A Quote by Mina Kimes

While American ballplayers from Mickey Mantle to David Ortiz have flipped their bats, the act is still perceived as a great offense here - an insult to the pitcher, the opposing team and all that's sacred in America's pastime.
I spent every bit of my money to try and get a Mickey Mantle card, and I don't have one. Growing up in Oklahoma, Mickey Mantle was my idol. And here I am, and I'd go pick cotton to have enough money, and I'd buy all of these packs, and I'd chew all of the gum, and I'd never find a Mickey Mantle card.
He (Mickey Mantle) has it in his body to be great.
Ladies and gentlemen, the great number seven, Mickey Mantle.
She'd tell me how she'd handle the backhanded compliment by smiling and pretending she was receiving a genuine compliment all the while ignoring their attempt to be insulting. After all, it's the way an insult is received that makes it an insult. You can't really give offense unless someone takes it.
I don't want to take anything away from Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle. They're both great hitters, but they're batting against guys they never would have seen in previous years.
Mickey Mantle was baseball.
In Naples, Fla., I met a self-made man, a multimillionaire, whose round penthouse apartment is home to Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Claude Monet, Henry Moore, and Mickey Mantle. He had purchased the most coveted items auctioned by the Mantle family at Madison Square Garden in December 2003.
Here lies Mickey Mantle. Banned from baseball.
It's not fear of striking out that makes me reluctant to step up to the plate. It's the fear of getting hit in the head by a 90 mph fastball, the pitcher coming off of the mound to stomp me with her cleats while I am down, the rest of the opposing team rushing out of the dugout hurling insults as they kick me and spit on me, while all along the crowd in the stands is cheering them on and laughing at my failure. So, no, it's not the fear of striking out that keeps me from stepping up to the plate.
And that one is gone. A home run for Mickey Mantle! How do you like that?
In the spring of 1957, Mickey Mantle was the king of New York. He had the Triple Crown to prove it, having become only the 12th player in history to earn baseball's gaudiest jewel. In 1956, he had finally fulfilled the promise of his promise, batting .353, with 52 homers and 130 RBIs. Everybody loved Mickey.
If that guy (Mickey Mantle) were healthy, he'd hit 80 home runs.
A great writer named Neal Stephenson said that America does four things better than any other country in the world: rock music, movies, software and high-speed pizza delivery. All of these are sacred American art forms. Let's return to our purity and our idealism while we have this shot.
I have no problem with anyone storming the court. But storm the court after the opposing team has gone to the locker room. Once the opposing team is out of the area, put them all (the fans) on the court.
On two legs, Mickey Mantle would have been the greatest ballplayer who ever lived.
Taking offense has become America's national pastime; being theatrically offended supposedly signifies the exquisitely refined moral delicacy of people who feel entitled to pass through life without encountering ideas or practices that annoy them.
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