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When I was with the Yankees in 1978, we were playing Baltimore at Yankee Stadium, and the score was 3 - 3 going into the bottom of the ninth inning. I led off against Tippy Martinez - a little left-hander who always gave me trouble - and the count went to three-and-oh.

My father - until the day that my dad died - didn't know how many points you scored in a touchdown. He could say there were nine innings in baseball, but no intricacies of the sport.

I've pitched too many innings and pitched too many years - one game doesn't make or break my career.

I can't recall too much about pitching, but I do remember that I was anxious to get it over with. I just wanted to get that first game over with and go from there.

I pitched and I played the outfield.

When did it - When did it become okay for someone to hit home runs and forget how to play the rest of the game?

I remember when I wanted every pitch to be a strike.

As soon as I got out there I felt a strange relationship with the pitcher's mound. It was as if I'd been born out there. Pitching just felt like the most natural thing in the world. Striking out batters was easy.

I just wanted to keep the game close until we scored some runs.