Baseball is the only thing I can give you that might be worth something in your lives.

So, I say while we're able to wear the orange and black, let's give this town the title they deserve . . . Let's touch Heaven, boys . . .

I've gotta be around it, brother. I've gotta . . . But I'll never leave Rupland.

I bust my ass every day to keep myself relevant. Everything I have, everything I am gets left on this fucking field to stay relevant. You'll never understand that because it comes easy to you, and the bitch of it is that you take it for granted.

For years I've bled the orange and black, and for what? Look at all of us now. It's done us no favors. I don't miss shit; so don't preach to me about the goddamn game, boy.

On Saturday you're Mickey Lolich; make the game yours.

Fellas, we are the official boys of summer. Rupland treats us like gods. Beyond this though, we ain't shit. We're fools to think otherwise.