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I remember one game when I pitched in Yankee Stadium and gave up five runs in the first inning. It would have been easy to quit, but I shut 'em out the rest of the way, and we came back and won the game.

I pitched and I played the outfield.

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.

Hitters never showed me up, as hard as I threw. And I was pretty mean out on the mound.

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 dad was my coach in baseball and early on in basketball, so playing baseball was something we always did.

I played Little League in junior high and high school.

When I was 12, I had a coach tell me I would never be a championship pitcher. That devastated me. I was crushed.

I knew at a young age, whether I was playing baseball or hockey or lacrosse, that my teammates were counting on me, whether it be to strike the last batter out in a baseball game or score a big goal in a hockey game.

Pitchers did me a favor when they knocked me down. It made me more determined. I wouldn't let that pitcher get me out. They say you can't hit if you're on your back, but I didn't hit on my back. I got up.