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I love rings, but I can't wear them. I mean, look at my knuckles. My fingers and joints are so swollen from years of playing. That means no wedding band, either. Luckily, I have a very understanding wife.

I mean, I do wear a wedding ring and take it off when I shoot.

I like wearing my wedding ring, it's nice.

Wedding rings need to be sparkly to remind us not to have sex with other people.

I only wear two rings: a wedding ring and my World Series ring.

I wear my wedding ring. We talk about when we're going to get married again, which we hope is going to take place some time in this incredibly hectic calendar year.

I try to remember, as I hear about friends getting engaged, that it's not about the ring and it's not about the wedding. It's a grave thing, getting married. And it's easy to get swept up in the wrong things.

For years my wedding ring has done its job. It has led me not into temptation. It has reminded my husband numerous times at parties that it's time to go home. It has been a source of relief to a dinner companion. It has been a status symbol in the maternity ward.

I've chosen my wedding ring large and heavy to continue forever. But exactly because of that all the time that Dave and I have an argument I feel it like handcuffs, and on anger time I throw it in a basket. Poor Dave, he bought me three wedding rings already!

Being married is kind of like being a Ken-doll; you don't get to dress yourself anymore.