I talk to the guy who busted his butt all week to buy a color TV, and the woman who's raising her kids, the people I owe a debt to. I'm talking to people in hotel rooms, lonesome people.
The older I got, the more willing I was to go into the Southern vernacular, because some of it's funny.
When the money gets bigger and the stakes get higher, the sea gets wider, and the sharks in the water grow sharper teeth.
I don't want to get back into the pressure cooker of play-by-play and worry about travel. I don't want to die in a stadium parking lot.
This 'Whoa, Nellie!' thing is overrated. There were all kinds of stories going around. People said I had a mule in Georgia named Nellie. Well, we had a mule in Georgia, but her name was Pearl.
If I could get someone like John Grisham or someone like that to sit down and write a book with me, I'd love that.
