy Koufax and I got out of a rundown against the Mets.

All the way from locker room to boardroom, the boys and men of Beartown Ice Hockey Club are brought together by a single motto: “High ceilings and thick walls.

The Brewers, feeling the crush of small-market economics and fearing injury problems, decided they couldn’t afford to keep Molitor, whom Bando regrettably referred to at one point as “just a DH.” Toronto swept in with a three-year, $13 million offer. “If Paul Molitor leaving the Brewers doesn’t show that the small markets are in trouble, nothing does,” Jim Gantner told the Milwaukee Sentinel at the time.

[High angel] Carter's fucked-up sense of humor in action.' [The angel] Lucinda flushed deep crimson. 'How can you use such language so carelessly? You sound like you're… like you're in a locker room!" I smoothed down my tank top. 'No way. I'd never wear this in a locker room.' 'Yeah, it isn't even in school colors,' said Peter. I couldn't resist toying with the guardian. 'If i were in a locker room, i'd probably have on a short cheerleader skirt. And no underwear.' Peter continued playing off me. 'And you'd do that one cheer, right? The one with your hands splayed against the shower wall and ass sticking out?' 'That's me,' i agreed. 'Always ready to take one for the team.' Even Cody[, the other vampire] flushed at our crassness. Lucinda was practically purple. 'You–you two have no sense of decency! None at all.

He hit .200 with 14 homers in his career, but four of them were off Hall of Fame pitchers: Sandy Koufax (twice), Fergie Jenkins, and Gaylord Perry. “Every time I see Gaylord, he says, ‘Here comes the worst day of my life,’” Uecker said

And finally it was too much. I could not talk myself down from the feeling, and the feeling became unbearable. I reached in deep to the recesses of my locker. I pushed everything—photographs and notes and books—into the trash can. I left the locker open and walked away. As I walked past the band room, I could hear through the walls the muffled sounds of “Pomp and Circumstance.” I kept walking.

All the way from locker room to board room, the boys and men of Beartown Ice Hockey Club are brought together by a single motto: "High ceilings and thick walls." Hard walls are as much a part of the game as high checks, but the building is solid and spacious enough to keep any fights that take place inside from spilling outside. That applies both on the ice and off of it because everyone needs to realize that the good of the club comes before anything else.

He adopted his standard mocking approach. “Having trouble getting out of the pool, Lily? There’s a ladder on the side for the old ladies who come and do aqua aerobics.” Everything inside her stilled. That condescending wretch. She felt him come closer, and was careful not to stir an inch, not even a hair. “You should get out of the pool and take a long hot shower. It’ll make you feel better,” he suggested, not ungently. His brow furrowed with worry. She ignored the thread of concern in his voice and concentrated on not moving too suddenly. Slowly, as if in unbearable agony, she lifted her head. He was dressed once more in his khakis and shirt, his sneakers were in one hand, his gear bag in the other. Good. She let her face crumble, her expression slip into wretchedness. Her lower lip trembled, a special added effect. “I—I’m not sure I can even make it to the ladder,” she confessed haltingly. “My whole body’s shot.” Damn, she must be hurting worse than he’d imagined. Trying not to stare at her lush lower lip quivering helplessly, Sean dropped his gear bag and stepped forward. “Here,” he said, leaning over, stretching out his hand. “Grab my hand. I’ll pull you out.” She’d braced her feet against the wall of the pool, knowing she’d have to strike fast. They grasped hands. The second his tightened about her forearm, she jerked backward with all her strength. Physics were on her side. Caught off balance, Sean somersaulted through the air, with only enough time to yell, “Shit!” before he landed with a cannonball-sized splash. Lily braced her arms on the pool deck. She’d intended to jump out and make a mad dash for the ladies’ locker room but her efforts were hampered by her convulsive laughter. A surprised “Oof!” flew from her lips. Sean’s arm had snaked out and wrapped around her waist, dumping her backward into the water. She pushed to the surface to find Sean glowering menacingly. He was sopping wet and just as furious. Lily’s laughter redoubled, then died away when his hands took her by the shoulders and pulled her close. Mere inches separated their bodies. “What are you doing?” Her voice came out an alarmed squeak. Her eyes flew to his. They sparkled with green and gold lights. “Payback time, Lily. You’ve pushed me once too often. I had my cell phone in my pocket. I don’t think it’s waterproof. My leather wallet is in my rear pocket, crammed with pictures of my adorable niece and nephew. Basically, Banyon, you owe me. Big time.” His tanned face, with drops of water still clinging to its chiseled planes, descended. He was going to kiss her, she realized, panic-stricken at the thought. “Don’t, Sean, don’t!” “I think I have to. It’s been a long time coming. Oh, by the way, I like lots of tongue.” Indignant, her mouth opened, ready to skewer him. But Sean was quicker. He shut Lily up the way he’d been dreaming of for so long. For years she’d driven him mad, made him crazed with desire. Now, by God, he was going to taste her. The passion and frustration inside him erupted. He seized her mouth, molding her lips to his own. Carnal fantasies gave way to a reality a thousand times sweeter. Starved for her, Sean’s lips plundered, boldly claiming her as his.

capital expenditures required in Clean Technology are so incredibly high,” says Pritzker, “that I didn’t feel that I could do anything to make an impact, so I became interested in digital media, and established General Assembly in January 2010, along with Jake Schwartz, Brad Hargreaves and Matthew Brimer.” In less than two years GA had to double its space. In June 2012, they opened a second office in a nearby building. Since then, GA’s courses been attended by 15,000 students, the school has 70 full-time employees in New York, and it has begun to export its formula abroad—first to London and Berlin—with the ambitious goal of creating a global network of campuses “for technology, business and design.” In each location, Pritzker and his associates seek cooperation from the municipal administration, “because the projects need to be understood and supported also by the local authorities in a public-private partnership.” In fact, the New York launch was awarded a $200,000 grant from Mayor Bloomberg. “The humanistic education that we get in our universities teaches people to think critically and creatively, but it does not provide the skills to thrive in the work force in the 21st century,” continues Pritzker. “It’s also true that the college experience is valuable. The majority of your learning does not happen in the classroom. It happens in your dorm room or at dinner with friends. Even geniuses such as Mark Zuckerberg or Bill Gates, who both left Harvard to start their companies, came up with their ideas and met their co-founders in college.” Just as a college campus, GA has classrooms, whiteboard walls, a library, open spaces for casual meetings and discussions, bicycle parking, and lockers for personal belongings. But the emphasis is on “learning by doing” and gaining knowledge from those who are already working. Lectures can run the gamut from a single evening to a 16-week course, on subjects covering every conceivable matter relevant to technology startups— from how to create a web site to how to draw a logo, from seeking funding to hiring employees. But adjacent to the lecture halls, there is an area that hosts about 30 active startups in their infancy. “This is the core of our community,” says Pritzker, showing the open space that houses the startups. “Statistically, not all of these companies are going to do well. I do believe, though, that all these people will. The cost of building technology is dropping so low that people can actually afford to take the risk to learn by doing something that, in our minds, is a much more effective way to learn than anything else. It’s entrepreneurs who are in the field, learning by doing, putting journey before destination.” “Studying and working side by side is important, because from the interaction among people and the exchange of ideas, even informal, you learn, and other ideas are born,” Pritzker emphasizes: “The Internet has not rendered in-person meetings obsolete and useless. We chose these offices just to be easily accessible by all—close to Union Square where almost every subway line stops—in particular those coming from Brooklyn, where many of our students live.

A long time ago inside a local ice rink, 15 year olds went to battle to win a game of hockey.  They played for themselves, for their teams, for their coaches, for their towns, and for their families. It was a 0-0 tie in the 2nd period.     Both goalies were outstanding.  But one appeared to be somewhere else. Thinking.  The shot came.    The antagonist wasn’t aiming to break the scoreless tie.  He was living up to his agreement with the other team’s coach.  A coach who wanted his son to be the team's goalie.     He didn’t want a new goalie that could take his team where they have never been.  The playoffs.  A goalie that could secure his team at the top.  The coach watched the shot he bought.      The goalie could have shifted, dodged out of the way, but he was paralyzed.  He dropped to the ice when the puck struck his unprotected neck.     The player skated over to examine the goalie. He had accomplished his task.    And with the money he earned, he can buy the bicycle he always wanted.     The goalie’s father was standing amongst the other parents.  He was enraged that his son didn’t make the save.     He felt the hard work he put into his boy slowly fade, and quickly die out.  He knew how good his son was, and would be.  He knew the puck struck because the goalie let it.  He did not know why.   I groaned as the puck hit me in the arm.  I had pads, but pads can only soften the blow. I squeezed my arm.     My father stood and watched.     My friend fired another shot that whacked me in the throat, knocking me down.  I felt dizzy.      It was frigid on the pond in winter.     This is where I learned to play hockey.  This is also where I learned it was painful to be a goaltender.  I got up slowly, glowering at him.  My friend was perplexed at my tenacity.     “This time, stay down!” And then he took the hardest slap shot I have ever encountered.     The puck tore through the icy air at incredible speed right into my face.     My glove rapidly came up and snatched it right before it would shatter my jaw.  I took my glove off and reached for the puck inside.     I swung my arm and pitched it as fiercely as I could at my friend.     Next time we play, I should wear my mask and he should wear a little more cover than a hat.  I turned towards my father.  He was smiling.  That was rare.     I was relieved to know that I was getting better and he knew it.  The ice cracked open and I dropped through…      The goalie was alone at the hospital.  He got up and opened the curtains the nurse keeps closing at night so he could see through the clear wall.     He eyed out the window and there was nothing interesting except a lonely little tree.  He noticed the way the moonlight shined off the grass and radiated everything else.  But not the tree.  The tree was as colourless as the sky.     But the sky had lots of bright little glowing stars.  What did the tree have?  He went back to his bed and dozed off before he could answer his own question.   Nobody came to visit him at the hospital but his mother.     His father was at home and upset that his son is no longer on the team.  The goalie spot was seized by the team’s original goalie, the coach’s son.     The goalie’s entire life had been hockey.  He played every day as his father observed.  He really wanted a regular father, whatever that was.  A father that cares about him and not about hockey.  The goalie did like hockey, but it was a game.         A sport just like other sports, only there’s an ice surface to play on.  But he did not love hockey.     It was just something he became very good at, with plenty of practice and bruises.     He was silent in his new team’s locker room, so he didn’t assume anyone would come and see how he was doing.

For the next great Brewers team, he can provide a link to those guys. He is able to do that and he does a good job of it. And

A little while later, we had our first practice. The first one I ever went to, and they strapped the gear on me and put me behind the plate. My father said, “You’re going to thank me some day…” Lo and behold, I was a catcher from that day forward.

I remember it was a nativity type setting. An exit light shining down. There were three truck drivers there. One guy was carrying butter, one guy had frankfurters, and the other guy was a retired baseball scout who told my folks that I probably had a chance to play somewhere down the line.

Cincinnati I love Izzy’s Deli.

Pittsburgh I look forward to every series in Pittsburgh because I can get breakfast at one of my all-time favorite “greasy spoon” diners in the square: Cherries Diner.

chance, I like to go to The Pleasure Bar & Restaurant in Bloomfield, the Little Italy section of town. It is some of the best Italian

The Sausage Race Every ballpark in the big leagues has its unique traditions, but only Miller Park has the sausage race. In the sixth inning of every game, five young (and really fast) Brewers employees (or friends of employees) dress in sausage costumes and race around the warning track.

There is Brett, the Bratwurst, who wears Lederhosen. There is Stosh, the Polish sausage, who sports dark sunglasses and a blue and red rugby shirt. There is Guido, the Italian sausage, who wears chef’s garb. There is Frankie Furter, the hot dog, who wears a baseball uniform. And there is Cinco, the Chorizo, who sports a sombrero. It’s an awesome tradition. Visiting players gather on the top step of the dugout to cheer, heckle, throw cups of water, and handfuls of sunflower seeds and—in one infamous case—use a bat in an effort to disrupt the race.

But they all realize that the fans love it and that the sausages are good for business. “My whole family has done it,” Prince Fielder said during his tenure with the Brewers. “My kids were in the mini-race [a Sunday staple where adult sausages run a relay with younger kids in similar costumes]. My wife did it. My wife’s cousin came and actually tore her ACL doing it.

I just looked over and saw our wieners in a wad,” then-Brewers manager Ned Yost said after the game.

One year, the Brewers had a problem when a skunk built a nest under the stands near the home bullpen. They actually brought in animal control to trap the critter, and it became one of those light local news stories that TV stations like to deliver to viewers.

Skibosh ended up writing a memoir and calling it, If You Wanna Have Fun, Go Someplace Else

Some of us who worked with Bud for years in New York focus on all he accomplished as commissioner, and we forget, lose track of the fact, that he was the person that saved baseball in Milwaukee.

They weren’t happy with us, but they also knew that Milwaukee was an incredible baseball town. The Braves were the first National League team to draw 2 million fans. The fans were so passionate. But it was an uphill battle.

I’ll never forget, though, as I was walking to my office after the final out a woman came up to me and said, ‘You wanted a team in the worst way, and that’s exactly what you got.’ I never forgot that.

meant, what they mean today. All the ups and downs. And they’re all chronicled there. I hope that people that come [to the Experience] will really understand the franchise, what it means, what it will mean in the future, and what we went through to get it and keep it.

Bud Selig had preserved baseball in Milwaukee, a feat almost as unlikely as bringing it back in the first place. “Of all the marvelous things that have happened to me, including becoming commissioner of baseball, that will always be my proudest accomplishment because the odds were stacked tremendously against us,” Selig said. “There were many times when I wondered if it would happen.

I lived near him during my time with the Brewers and I would stop by his house sometimes to drop something off, and he’d be cutting his grass, cleaning the pool, or playing with his kids. He was just a normal Wisconsin guy, who happened to be one of the best baseball players on the planet.

And one of those guys, not exactly a teammate, but definitely one of the guys, he’s here today—Bob Uecker. And believe it or not, Bob Uecker played a significant role in me being here today.

County Stadium, while it was one of the older parks in the game, had an atmosphere in the summertime unmatched by at least the majority of other parks. The tailgating and the loyalty of the fans made it a great atmosphere for the players to perform in.

Well, the fans of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, were always tremendously supportive. There were so many days when I arrived to County Stadium, and there would already be 10 to 15,000 people in the parking lot, five hours before game time. I think it’s pretty obvious they invented tailgating.

Watching him, I learned that you take the broadcasting job one day at a time. You don’t worry that the team is 20 games out. First place? Last place? It doesn’t matter. You just hope for a good game that day. You don’t rip people.

Yount, who was an 18-year-old shortstop when he met Uecker, and is one of Bob’s closest friends, noticed immediately that the event was held in the afternoon with only a smattering of media members on hand. “God, this unbelievable,” Yount said. “Fifty thousand empty seats. What a ceremony.

A cop car pulls up, asks Ueck what we were doing. Ueck says to the policeman, ‘We’re marching. What’s it look like we’re doing?’ [The] police officer says, ‘Okay,’ pulls his car over to the curb.

[Ueck asks] ‘What are you guys doin’?’ They don’t really respond, and Ueck tells them to get in line. And, they do—one cop at the front of the line, the other at the rear. We march roughly two or three blocks from that point, led by police officers, to the hotel.

started out as a pitcher but changed course after working out for Braves pitching coach Jonny Cooney at County Stadium. “I was throwing for about 15 minutes,” Uecker said. “I thought I was doing pretty good, but Cooney said, ‘Alright, now let me see your good fastball.’ I said, ‘I’ve been throwing my good fastball.’ And, he told me—this is no joke—‘Well, then I recommend you get a job.

Ueck’s job was protect Bob Kuban, and the band that was playing in left field. They took a break. Roger Craig said, ‘Ueck, why don’t you grab a tuba?’ He dropped his glove, grabbed the tuba, and caught about five balls in it. I remember [Cardinals general manager] Bob Howsam sent him a bill for $116 after the World Series for damage to the tuba.

They’d never seen anything like it.” Uecker recalls the incident, which was captured in photos. “I was better with the tuba than I was with a glove,” he said. The jokes about his career flow easily, but Uecker is proud of his time as a player and the respect that he has earned from players of his era and today.

Lane said he was the worst scout in baseball history. So, we decided to put him in the booth.

The people you meet at any point in your career can help you down the road. That’s why you should always be nice to people and never burn a bridge. But your mom and dad already told you that.)

When they put us together, it was like chocolate and peanut butter. You put us together, and it made a Reese’s Cup.

We had a call go against us in Cleveland,” Crawford said. “I think it was Shane Peterson, sliding into a base. It was a really close play, and we were deciding whether or not to challenge, and the super slo-mo replay didn’t come in until really late. That was the only angle that showed that he was safe. We tried to pick up the phone, but it was too late. The next guy had already stepped into the box. We got screwed on that one.

It’d be better if they had the same guys in there looking at video for all 162 games,” Narron said. “I think it was [Chicago Cubs manager] Joe Maddon who said, ‘A bunch of nerds in there would do a better job.’ I definitely trust the umpires, but when you’re in there every day, it’s an advantage.

When Larrea arrives at the ballpark, he begins working on players’ complimentary tickets. All big league players and coaches submit their ticket requests into a computer system that tracks all the complimentary tickets used throughout the year on a per-game basis. They did that a few years ago that for taxation purposes. At most ballparks the visiting team receives between 220 and 250 tickets for players and traveling staff. Roughly half of those seats, though, are in the upper deck. Some teams like the Dodgers can make things difficult on Larrea by giving tickets in strange configurations (i.e. one in front, three behind).

Yes, I am,” Cirillo said. “Are you going to the All-Star Game?” the fan asked. “Yes, I am,” Cirillo said. “Then, what are you doing on a flight to Newark?” the fan asked.

A few minutes later, there was a really faint tap on the door. I opened it, and there was a very short woman with a baseball cap pulled way down over her head, which made it hard to see her eyes. She reached her hand out, I grabbed what was in her hand, thanked her, and closed the door. I walked a few steps toward the coffee pot, looked at my hand, and realized she had handed me two condoms. There was a note that said, “Enjoy your stay.

Then, it hit me. I had asked for condiments. The woman from room service—who didn’t speak English very well—thought I said condoms

called back down because I didn’t want her to think I was a freak. I calmly explained that I did not order condoms but had asked for condiments. I apologized for not specifying cream and sugar. The woman acted like she had just run over my dog. She was horrified. “Sir, please don’t tell my boss,” she said. “Don’t call the desk. I’ll take care of it.” A few minutes later, they sent me a nice pot of coffee with some toast and a whole bunch of cream and sugar.

opened my eyes and I saw Dale. He was laying right in front of me, his face inches from mine with a stupid grin on his face and a dip in his mouth. He scared the hell out of me. My first instinct was to push him away. He went flying into the wall and I looked down and realized he was naked. I was in a panic. I started to sit up and I felt a tap on my shoulder and I heard Eddie, who has the most distinctive voice this side of Bob Uecker or Brian Anderson, say, “Hey, Rock! It’s me and Dale. And we’re naked!

I turned around, and there was Eddie. I didn’t know what was happening. I thought it was a bizarre dream but slowly started to figure out that Dale gave Billy the key to his room, and my son, in his infinite wisdom, had given Dale the key to our room. These two idiots decided to mess with me by hopping into the bed naked.

Billy’s bed and within 15 seconds he was snoring. Eddie got dressed and yelled, “Bye, Rock. It was good seeing you…naked.” It took me about an hour to get back to sleep. I was totally freaked out, but Eddie and Dale and I still laugh about “the Attack of the Naked Idiots.” It’s the greatest prank ever pulled on me. Needless to say, my son had a much better night than I did.

Former Brewers catcher Jason Kendall referred to batting practice as a “war zone.” Others have called it “controlled chaos,” a “beehive,” or a “sporting symphony.” There is so much going on during the session that it’s hard for people to understand the activity.

Midway through the 2015 season, Bob Uecker was standing behind the batting cage when someone hit a line drive off the L-screen in front of the pitcher. The ball caromed into the air and hit Uecker between the eyes before he knew what happened. He ended up missing the broadcast that night and spending the night in the hospital with concussion-like symptoms. “I’m always a little dizzy, but that was more than usual,” Uecker joked.

One of baseball’s more confusing traditions, at least in my eyes, is that the home team has batting practice first. That means that when the gates open, fans usually see the opposing team take batting practice. That has never made sense to me.

All right guys, fun is fun,” Bamberger said, mixing in a few of his favorite Bronx-flavored curse words. “But these hot foots have got to stop.” As Bamberger spoke, an unnamed player—it may have been Rick Cerone—lit his laces on fire, ending the meeting.

During batting practice Sexson hit a ball that broke a window at Friday’s Front Row Sports Grill in left field. Leftfielder Geoff Jenkins, Sexson’s teammate and closest friend, razzed him mercilessly about having to pay for the window. A day or two later, general manager Dean Taylor dropped a fake invoice on the chair in front of Sexson’s locker. Sexson read it and was simultaneously incredulous and livid. The letter said that he had to pay for the replacement window and that $3,200 would be withheld from his next paycheck.

During the Brewers’ playoff run in 2011, Ryan Braun stumbled rounding third on what would have been an inside-the-park home run. He got to third base, and coach Eddie Sedar was waving him around and Braunie got so excited that he just lost control, stumbled, and did a face-plant between third and home. He was tagged out, which was bad, but he drove in a run, and the Brewers won the game so everybody laughed about

The next day pitchers Yovani Gallardo and Shaun Marcum—with help from bullpen catcher Marcus Hanel—created a crime scene of sorts. Using athletic tape they made three figures of Braun out on the field. The first, affixed to a protective screen in front of third base, depicted Braun running with his right arm up in the air. The second depicted Braun facedown between third base and home plate. The third, positioned about two-thirds of the way toward the plate, depicted Braun on his side. All the silhouettes had Braun’s uniform number (8) on them. The trio even went so far as to tape a bat in front of the first prone figure, which represented a kind of speed bump.

Every once in a while, when the Brewers are in a losing streak, Bob Uecker will pull out a secret weapon. It’s a tape made by a sound effects company of a man having an explosive—and exceedingly long—bowel movement. Sophomoric? Yes. But it gets guys laughing so hard that a couple of losses or a 0-for-12 streak doesn’t seem so daunting.

On July 4, 2015, Brewers center fielder Carlos Gomez left a gift for his counterpart Billy Hamilton. As the bottom of the third inning ended, Gomez left a pile of gum and a note for Hamilton that read, “I see you dropped all your gum so I brought you some more.” TV cameras captured Gomez leaving the gum, Hamilton finding it, and both men laughing as a result.

Joe Inglett He had a moth in his ear during a game. They had to shine a light in his ear and pick it out with a tweezer.

And one day I hit one up the middle. I thought it was going to hit him right between the eyes. It missed him, and the ball was in the outfield by the time he ducked. At that point I think we all agreed that dad was done throwing me batting practice.

The joke in our family was that when I made an out, he’d move to a new location. If I got a hit, he’d stay where he was. We laughed about that a lot because I said that he probably sat in every seat in County Stadium because I made a lot of outs in the big leagues.

I didn’t play a lot. Bill Foley was there. He was a catcher from New York who got drafted by the Brewers. I played some left field, I was the designated hitter, I caught. I remember hitting my first collegiate home run at The Citadel. It went out to right field. To this day I remember circling the bases and I don’t think my feet touched the ground.

had a bad game with a couple of punch-outs and we had lost, and somebody asked Wilhelm, “Who do you want to have the keys?” His response was, “Give them to Schroeder. At least I know he’s not going to hit anything with it.

Just as we were getting ready to leave—about 15 minutes before in fact—the phone rang. The Brewers offered me $15,000 for a signing bonus. For an eighth-round pick in 1979, that wasn’t bad money at all. They wanted me to go to Butte. I immediately said, “Yes, I’ll take it.” But I wanted to call Jack Stallings to make sure he knew that I wouldn’t be catching for him in Columbia. Whoever was on the other end of the phone said, “We’ve taken care of that. Don’t worry. We told them you weren’t coming. You’re going to be a Milwaukee Brewer.” That was the first time I realized that I was playing with the big boys now. They had already made the decision for me. When

When I finished playing, I didn’t really know what to do with myself. I went back to Wisconsin. I actually never left Wisconsin. I was told one time by a very smart man, Paul Schramka, who owns Schramka Funeral Homes, that if you stick around Milwaukee and you’re good to the people, the town will take care of you.

When I got out of baseball, the first thing I did was enroll in Carroll College (now Carroll University) to finish the degree I started at Clemson. Fortunately, all of my credits transferred. I had one year left and went back full time. I think I needed 24 or 26 credits. I commuted back and forth from Hales Corners to Waukesha and got my degree.

I got the internship. I finished it, got my degree, and passed the Series 7 exam.

had been doing a weekly Sunday baseball show on the Brewers’ flagship radio station, WTMJ. I did it with a Milwaukee guy named Chuck Garbedian and Len Kasper, who is now the TV play-by-play man for the Chicago Cubs.

There are not many who do leave on their own terms. I certainly didn’t.

they were talking about. I started to worry that I was getting in way over my head. Finally, I asked, “Is there anything I can read?” I was looking for a book like Baseball on TV for Dummies, but such a thing didn’t exist. I remember at the end of the lunch, Gary saw that I was uncomfortable and said, “Don’t worry, Bill. We won’t let you embarrass yourself.” At that point I kind of breathed a sigh of relief. I knew they were great guys and that they would have my back.

If you talk about a fundamental difference between broadcasters, going from Jim Paschke to Matt Vasgersian

Bobby Hughes, the Brewers’ catcher who had gone to Matt’s alma mater, USC, hit a high fly ball to left field, and it hit a clock at the top edge of the fence. It almost went out of the park. Vasgersian was doing the call, and his voice went up in anticipation of a home run, and without batting an eye, he said, “Bobby Hughes just got clock-blocked!” It was one of the funnier moments of my time with him.

But Brian has become a great, great, great friend. He’s super talented obviously, which is evident to anybody who watches him do NCAA Tournament games or NFL games.

Where Have You Gone, ’82 Brewers, Tom Haudricourt Brewers Essential: Everything You Need to Know to Be a Real Fan, Tom Haudricourt 100 Things Brewers Fans Should Know & Do Before They Die, Tom Haudricourt Throwback: A Big-League Catcher Tells How the Game Is Really Played, Jason Kendall and Lee Judge The Game Behind the Game: Negotiating in the Big Leagues, Ron Simon

In the Canadiens’ dressing room, on a wall above the players’ lockers, is a line from John McCrae’s poem, “In Flanders Fields.” It reads: To you from failing hands we throw the torch, be yours to hold it high.

It’s in that locker!” Campbell shouted. Opening the locker, he saw a mass of flames inside. Quickly, he slammed shut the door, blistering his hands in the process. Both men turned and ran from the room to raise the alarm. As they ran, they passed a fire extinguisher placed on the wall near the writing-room door. It was the first mistake by members of a crew poorly trained in fire drills, rescue operations, or virtually any crisis. If Campbell and Ryan had turned that extinguisher on the fire at once it might have made a critical difference. Three vital minutes passed before Clarence Hackney arrived with his fire extinguisher. He yanked open the locker door and a wall of flame rushed out. Hackney backed off and emptied his extinguisher into it, but it was a waste of time—a dozen extinguishers could not have contained the inferno now raging around the locker.

Getting his job as president of Morgan Stanley had been a struggle, and Mack was there to stay. Years earlier, he had ousted former president Robert Greenhill in a palace coup while Greenhill was on the ski slopes entertaining clients. Greenhill had not been a pushover; his tightly knit group of loyalists had earned the nickname Branch Davidians. Nevertheless, after a bitter contest, Mack had won, and Greenhill’s group, like the Waco, Texas, cult, was out. Mack was a charismatic leader, charming as well as intimidating. One Morgan Stanley manager described him as “the best salesman I’ve ever seen.” He scheduled informal lunches with all of the lowest-level employees at Morgan Stanley, in groups. His office had two glass canisters filled with candies and a gumball machine, to encourage colleagues to stop by and chat. Mack was worshipped for his patriotic addresses to the firm as well as his inspiring locker-room pep talks. Even the most hard-hearted of Morgan Stanley’s managers were moved by Mack’s most stirring speeches. He had given many of them goosebumps, and even made a few cry. Mack seemed adept enough to resolve just about any conflict. When the trustees of socialite Doris Duke’s $1.2 billion estate needed someone to step in and settle the brawl over her estate, including accusations of murder, whom did they ask? John Mack.

The wood floor is- so splintery on my flip-flops like nails are sticking up, poking me and crap, the boards are all cracked and you can see down one story, or more at times. Besides, some floorboards are missing altogether; I feel like I could go through the floor at any time. (Room 202) There is no light coming anywhere but her light she is giving off, looking over everything in its interiority, I see that there are boards over the old glass smashed glass window panes; not even the smallest glimmer or flicker of a star or moonlight at this point to guide me, nothing to show the way other than spun web cover over everything, even the hole that should not be cover seemed roached out, look at all the spiders crawling all down me, I don’t go in there I was thinking. I went at night so no one would find me. Look even going down the hall the lockers start to bang themselves like humpers of the past. I could see kissing here doing that too. Like I could see it all in my mind too, like they all did when the kids slammed their looker in these unhallowed halls, look now there are papers everywhere, just left behind like love notes of the past, I want to read yet it has nothing there to be said, I could get some of it, yet not all… I don’t have anything wrong with me, I can’t see, should I take it with me? I do- (It was tucked in her underwire right strap, her outfit when cut off to be laid out for viewing.) -It was Nevaeh and Chiaz’s first love note. (Now) You can foresee what's going to happen… can’t you- I sure did not in the past nor do I know, yet I do at times. It’s a new day, she sat back- crap let's do it a new way today- damn (‘Like- I want to choke down my rabbit,’) it works for me it's well to get that right, or so Jenny said. Yet I was feeling more than that below, and so was she, in my mouth. ‘If you are going through hell keep on going don’t slow down, if you are scared don’t show it…!’ My love was singing to be willing to do this, yet you can’t hear that and if you do, you’ll hear Maggie coming out. (Back at the old school) The hollowing sound of her voices in my face, its blows’ a-crossed me and spooks me out, it is so haunted within these falling walls, yet see is not scaring me at this point, I feel somewhat safe. As well as the wind howling as my thought makes, makes me think of who she maybe thinks I am. I see the hand-covered handrails going up past the old Gym and girl’s locker room, looking into the showers it’s like- I could see bare-ass naked girls and the steam in the air. With the sounds of: ‘O-op-e-s-y- don’t drop the soap!’ All along with the sounds of girls giggling, hell- I don’t want to know what’s going on. Water running, just guessing like them… I had the bad thoughts and photos running in my little-wicked mind. Like the sands of time… not fading all away or turning all too black and write. Up till now the water and sound or the girls are from the past, or so I think and have been long gone, for them to be real girls, it was abandoned for years, like what is this crap…? Like the snapping of a towel, my head spun around, as the little girl pulled me to the next room by her resenting glow, In the locker part of the room- I see all the old desked linked together, she's sitting there proverb her story to me, her hair braids are freaking cute to me; like no girl does that anymore. Yet who are these girls, I think- I know, yet they don’t, see me. They don’t even think I see them all up in it. I heard these stories and believe it yet; I don’t believe it seeing it now unfolding in front of me. There is some random b*tch putting the redhead face in the capper, with the sound of the flush! I am good, she said.

Evelyn hurried to the bleachers where she’d left her towel and quickly wrapped it around herself. She passed the girls on her way to the locker room, pressing her back against the wall to scoot by when they didn’t make room for her. A wave of evil giggles erupted as she retreated through the door. I would never understand why some girls were such cunts to other girls. If I didn’t like someone, I simply stayed away. If that didn’t work, I fucked him up. None of this daily, insidious, passive-aggressive bullshit. Too many of the girls at SA were like that. It wasn’t attractive. In fact, it was the opposite. Layla might have been pretty, but I found her grotesque.

At one point Morgan’s eyes reddened, and it wasn’t from the champagne shower. “Basically, it’s just everything I’ve had to overcome,” he said, “just the stuff that people go out there and perceive about me. All my haters, I just want to show them that I can play this game. Even though I’ve got a fun, bubbly personality and everything like that, I still come to win and I’m a winner.

He retired the side and struck out the final two batters—Champ Summers and Lou Whitaker—to end the game. Bob Uecker’s radio call of the final out: “Good-bye, Detroit. Hello, New York” was an instant classic.

We put our shoes away. I had already purchased the necessary accouterments at the convenience store across the street—shampoo, soap, scrubbing cloth, and towels—and handed Tatsu what he needed as we went in. We paid the proprietor the government-mandated and subsidized four hundred yen apiece, walked up the wide wooden stairs to the changing area, undressed in the unadorned locker room, then went through the sliding glass door to the bath beyond. The bathing area was empty—peak time would be in the evening—and, like the locker room, spartan in its unpretentiousness: nothing more than a large square space, a high ceiling, white tile walls dripping with condensation, bright fluorescent lighting, and an exhaust fan on one wall that seemed to have given up on its long battle with the steam within. The only concession to an aesthetic not strictly utilitarian was a large, brightly colored mosaic of Ginza 4-chome on the wall above the bath itself.

But alas, I’m here, drunk off my ass, boobs practically spilling out of my shirt, and my mascara slowly melting off my eyelashes and onto my face, morphing me from new-in-town college girl, to trash panda from the raccoon clan. “Dottie, Lindsay,” I say weakly, moving my head from side to side. “Where art thou?” “You need help?” a deep voice slurs next to me. I look to my right through very blurry vision and make out what I’m going to assume is an incredibly attractive man. But then again, I’m drunk—the whole mascara melting off my eyes in full swing—and I’ve been fooled once before. But hey, I think those are blue eyes. Can’t go wrong with that . . . reasoning that will be thought better of in the morning. “Have you seen Dottie or Lindsay?” “Can’t say that I have,” he answers, resting against the wall with me. “Damn it. I think they’re making out with some baseball players. Have you seen any of those around?” “Baseball players?” “Mm-hmm.” I nod, shutting my eyes for a second but then shooting them back open when I feel myself wobble to the side. The guy catches me by the hand before I topple over, but thanks to his alcohol intake, he’s not steady enough to hold us up and . . . timber . . . we fall to the couch next to me. “Whoa, great placement of furniture,” I say, as the guy topples on top of me. “Damn near saved our lives.” I rub my face against the scratchy and worn-out fabric. “How many people do you think have had sex on this thing?” “Probably less than what you’re thinking.” The couch is deep, giving me enough room to lie on my side with the guy in front of me, so we’re both facing each other. He smells nice, like vodka and cupcakes. “So, have you seen any baseball players around? I’m looking for my friends.” “Nah, but if you see any, let me know. I can’t find my room.” “You live here?” I ask, eyes wide. “Yup,” he answers, enunciating the P. “For two years now.” “And you don’t remember where your room is?” “It has a yellow door. If the damn room would stop spinning I’d be able to find it.” “Well . . . maybe if we find your room, we’ll find my friends,” I say, my drunk mind making complete sense. “That’s a great idea.” He rolls off the couch and then stands to his feet, wobbling from side to side as he holds out his hand to me. Without even blinking, I take it in mine and let him help me to my feet. “Yellow door, let’s go,” I say, raising my crumpled cup to the air. “We’re on the move.” He keeps my hand clasped in his and we stumble together past beer pong, people making out against walls, the kitchen, to an open space full of doors. “Yellow door, do you see one?” I blink a few times and then see a flash of sunshine. “There.” I point with force. “Yellow, right there.” His head snaps to where I’m pointing. A beam of light illuminates the color of the door, making it seem like we’re about to walk right into the sun. I’m a little chilly, so I welcome the heat. “Fuck, there it is. You’re good.” 

she was going straight into Hollywood Station. 9 Ballard kept all her work suits in her locker at the station and dressed for her shifts after arriving each night. She had four different suits that followed the same cut and style but differed in color and pattern. She dry-cleaned them two at a time so that she always had a suit and a backup available. After arriving nearly eight hours early for her shift, Ballard changed into the gray suit that was her favorite. She accompanied it with a white blouse. She kept four white blouses and one navy in her locker as well. It was Friday and that meant Ballard was scheduled to work solo. She and Jenkins had to cover seven shifts a week, so Ballard took Tuesday to Saturday and Jenkins covered Sunday to Thursday, giving them three overlap days. When they took vacation time, their slots usually went unfilled. If a detective in the division was needed during the early-morning hours, then someone had to be called in from home. Working solo suited Ballard because she didn’t have to run decisions by her partner. On this day, if he had known what Ballard’s plan was, Jenkins would have put the kibosh on it. But because it was Friday, they would not be working together again until the following Tuesday, and she was clear to make her own moves. After suiting up, Ballard checked herself in the mirror over the locker room sinks. She combed her sun-streaked hair with her fingers. That was all she usually had to do. Constant immersion in salt water and exposure to the sun over years had left her with broken, flyaway hair that she kept no longer than chin length out of necessity. It went well with her tan and gave off a slightly butch look that reduced advances from other officers. Olivas had been an exception. Ballard squeezed some Visine drops into her eyes, which were red from the salt water. After that she was good to go. She went into the break room to brew a double-shot espresso on the Keurig. She would be operating now and through the night on less than three hours of sleep. She needed to start stacking caffeine. She kept her eye on the wall clock because she wanted to time her arrival in the detective bureau at shortly before four p.m., when she knew the lead detective in the CAPs unit would also be watching the clock, getting ready to split for the weekend. She had at least fifteen minutes to kill, so she went upstairs to the offices of the buy-bust team next to the vice unit. Major Narcotics was located downtown but each division operated

Patrick Sharp remembers how bad it was. He remembers hosting a blood drive with Duncan Keith in 2007, the two future stars wandering around Millennium Station wearing bright-red Blackhawks jerseys with their names on them, trying to hand out free tickets and failing miserably. Even with their own names on the backs, nobody knew who the hell either of them was.

Here were professional athletes, making millions of dollars, and they had no food to eat in the dressing room after killing themselves for 60 minutes on a game night. And once they got on the plane, they got a brick of mac-and-cheese and a cold ham sandwich. They didn’t have enough sticks to go around some days. They didn’t have t-shirts or hats to wear back home, or while talking on camera to reporters. The Chicago Blackhawks weren’t deemed the worst franchise in professional sports by ESPN in 2004 for nothing.

For the Blackhawks players, after years of being told “no,” of being told to shut up and keep your head down and be grateful you’re in the NHL at all, it was jarring to be told “yes” over and over and over again. It was motivating too. It was also kind of terrifying. That’s part of the genius of McDonough.

Did you get the little package from me? It’s nothing like what you gave me, but it’s something.” “I did. I love the cookies, fucking good. I was kind of hoping you were going to slip a pair of panties in there for me, something I could hold on to when I fall asleep at night.” “I would never do that.” “Not even a little thong?” “No.” “Come on.” I smile at her. “Loosen up, babe.” “There is no way in hell I will ever send you panties in the mail. What if the package gets lost, then some creep is going to have my underwear hanging on his wall where he stares at it every night while gripping his crooked penis. No, thank you.” “There are so many things wrong with that sentence, too many to ask about, but I do need to know one thing.” “What’s that?” Her smile is so damn contagious. “The panties, how are they hung up on the wall? Duct tape? Push pins? Nail?” She doesn’t answer right away, just blinks a few times. Finally she asks, “What is wrong with you?” “I’m going to take that as duct tape.

Covering a last-place team can be a little on the lonely side; the press box is emptier, the stories wind up inside the section. (I’ll always remember one of my favorite Ray Ratto stories from one of the A’s down years began, “Meanwhile, back here among the tire ads....”) So in that sense, everyone likes a successful team.

Ownership has always treated me very well. People stay here for decades for a reason. It’s a great environment. Even when we have bad times, people have the freedom to do their jobs and also to have a life outside their jobs.

Bud Light?” she asks in a distasteful tone. “Did you think you would be getting a microbrew? It’s a college house.” “Still”—she takes a sip and cringes—“I thought you’d have a little more class.” “You’re giving me too much credit.” I nod my head toward the corner of the loft where there are less people. When she doesn’t initially follow me, I turn back around, grab her hand like I had to in class, and pull her across the loft until we’re settled in the corner. I lean against the wall and prop one leg behind me. She eyes me, giving me a full once-over. I do the same. She’s damn hot, and I’m regretting my actions last Saturday, passing out mid grope. Finally she says, “You seem to have lost your shirt.” She motions with her finger over my bare chest. I look down at her legs and reply, “Must be where the other half of your skirt is.” “Think they’re making out in a laundromat somewhere?” She takes a sip of her beer and cringes again. A few more sips and she’ll get used to it; always happens for me. “If they are, I hope they use the gentle cycle.” Her brow pulls together. “Not sure if that makes sense.” “Oh, because half of a skirt and a shirt making out in a laundromat does?” “In children’s books, sure.” “What kind of perverted children’s books did you read growing up?” I counter. “You know, the classics,” she answers causally. “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish and Skirt and Shirt, Lovers for Life.” “Ah, yes, I forgot about that passionate yet eye-opening youth literature that took the New York Times by storm.” “I have five signed first-edition copies in a box in my parents’ attic. Banking on them to clear out my student loans.” She sips her beer, flips her hair behind her shoulder, glances at my chest again. “Five?” I answer sarcastically. “Damn, forget college loans, you’re set for life.” “You think?” She glances around. “What the hell am I doing here then?” “To see me of course,” I answer with a smile. She rolls her eyes. “More like dragged to this party because my roommate has a crush on one of your freshmen.” “Yeah, which one?” I look over her head, eyeing all the partygoers. “No idea, but apparently he has amazing blue eyes.” “Amazing, huh? Has to be Gunner. I was even stunned by his eyes when he was recruited.” No joke, the dude won the lottery for irises. I’m even jealous with how . . . aqua they are. “Not ashamed to admit that?” she asks, shifting on her heels. “Not even a little.

My hope is that the Hall will provide a permanent exhibit that explains the steroid era and that includes names of the central figures; the Hall never has glossed over the era, but if the main PEDs guys are in, there should be a strong counterpoint right nearby somewhere.