Second Innings Quotes

Sometimes life gives you a second chance, or even two! Not always, but sometimes. It’s what you do with those second chances that counts.

For nearly six thousand years, God has held you in reserve to make your appearance in the final days before the Second Coming of the Lord. . . . God has saved for the final inning some of His strongest and most valiant children, who will help bear off the kingdom triumphantly. That is where you come in, for you are the generation that must be prepared to meet your God. . . .

Anytime,” Bill said. “Come on over with a six-pack tomorrow night, if you want. We’ll make fun of that goddamn Yastrzemski.” “That would be fun,” Ben said, “but what’ll we do after the second inning?

Most of us would give anything for the chance to play just one day of MLB baseball—especially for our favorite team. Well, there once was a pitcher named Bock Baker who actually got two opportunities to pitch in the big leagues. He took the mound for Cleveland against the Chicago White Sox in his big league debut. How did he fare? Well, he pitched a complete game. Pretty spectacular, right? Well, sure—but it depends on your perspective. He gave up 23 hits and 13 runs. Baker never pitched for Cleveland again, but the Philadelphia Athletics gave him a second big league start that same year (1901). He lasted juts six innings, and lost again after giving up 11 runs—and then his career was over.

Forest is the backbone of the O-fers. He pitches, bats cleanup, collects the fees, makes all the pre game reminder calls, fills out the lineup card, and is the undisputed (though unspoken) team captain. Few things inspire like watching Forest round third in the late innings with a head full of steam and two bad knees, his spare tire heaving violently beneath his snug jersey, just as the second basemen is fielding the relay. "Run, Forest, run!" We yell, from the dugout. It never gets old.

[...]a man and a boy, side by side on a yellow Swedish sofa from the 1950s that the man had bought because it somehow reminded him of a zoot suit, watching the A’s play Baltimore, Rich Harden on the mound working that devious ghost pitch, two pairs of stocking feet, size 11 and size 15, rising from the deck of the coffee table at either end like towers of the Bay Bridge, between the feet the remains in an open pizza box of a bad, cheap, and formerly enormous XL meat lover’s special, sausage, pepperoni, bacon, ground beef, and ham, all of it gone but crumbs and parentheses of crusts left by the boy, brackets for the blankness of his conversation and, for all the man knew, of his thoughts, Titus having said nothing to Archy since Gwen’s departure apart from monosyllables doled out in response to direct yes-or-nos, Do you like baseball? you like pizza? eat meat? pork?, the boy limiting himself whenever possible to a tight little nod, guarding himself at his end of the sofa as if riding on a crowded train with something breakable on his lap, nobody saying anything in the room, the city, or the world except Bill King and Ken Korach calling the plays, the game eventless and yet blessedly slow, player substitutions and deep pitch counts eating up swaths of time during which no one was required to say or to decide anything, to feel what might conceivably be felt, to dread what might be dreaded, the game standing tied at 1 and in theory capable of going on that way forever, or at least until there was not a live arm left in the bullpen, the third-string catcher sent in to pitch the thirty-second inning, batters catnapping slumped against one another on the bench, dead on their feet in the on-deck circle, the stands emptied and echoing, hot dog wrappers rolling like tumbleweeds past the diehards asleep in their seats, inning giving way to inning as the dawn sky glowed blue as the burner on a stove, and busloads of farmhands were brought in under emergency rules to fill out the weary roster, from Sacramento and Stockton and Norfolk, Virginia, entire villages in the Dominican ransacked for the flower of their youth who were loaded into the bellies of C-130s and flown to Oakland to feed the unassuageable appetite of this one game for batsmen and fielders and set-up men, threat after threat giving way to the third out, weak pop flies, called third strikes, inning after inning, week after week, beards growing long, Christmas coming, summer looping back around on itself, wars ending, babies graduating from college, and there’s ball four to load the bases for the 3,211th time, followed by a routine can of corn to left, the commissioner calling in varsity teams and the stars of girls’ softball squads and Little Leaguers, Archy and Titus sustained all that time in their equally infinite silence, nothing between them at all but three feet of sofa;

Of course, they say you can't steal first.  Detroit's Germany Schaefer did though. That zany character used to do his own announcing:  "Ladies and gentlemen!" he'd call out.  "Herman 'Germany' Schaefer now coming to bat for the Dee-troit Tagers.  That was the way he pronounced 'Tigers.'  Well, he was on first this day and Davy Jones on third in the ninth inning when they try to pull a double steal.  Nig Clarke, the catcher doesn't throw the ball, so on the next pitch Germany runs back to first.  He yells that he is gonna steal second again, and this time Nig tries to throw him out and Davy steals home with the winning run.  Craziest damned play you'll ever see.  They changed the rules after that.  Once you reach second, you can't run back and steal first.

was home plate, where Bill Mazeroski completed his electrifying home run while Umpire Bill Jackowski, broad back braced and arms spread, held off the mob long enough for Bill to make it legal. Pittsburgh’s steel mills couldn’t have made more noise than the crowd in this ancient park did when Mazeroski smashed Yankee Ralph Terry’s second pitch of the ninth inning. By the time the ball sailed over the ivy-covered brick wall, the rush from the stands had begun and these sudden madmen threatened to keep Maz from touching the plate with the run that beat the lordly Yankees, 10–9, for the title. Bear in mind that the story was written not at leisure but amid the din and distraction of a crowded press box in the immediate whooping aftermath of the game. Nor could a single thought or neat phrase (like “broad back braced and arms spread”) have been prepared in advance and casually dropped into the text. Since Mazeroski’s home run rudely upended a nation’s confident expectations of a victory by “the lordly Yankees,” every sportswriter present had to discard whatever he’d had in mind to say, even one batter earlier, and start afresh. Search as you will, you won’t find a better World Series game report on file anywhere, unless it was another

Hurry up!” everyone in the room seemed to shriek at the same time. It didn’t matter to us that all over Pittsburgh, in every house and in every bar, thousands of others were undoubtedly carrying out their own rituals, performing their own superstitions. Hats were turned backward and inside out, incantations spoken and sung, talismans rubbed and chewed and prayed to. People who had the bad fortune of arriving at their gathering shortly before the Orioles’ first run were treated like kryptonite and banished willingly to the silence of media-less dining rooms and bathrooms, forced to follow the game through the reactions of their friends and family. And every one of those people believed what we believed: that ours was the only one that mattered, the only one that worked. Ruthie fumbled through the pages. Johnson fouled one off. “Got it!” Ruthie called. She stood and held Dock Ellis’s picture high over her head, Shangelesa’s scribbled hearts like hundreds of clear bubbles through which her father could watch the fate of his teammates. “He’s no batter, he’s no batter!” Ruthie sang. Johnson grounded the next pitch to shortstop Jackie Hernandez, who threw to Bob Robertson at first, and the threat was over. We yelled until we were hoarse. We were raucous and ridiculous and unashamed, and I have no better childhood memory than the rest of that afternoon. Blass came back out for the ninth, heroically shrugging off his wobbly eighth and, with Ruthie still standing behind us, holding the program shakily aloft for the entirety of the inning, he induced a weak grounder from Boog Powell, an infield pop-up from Frank Robinson, and a Series-ending grounder to short from Rettenmund. For the second inning in a row, Hernandez threw to Robertson for the final out, and all of us (or those who were able) jumped from our seats just as Blass leaped into Robertson’s arms, straddling his teammate’s chest like a frightened acrobat. Any other year, Blass would have been named the Most Valuable Player, and his performance remains one of the most dominant by a pitcher in Series history: eighteen innings, two earned runs, thirteen strikeouts, just four walks, and two complete game victories. But this Series belonged to Clemente. To put what he did in perspective, no Oriole player had more than seven hits. Clemente had twelve, including two doubles, a triple and two homeruns. He was relentless and graceful and indomitable. He had, in fact, made everyone else look like minor leaguers. The rush

The other famous story is from 1977. Middlesex needed an outright win against Surrey and one day’s play had been washed out. After bundling out Surrey for 42, Mike Brearley stunningly declared Middlesex’s first innings after just one ball so that his bowlers could again run through Surrey a second time when the pitch was at its worst. Surrey collapsed for 89. Now, in better batting conditions and with sufficient time in hand, Middlesex knocked off the required runs.

Although I had represented Jayalalithaa in her earlier case regarding the possession of the party office, that had nothing to do with the corruption case later against her as the chief minister and, therefore, there was no technical difficulty in my accepting a brief to appear against her.

Recreation for Seniors: Enhancing Physical, Emotional & Social Well-Being Introduction: Recreation for senior citizens is a range of activities designed to promote physical, emotional, and social well-being. These activities focus on gentle exercise, cognitive stimulation, and fostering social connections. Some of these activities include yoga, arts & craft, gardening, music & dance, games and group outings. Importance: Recreation for senior citizens is important as it directly impacts their overall well-being in several ways: Physical Health: Engaging in physical activities, even low-impact ones, helps seniors maintain mobility, balance, strength, and cardiovascular health, reducing the risk of falls and chronic diseases. Mental Health: Recreational activities stimulate cognitive functions, which can help delay the onset of dementia and Alzheimer’s. They also improve memory, concentration, and problem-solving skills. Emotional Well-being: Participating in enjoyable activities helps reduce feelings of loneliness, depression, and anxiety, fostering a sense of belonging, purpose and joy in daily life. Conclusion: Recreation enriches seniors’ lives by offering opportunities for creativity, learning, and fun. It provides structure to their days and gives them something to look forward to, leading to a happier, more fulfilling lifestyle. Why Second Innings House: At Second Innings House, we know how important recreational activities are for seniors. We offer a range of fun and engaging programs that help our residents stay active, happy, and connected. Our activities aren’t just for our residents – other seniors from the community are welcome to join in through a simple subscription plan at our Senior Social Centre. Whether it’s yoga, arts, or social games, every activity is designed to improve well-being and create a sense of belonging. Join us at Second Innings House Senior Social Centre, where seniors can enjoy each day, stay connected, and live life to the fullest! Second Innings House, a home away from home!

And the solid thwack of leather and wood colliding in perfect disharmony. The first made his dick hard, the second melted his heart, and the third brought a smile to his face. Todd rounded first base, his lips curving upward as the baseball soared into the centerfield stands. He stepped on second base, vaguely aware of fans scrambling to see who would come up with the homerun ball. Rounding third, his smile faded, even though the entire Mustangs team waited just beyond home plate to celebrate his ninth inning, game-winning homer. High-fiving his teammates, he accepted their jubilant accolades, removed his batting helmet, and waved to the crowd before ducking his six-foot-two frame into the dugout that had been his home for his entire Major League career. Thinking about the yet-to-be-determined dugout he would call home next season made his stomach cramp. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he told the Mustangs team

The Tigers, having racked up two second-inning runs off Washburn, sent fifteen men to the plate in the third and tied a famous Series record by scoring ten runs in one inning. Jim Northrup hit a grand-slammer into the right-field bullpen, Kaline and Cash had two hits apiece, the top three Tiger hitters scored six runs, and eight men reached base before the first out was made, and my totals indicated six singles, one homer, four walks, one hit batsman, one sacrifice bunt, four disheartened pitchers, and one bollixed scorecard. This kind of rockslide is not quite the rarity it might seem, and whenever it happens I am left with the impression that all the players involved are mere bystanders at a statistical cataclysm. The batters become progressively more certain that each hit will drop in for them, the fielders less surprised by each unreachable fly or untouchable grounder, the pitchers more and more convinced that their best stuff will be bombed. In the end, there seems nothing to do but wait until the riot exhausts itself and probability can again be placed under the rule of law.

But she seems to be on a roll of not giving a fuck. “If the Rebels make it to the World Series, Brody and Gary are required to perform the following rituals in this order. First game, both lying on their backs, pinkies linked.” Jesus, not the pinkies linked. “Second game, back-to-back, rotating every half inning so they don’t strain their necks.” That one just makes sense. “Third game, they feed each other potato salad every inning. That one’s disgusting to witness.” We keep a cooler to the side so it doesn’t get warm, not that you were asking. “Fourth game…hmm, what do they, oh yeah. They pretend their feet are phones and ring each other up every inning to call in the inning’s plays.” That one we could have left out. “Fifth, sixth, and seventh, those are up for grabs. But if they do reach game seven, they have to wear their clothes backward with their underwear on the outside and sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ before every inning while holding hands and spinning around in circles.” Well…fuck. That’s pretty damning. And for the record, I carry that song for the both of us. Gary has an awful voice, and I should be sainted for dealing with his off-pitch singing.

Senior Citizen Care in Hyderabad: Where Wellness Meets Comfort As we age, the need for a balanced and fulfilling lifestyle becomes even more important. For seniors in Hyderabad, finding a place that blends wellness with comfort is important for maintaining quality of life. At Second Innings House, we believe that senior citizen care is about more than just staying. It’s about fostering a vibrant community where residents can thrive physically, mentally, and emotionally. Senior Citizen Care in Hyderabad: A Holistic Approach Senior citizen care in Hyderabad is evolving to meet the diverse needs of Elders. Modern senior living homes, like Second Innings House, focus on creating a nurturing environment where residents can experience the best of both worlds, wellness and comfort. Our approach is holistic, ensuring that our residents not only receive top-notch care & support, but also enjoy opportunities for recreation, social engagement, and personal growth. Recreation for Senior Citizens: Staying Active and Engaged Recreation plays a vital role in senior living, helping residents maintain their physical health, cognitive function, and emotional well-being. At Second Innings House, we offer a wide range of activities designed to engage and inspire our residents. Whether it’s yoga classes, nature walks, arts and crafts, or group outings, we believe that staying active is key to a fulfilling life in later years. Our recreation programs are designed to cater to different interests and abilities, ensuring that everyone can participate at their own pace. These activities not only promote physical health but also foster a sense of community and belonging. Second Innings House: A Home Away From Home At Second Innings House, we pride ourselves on creating a warm, welcoming environment where seniors can feel at home. Our dedicated staff are committed to providing personalized care, ensuring that each resident’s unique needs are met with compassion and respect. The surroundings, coupled with thoughtfully designed living spaces, provide the perfect setting for a peaceful and comfortable lifestyle. Residents can enjoy their independence while having access to assistance whenever needed. Conclusion Senior citizen care in Hyderabad is about striking the right balance between wellness and comfort. At Second Innings House, we strive to offer a seamless blend of both, ensuring that our residents not only live well but also feel well. From nutritious meals and fitness programs to recreational activities and social interactions, we aim to enrich every aspect of their lives. In this journey of aging gracefully, Second Innings House is more than just a senior living home—it’s a community where seniors can find purpose, joy, and a sense of belonging. Here, wellness truly meets comfort, creating an environment where seniors can enjoy their golden years to the fullest.

in the impeachment proceeding against Justice Bhalla, the BJP declined to sign because L.K. Advani had been acquitted by him in the Babri Masjid demolition case.

His disappointment at not buying the team didn’t diminish his affection for the local nine. Eight years later Fitzgerald was serving his second term as mayor when the Red Sox opened its doors to its new home, Fenway Park. In the first game of the park’s inaugural season, Mayor Fitzgerald christened the stadium by throwing out the first pitch in the field’s history. The opening of the stadium proved to be good luck. It was in that same season that the Red Sox earned their first visit to the World Series. Their opponent was the New York Giants. Before the games began, New York Mayor William Gaynor invited his Boston contemporary, Honey Fitz, to be his guest in New York for the first games of the championship. Fitzgerald boldly replied, “It will give me great pleasure to be your guest as the Red Sox begin their onward march to the World Championship.” The Red Sox won the series in eight games, in a thrilling extra-inning victory-clinching World Series, their first one. In Boston crowds flocked

But I also thought of all the games I’d seen through the years—football, basketball, baseball—when one team had a big lead in the final seconds, or innings, and relaxed. Or tightened. And therefore lost. I told myself to stop looking back, keep my gaze forward.

It wasn’t as outside as they wanted. Sisler drove it over the left-field fence. The Whiz Kids were going to the 1950 World Series. They lost. The Yankees of Joe DiMaggio, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford, and Phil Rizzuto swept them in four games. The Yanks had their second consecutive World Series title and thirteenth overall; the Phillies were still looking for their first. They had scored all of four runs while getting swept in the last all-Caucasian World Series. (Mays, Monte Irvin, and Hank Thompson would play for the New York Giants in the 1951 Series.) Still, they rode the train home to a heroes’ welcome at Philadelphia’s Broad Street Station. The Whiz Kids were National League champions, the youngest club in the league, with better years in store, they thought.

We all know the situation; the brilliant quick bowler with his tail up delivers the ball on a perfect length and line. A hint of swing has it pitching just outside off, before seam movement takes it further away from the right hander who would be well advised, if good enough, to leave well alone. But he only has a fraction of a second to respond and make his decision. Yet somehow this astonishing batsman is neither shouldering arms nor nibbling, he’s standing tall and smashing a wicket-taking delivery through the covers, on the up, to the boundary. 'Wow,' enthuses the commentator, 'I’m here to tell you that was some shot.' And it was. Next over, same bowler, same ball, same response but instead of that beautiful meaty sound of ball meeting sweet-spot there is a heavy click as a thick edge flies waste high to a grateful third slip. 'Gone! And you have to say that was a poor shot – no foot movement.' "The gap between brilliant and brainless was some four centimetres. Or was it? Surely the first shot was every bit as reckless and feckless? Our foolhardy batsman got away with his poor shot selection first time but within minutes he went from hero to zero. So who is our thrilling and exasperating protagonist? Take your pick: Victor Trumper, Stan McCabe, Denis Compton, Barry Richards, Gordon Greenidge, Virender Sehwag. This is how they played, the risks they took made them what they were: the most thrilling, watchable and often frustrating batsmen of their respective generations. If you want the highs then you must take the lows, and for each run-a-ball century there will be a horridly inappropriate early-innings catastrophe signalling disappointment for all neutrals.

I don’t like exclamation marks as a rule, but this one’s unavoidable. Playing against Neil Harvey! I’d read Arthur Mailey’s poignant essay about playing against his hero, Vic Trumper. If I’d earlier found Mailey’s near-hysterical countdown a bit over the top, I didn’t think so now. So, God, please don’t let it rain. "I’ll keep it brief. Harvey back-cut a ball, which I chased. Picking it up near the pickets, I gazed at it. Gosh, this ball had just been stroked by Neil Harvey! Our wicket-keeper was screaming, 'Come on, Frithy! Throw the bloody thing in!' I did, shamefaced at the silly delay. Then our off-spinner annoyingly dismissed Neil for 10. "On the second Saturday I got in. ABC Radio were experimenting with live broadcasts from grade matches. My old scrapbook shows that I scored 29 in 100 minutes, a dreary effort that may well have been solely responsible for the abandonment of the commentary idea. What must Neil Harvey have thought? What really matters, though, is how my precious innings ended. Harvey bowled a curving off spinner outside leg. I tried to glance it, but that ball was loaded. It swerved, what, two feet? Well, two or three inches anyway. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I left that field slightly elated.