Just take the ball and throw it where you want to. Throw strikes. Home plate don't move.

If you want to walk me, walk me. But if I see something close to home plate, I want to swing.

I told the umpires to walk back at least thirty-five feet from home plate. That reduced the arguements.

We may have been born on third base, but we worked like we were starting from home plate. You know: batter up.

I always say that I think my job is behind home plate, call a good game, play some good defense, and also, I know I was not a power hitter.

When I went to home plate in a game-tied situation or with a chance to do something and help the ballclub win one, I'd try to make eye contact with the pitcher.

My mother has the same kind of an arm, even today at 74. She could throw a ball from second base to home plate with something on it. I got my arm from my mother.

I don't think too much about mechanics. I just like to go up there and swing. It's more than my swing, though. It's my mindset. I always go to home plate with a plan.

Phil Niekro and his brother were pitching against each other in Atlanta. Their parents were sitting right behind home plate. I saw their folks more that day than they did the whole weekend.

The Metrodome was built for football. Fans seated down the third-base line at a baseball game faced centerfield, so that they had to turn and look over their right shoulders to see home plate.

There's a large oak tree in the Newton Centre park playground that is legendary because only a few humans have hit it with a baseball from home plate, and B.J. Novak is among them. And I was there that day.

I always tried to watch the pitcher and his complete windup from the moment he had the ball in his glove all the way through his motion, and tried to follow it all the way out of his hand, all the way to home plate.

In New York, I have a photo of my parents on their wedding day in 1947. They're beaming at home plate in Houston's Buffalo Stadium. I love the photo because my dad is smiling. He didn't smile much in his later years.

And, you know, you try and preach to them there's more to this game than just walking up to home plate, swinging the bat, fielding a ground ball. There's some dedication in it, some love you've got to put into this work.

As we all know, Cooperstown is the home of baseball. One of the many duties of the home plate umpire is to make sure that the runner touches home. Well, if you're a true baseball fan, you need to visit Cooperstown. This is home.

Certain guys, they can see a guy do a certain thing with their glove and know what pitch is coming. I couldn't do that. But I can get on first base and I can tell you by his move if that pitcher is going to first base or home plate every time.

I just umpire. That's what I've done. That's all I can do. I'm one of the fortunate ones on God's earth. I found what God meant for me to do. People ask if I like working home plate best. I just want to be between the white lines. That's where I belong, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

There's a sense of aliveness that comes from connection, shared experience. And you see it in every place. You see it when ball players jump up and down, gather at home plate, hugging, and it's not just because they're winning, it's that shared moment, that feeling of - we enter the world alone, we leave alone.

Sometimes you go to home plate, and you have an idea, like a clear idea, of what they're going to throw to you. I think that's all: getting better pitches to hit, realizing when you hit the ball better, what pitch you hit, if you're chasing too much. If you figure out all that, you can get a little better as a player.

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