A Quote by Phil Niekro

My dad played for a coal-mining team in eastern Ohio; he was a very good pitcher. If he hadn't hurt his arm, he probably would have got a shot somewhere. He hurt his arm one spring, didn't warm up good enough, couldn't throw a fastball anymore. Another coal miner taught him how to throw the knuckleball.
I remember going to see my dad pitch against other coal-mining teams, and he was successful with the knuckleball. I saw how bad guys would look like swinging, and how guys talked about how he could throw every day and didn't hurt his arm. That's how I grew up learning.
Every coal miner I talked to had, in his history, at least one story of a cave-in. 'Yeah, he got covered up,' is a way coal miners refer to fathers and brothers and sons who got buried alive.
If you're the guy who basically shows up with coal at the locomotive, they will put it in the train. Like, they won't even assess whatever or not it's good coal. Just throw it in there.
I come from a coal-mining, working-class background. My father was a coal miner.
I grew up listening to my dad, a miner who rose through the ranks to be the mine superintendent in Coalwood, W.V. , yelling orders into his black company phone. He wanted to get coal out of the ground and into coal cars and on its way to steel mills.
Everybody wants to know, 'How do you throw a curveball, how do you throw a slider, how do you throw this and that,' when they can't even locate a fastball. Learn how to control your fastball and then once you've got that, move on to other things.
See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner," "A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?" "Because when he sings...even the birds stop to listen.
Sometimes my arm wants to throw a hard fastball, but my brain doesn't want to throw it that hard.
Not exactly. You see, Portia and I think that the coal miner thing's very overdone. No one will remember you in that. And we both see it has our job to make District 12 tributes unforgettable,' says Cinna. I'll be naked for sure, I think. 'So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we're going to focus on the coal,' says Cinna. Naked and covered in black dust, i think. 'And what do we do with coal? We burn it,' says Cinna. 'You're not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?' He sees my expression and grins.
I'm not gonna throw a Ryan Leaf bullet, but I've got a good enough arm, where I think it'll turn some heads and keep them interested.
The hardest thing I've had to overcome was being from my small coal-mining town of Big Stone Gap, Virginia. My mother was a coal miner for nineteen years, and the expectations of making it out of my town were slim to none.
Rick Santorum is the grandson of a coal miner. His dad was the manager of a V.A. hospital.
I am the granddaughter of a Welsh coal miner who was determined that his kids get out of the mines. My dad got his first job when he was six years old, in a little village in Wales called Nantyffyllon, cleaning bottles at the Colliers Arms.
She grabbed his arm. "Let it be, son!" she cried. "That child ain't hurt!" "Not hurt! You look into her eyes and tell me she ain't hurt!
It seems the EPA has worked hard to devise new regulations that are designed to eliminate coal mining, coal burning, usage of coal.
I never knew how to throw a fastball, never learned how to throw a curveball, a slider, split-finger, whatever they're throwing nowadays. I was a one-pitch pitcher.
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