It gets late early out here.
(At Yogi Berra Day in his hometown of St. Louis in 1947) Thank you for making this day necessary.
A nickel ain't worth a dime anymore.
"This is such an honor," the woman says after a moment or so. Berra nods sheepishly. Again there is the silence. The silence always surrounds Yogi Berra. It smothers him. Imagine having every word you say analyzed like bacteria in a petri dish. Imagine facing that look of wide-eyed anticipation whenever you are about to say something, anything. Once a man and woman came up to him at the museum and asked him to invent a Yogi-ism, on the spot. He told them it doesn't work that way. He does not just divine these phrases. He said, "If I could just make 'em up on the spot, I'd be famous." The couple laughed happily. Yogi Berra did not know what was so funny.
If people don't wanna come out to the park, nobody's gonna stop 'em.
If you ask me anything I don't know, I'm not going to answer.
I ain't in no slump. I just ain't hitting.
The silence has become stifling. Yogi Berra, decked out in a Yankees hat and jacket, holding the water that he plans to use for his medication, looks out the window. Rain falls. The woman walks over to give him a hug, which he graciously accepts as the conclusion to the conversation. The woman repeats a few more words about how wonderful it is to meet him, and Yogi Berra continues to stay silent and stare out the window.
"How do you think the Yankees will do tonight?" she asks.
Yogi Berra shrugs. He doesn't make predictions. He hopes it will stop raining by game time.