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I spent a whole year when I was injured just trying to get my arm back to the point where I could hit a tennis ball for more than 30 minutes a day. I'd hit for 15 minutes and it would feel as if my arm was going to fall off.

I was in Cuba in the winter of 1937. I was playing in Cuba, and I'm in the shower, and I slipped and caught myself with my right arm. I felt something pull right then. Then, in '38, when I came back, my arm was messed up.

I flailed my arm in a throwing motion before I could even walk.

When I was 12, I snapped my arm in two. My wrist still has a funny bump because they didn't join it back together so great.

My father was a Norwegian who came from a small town near Oslo. He broke his arm at the elbow when he was 14, and they amputated it.

But, then again, I had to stop because there was too much pain or too much trouble. After I retired I still had one more elbow surgery just to be able to do normal things.

I had to have shoulder reconstruction.

Sooner or later the arm goes bad. It has to... Sooner or later you have to start pitching in pain.

I am extremely lucky; I've never been ill - although about 20 years ago I broke my right arm hang gliding.