Tommy Lasorda Quotes

I don't like the idea of competition - maybe because I kept losing them when I was a kid. Maybe it's better to be the one who loses?

When you're up there and everything feels good and you're competing against the pitcher and the pitcher strikes you out, you're like, 'OK, yeah, I struck out, but that's OK.'

I hate when pitchers get me out multiple times. It's probably an ego thing, but I don't like that.

I never saw a pitcher I didn't feel sorry for.

When I went to high school, an all-boys' school, a Catholic school, I tried out for football, and I didn't make it. It was the first time, athletically, that I was knocked down.

Every time you win, you're reborn; when you lose, you die a little.

I don't like to sound egotistical, but every time I stepped up to the plate with a bat in my hands, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the pitcher.

You know, when you can play with the greatest players of that particular era, you look forward to going to the ballpark. I mean, you thought it was great to be there in the clubhouse. You thought it was great to be on the field.

Seven years is a long time, and he was there for me, when my mum died. He was very compassionate at that time. I couldn't have found anyone better in that situation.

Reveling in our opponents' missteps and losses drags us down as a country and diminishes our potential as people.

Nothing ever stops me smiling, apart from getting beat in the ring.

Obviously, it's tough when you lose a match, but that's how it goes.

There is no more ridiculous custom than the one that makes you express sympathy once and for all on a given day to a person whose sorrow will endure as long as his life. Such grief, felt in such a way is always present, it is never too late to talk about it, never repetitious to mention it again.

Is everybody that depressed? It's a depressing feeling to me. You know: "I lost my baby." I don't care if you lost your baby, I care if you're feeling OK. Don't tell me your problem - tell me what good's been happening to you.

What do you say? There really are no words for that. There really aren't. Somebody tries to say, 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.' People say that to me. There's no language for it. Sorry doesn't do it. I think you should just hug people and mop their floor or something.

Losing is the bane and bugbear of every professional athlete's existence, but in baseball the monster seems to hang closer than in other sports, its chilly claws and foul breath palpable around the neck hairs of the infielder bending for his crosshand scoop or the reliever slipping his first two fingers off-center on the ball seams before delivering his two-and-two cut fastball.

If you know someone who has lost a child, and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died-you're not reminding them. They didn't forget they died. What you're reminding them of is that you remembered that they lived, and that is a great gift.

I might be better able to help parents of dying children, but for quite a while I felt less able, too emotionally involved. And from that time on, I could rarely discuss the death of a child without tears welling up into my eyes.

Everyone wants to learn how to win, but no one wants to learn how to accept defeat.

There is always a comforting thought in time of trouble when it is not our trouble.

It's a blessing not to be alone in your grief but it's also painful to see your parents and siblings in pain.

Those of you who are strong need to be there for those who have lost someone today. We have to be here for each other right now.

I may not be the bestest pitcher in the world, but I sure out-cutes 'em.

Nothing made you feel so useless as another person's grief.

It's important for us not to lose sight of the fact that this is a family that's grieving and there's been a tremendous loss. And we all have to rally around that piece of it.