I laugh, and it was amazing! I swear I could see my laughter floating around me like puffy things you blow off a dandelion, only instead of being white it was birthday-cake-frosting-blue. wow! Who knew hitting my head and passing out would be so much fun? I wonder if this was what it was like to be high.
I always could hit, but fielding I had to work at. I took as much pride in fielding as hitting. I became a complete ballplayer. I knew when to take the extra base. I knew about the outfielder hitting the cutoff man. I knew when and how to bunt. I knew when to hit-and-run.
No one knew what Rodney King had done beforehand to be stopped. No one realized that he was a parolee and that he was violating his parole. No one knew any of those things. All they saw was this grainy film and police officers hitting him over the head.
Even when disco went out, I could still make hits. Once I had so much success, every idea became concentrated. I had so much confidence. I knew how the bass should sound, what rhythms would work. The tempos I knew: 110 to 120 BPM. I knew they would dance in the clubs in New York or anywhere.
I had a lot of great lakes of ignorance that I was up against, I would write what I knew in almost like islands that were rising up out of the oceans. Then I would take time off and read, sometimes for months, then I would write more of what I knew, and saw what I could see, as much as the story as I could see. And then at a certain point I had to write out what I thought was the plot because it was so hard to keep it all together in my head. And then I started to write in a more linear way.
There is no question that in the '50s and '60s, black players got thrown at more. That's not a negative comment. It may come out that way, but that's the way it was. Hitting another player was part of the game; hitting a player in the head is not.
When I was in high school in the early 1970s, we knew we were running out of oil; we knew that easy sources were being capped; we knew that diversifying would be much better; we knew that there were terrible dictators and horrible governments that we were enriching who hated us. We knew all that and we did really nothing.
Because I knew how hard I worked, I knew the pain, I knew the sacrifice, I knew the tears, I knew everything. Despite everything, I stuck to it. I toughed it out, and I kept my head in the game, even when the odds were against me.
Neither our own passing nor the passing of an era is a tragedy, no matter how much we would like to think it is.
Hitting the road with Steps is going to be so much fun.
My former agent introduced me to darts by saying it was a game that would be a lot of fun. He knew I had to concentrate on hitting three 20s or a double or a treble - as this is a target you must achieve. Your mind is focused on accuracy. And it's the same in football, where I must strike the ball just to the right or left of a post.
That really was NOT fun, though. Well, the hitting-her-with-a-stick part, that was fun. But crashing into a concrete bear? NOT fun.
In eighth grade, I pretty much didn't want to pass. I was 6'8'.' I was always bigger and stronger. I was getting triple-teamed, and the results weren't good. I wasn't helping my team. I was forcing shots. Then I started passing it out to my team, and they started hitting shots and slashing, and that's when things opened up for me.
You know, this game's not very much fun when you're only hitting .247.
By training with Ken Hahn, who comes from that full-contact karate school where he's hitting me in the back of the head while I'm hitting the bag, I learned that pain is a temporary state.
When The Who first started, we were playing blues, and I dug the blues and I knew what I was supposed to be playing, but I couldn't play it. I couldn't get it out. I knew what I had to play; it was in my head. I could hear the notes in my head, but I couldn't get them out on the guitar.