There are certain things I can't do, certain pitches I can't hit. You stay away from them. You try to wait for pitches you can hit. The bat speed isn't what it used to be. You make up for it by using your head, working counts, getting ahead in counts and getting pitches to hit and hitting them hard.
Only enemies speak the truth; friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty.
Few people sufficiently appreciate the colossal task of feeding a world of billions of omnivores who demand meat with their potatoes.

