A Quote by Harmon Killebrew

There was a time when rival teams used a shift against me. They would put the second baseman on the shortstop's side of the bag, move the shortstop into the hole to his right, and have the third baseman hug the foul line. The idea was to build an infield wall against a known right-handed pull hitter.
I made the varsity team as a freshman at 15. Then, I tore a tendon and never fully recovered. I was a shortstop, then third baseman, then second baseman.
What is the top requirement for a second baseman? A fine shortstop. I am fortunate in having the greatest shortstop in baseball, Luis Aparicio.
These are the saddest of possible words, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. Trio of Bear Cubs fleeter than birds, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble, Making a Giant hit into a double, Words that are weighty with nothing but trouble, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. This brief poem, immortalized the Chicago Cubs' double-play combination: Shortstop Joe Tinker, second baseman Johnny Evers, and first baseman Frank Chance.
I got Neil Walker now as my new second baseman. He's great. He looks comfortable there. He knows what he's doing. That's the second baseman you want to play with.
My Daddy was left-handed, and I was left-handed when I was little. In fact, I was left-handed all the way to high school. Then I switched over to right-handed cause I wanted to play shortstop.
The base paths belonged to me, the runner. The rules gave me the right. I always went into a bag full speed, feet first. I had sharp spikes on my shoes. If the baseman stood where he had no business to be and got hurt, that was his fault.
All that analysis is well and good, but what I need right now is a left-handed batter who can hit the ball over the shortstop's head.
In the second and third exiles we have served as a living protest against greed and hate, against physical force, against "might makes right"!
Obviously, I'm a shortstop at heart. I want to continue to play shortstop.
I am a lefty, though I bat right-handed... When I was a kid I pitched, played first, outfield and shortstop as well. Now it's mainly softball with some friends.
My major league debut came at old Busch Stadium on Grand Avenue in St. Louis, against the Pittsburgh Pirates. The first pitch I threw was to third baseman Bob Bailey. It was a fastball, low and away. He ripped it for a home run down the left field line. I said, 'Damn, that was a pretty good pitch.
I took his hand, and suddely he yanked me?too roughly?right off the bed so that I thudded against his chest. "Just in case," he muttered against my hair, crushing me in a bear hug that about to broke my ribs. "Can't?breathe!" I gasped.
I spent hours from 11 until 16 with Tottenham in the gym playing the ball against the wall. We played against the wall for an hour before we would have a match. Left foot. Right foot. In the square. In the circle. Above the line, below it. Chest control. Thigh control. Volley sideways.
Pressed up against him, I can feel the thud of his heart against mine, his ribcase expanding and contracting rapidly against my chest, the warm whisper of his breath tickling the side of my neck, the brush of his leg against my thigh. Resting my arms on his shoulders, I pull back a little to get a look at his face. But he isn't smiling any more.
George Bowering doesn’t play fair. Baseball Love is so good there is no memoir in the league that can go up against it. Bowering has a sense of story and an eye for detail that eliminate the possibility that he was a lousy second baseman. Reading a home run is fun.
The fundamental rights of [humanity] are, first: the right of habitation; second, the right to move freely; third, the right to the soil and subsoil, and to the use of it; fourth, the right of freedom of labor and of exchange; fifth, the right to justice; sixth, the right to live within a natural national organization; and seventh, the right to education.
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