A Quote by Reggie Jackson

When you hit a player in the head, you're more apt to get some fisticuffs or, you know, bring both teams out on the field, but it was more accepted that - in the '50s, '60s and '70s. I think nowadays it's a little over-policed because I will always believe that knocking a hitter down, even hitting a hitter at, sometimes, is part of baseball.
There has always been a saying in baseball that you can't make a hitter, but I think you can improve a hitter. More than you can improve a fielder. More mistakes are made hitting than in any other part of the game.
Some coaches believed they could judge a player's performance simply by watching it. In this they were deeply mistaken. The naked eye was an inadequate tool for learning what you needed to know to evaluate baseball players and baseball games. Think about it. One absolutely cannot tell, by watching, the difference between a .300 hitter and a .275 hitter. The difference is one hit every two weeks. The difference between a good hitter and an average hitter is simply not visible-it is a matter of record
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.
Hitting in a game is no different than hitting in a home run contest. It pisses me off to say Barry Bonds is the greatest hitter. He's playing in a wussy era. The game is soft. You never get thrown at today. Last thing a hitter has to worry about today is getting hit. The first thing Hank Aaron had to worry about is: Am I going to survive this at-bat because I'm black.
Anytime a pitcher hasn't faced a hitter, I feel the pitcher has the advantage. The more times the hitter sees somebody, the more the advantage goes to the hitter.
The leadoff-hitter thing, I think, it's always nice to have an established leadoff hitter and to have someone who can really get on base and set the tone.
The 60s were a continuation of the 50s much more than people realized. Certainly in some countries, like Britain, there was still a culture of deference, whereas in the 70s we really are in a time of angry transition. The generation that came into young adulthood in the 70s couldn't find jobs; that wasn't true in my generation. They entered a time when two depressing things hit them both at the same time.
Anytime you can see a hitter and face a hitter, you gain knowledge, and you gain that experience. Whether they hit a homerun off you, or you strike them out or whatever it is, it's information.
Sometimes the hitter get a hit, sometimes I strike them out, but in niether case does anyone die.
That's one of the great oddities of baseball: Success is relative. A hitter who fails 70 percent of the time at the plate is a potential member of the National Baseball Hall of Fame, and many World Championship teams lose more than 70 games during their title-winning seasons.
I copied (Shoeless Joe) Jackson's style because I thought he was the greatest hitter I had ever seen, the greatest natural hitter I ever saw. He's the guy who made me a hitter.
When the ball is over the middle of the plate, the batter is hitting it with the sweet part of the bat. When it's inside, he's hitting it with the part of the bat from the handle to the trademark. When it's outside, he's hitting it with the end of the bat. You've got to keep the ball away from the sweet part of the bat. To do that, the pitcher has to move the hitter off the plate.
The .350 hitter expects, and also deserves, a big payoff for his performance - even if he plays for a cellar-dwelling team. And a .150 hitter should get no reward - even if he plays for a pennant winner.
One absolutely cannot tell, by watching, the difference between a .300 hitter and a .275 hitter. The difference is one hit every two weeks.
There's so much attached to playing shortstop that you lose your concentration on hitting, unless you're a natural hitter. There's so much to think about in the field, you don't have time to think about what you did at the plate last time. 'How did he get me out?'
My dad wasn't a power hitter, and I didn't think I'd be a power hitter because the person I wanted to be like was him, and he was the one that taught me to play the game.
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