I believe in the soul, the c-k, the p-sy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch. That the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf, and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning not Christmas Eve. And I believe in slow, deep wet, kisses that last three days.
Kevin Costner as Crash Davis in Bull Durham
` It was impossible for her to watch that movie without thinking about him. She had sat through it at least twenty times when they were at Georgetown together. That movie was so Will. After all, it combined the two he loved more than anything else in life. Baseball, and sex.
During his suspension, she had called him at home one afternoon supposedly to discuss a case. Conversation between them had become awkward. They were no longer lovers, and at this point, barely friends.
"How is the book coming?" Alicia asked him. She could picture stretched out leisurely on the couch dressed in casual clothes.
"Not well."
"You're watching "Bull Durham" again aren't you?"
"Why don't you come over here? We'll watch it together."
"You know that's not going to happen, Will. I have to go. Take care."
I was in the show for 21 days once-the greatest 21 days of my life. You know, you never handle your own luggage in the show, somebody else always carries your bags. It was great. You hit white balls for batting practice. The ballparks are like cathedrals. The hotels all have room service. And the women all have long legs, and brains.
Crash Davis