"All pitchers are liars or crybabies"
About this Quote
Yogi Berra condenses a catchers lifetime of observation into a single wisecrack. Pitching is built on deception, and it is haunted by sensitivity. To get hitters out, a pitcher must lie with his body and mind: hide the grip, change speeds, disguise intentions, set up one pitch with another, sell a fastball and deliver a changeup. Baseball at the highest level is a series of feints, and the mound is a stage for controlled misdirection. If a hitter believes the wrong story, the pitcher wins.
The crybaby half lands with the same affectionate sting. No position carries more fragile pride. A pitcher holds the ball on every play, and the spotlight magnifies every wobble: a tight strike zone, a misplayed grounder, a flicker of pain in the elbow, a teammate missing signs. They are paid to project dominance but live with a permanently threatened equilibrium. Umpires, weather, the ball itself seem to conspire, and so come the gestures to the heavens, the glares, the mutters into the glove. Berra, who spent his career meeting pitchers at the mound and catching their storms, knew how quickly toughness turns to tenderness when the count runs full.
As with most Berra-isms, the joke carries a forgiving shrug. He is not scolding; he is teasing a truth that everyone in a clubhouse recognizes. Liars, because craft demands guile. Crybabies, because greatness at that craft requires feeling everything a little too much. The line also marks the catchers role as translator and therapist. A good catcher invents the alibis, calls the deceptions, settles the nerves, and shapes the story the pitcher tells to batter and umpire alike.
Coming from the man who caught Don Larsens perfect game and shepherded volatile talents through dynasties, it reads as both roast and salute. Pitchers are complicated creatures; winning baseball depends on their beautiful lies and their fragile pride.
The crybaby half lands with the same affectionate sting. No position carries more fragile pride. A pitcher holds the ball on every play, and the spotlight magnifies every wobble: a tight strike zone, a misplayed grounder, a flicker of pain in the elbow, a teammate missing signs. They are paid to project dominance but live with a permanently threatened equilibrium. Umpires, weather, the ball itself seem to conspire, and so come the gestures to the heavens, the glares, the mutters into the glove. Berra, who spent his career meeting pitchers at the mound and catching their storms, knew how quickly toughness turns to tenderness when the count runs full.
As with most Berra-isms, the joke carries a forgiving shrug. He is not scolding; he is teasing a truth that everyone in a clubhouse recognizes. Liars, because craft demands guile. Crybabies, because greatness at that craft requires feeling everything a little too much. The line also marks the catchers role as translator and therapist. A good catcher invents the alibis, calls the deceptions, settles the nerves, and shapes the story the pitcher tells to batter and umpire alike.
Coming from the man who caught Don Larsens perfect game and shepherded volatile talents through dynasties, it reads as both roast and salute. Pitchers are complicated creatures; winning baseball depends on their beautiful lies and their fragile pride.
Quote Details
| Topic | Witty One-Liners |
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