Taking everything into consideration, his great abilities plus the intangibles, Brett is probably the best player in the game today.
I think I could find a place for him in our lineup. Every day. Every inning.
He's the best hitter in the American League right now, and maybe in all baseball.
If God had him no balls and two strikes, he'd still get a hit.
American League umpire
He hits better than any white man I've ever seen. As a matter of fact, he hits so good he hits like a black man.
One day this June, George Brett was not at his accustomed position, third base for the Kansas City Royals, but in a hospital ward full of women, recovering from a torn ligament in his right ankle. Brett can talk to women, that's for sure, and on this day, Isabel (Izzy) Barrios, a pert, businesslike young physical therapist, is lightheartedly nagging him about putting more oomph into his exercises. "You're not trying, George.... George, you look like you're sleeping...."
"Ooooh," moans George, working his ankle against the pressure of the Cybex machine that measures the strength of the ankle. "You're killing me. Am I ever going to have a lawsuit." Listening sympathetically to these lamentations is a woman named Dorothy, who is about 75. She sits, slightly reclining, in a wheelchair that has her name printed on the back. George, perspiring and grimacing, watches Dorothy watch him suffer and then includes her in the banter.
"What're you in for, Dorothy?"
"I had a stroke and I fell and broke my hip."
"It could be worse. You could have a torn ligament in your ankle."