[Cobb narrates a lengthy lambasting of Babe Ruth into a tape recorder]
Al Stump: Come on, Ty, aren't you going to give Ruth credit for anything?
Ty Cobb: (pauses) He could run okay for a fat man.
Louis Prima: With all the great players playing ball right now, how well do you think you would do against today's pitchers?
Ty Cobb: Well, I figure against today's pitchers I'd only probably hit about .290
Louis Prima: .290? Well that's amazing, because you batted over .400 a... a whole bunch of times. Now tell us all, we'd all like to know, why do you think you'd only hit .290?
Ty Cobb: Well, I'm 72 fucking years old you ignorant son of a bitch.
[to the umpire]
Ty Cobb: How do you do, Cyclops?
Umpire: Shut up, Cobb.
Ty Cobb: You're missing an excellent ballgame.
Ramona: Who are you again?
Ty Cobb: I am the Georgia Peach. I have 4,191 base hits in 11,429 at bats, 920 stolen bases, 2,244 runs scored, and 93 batting records; and I want you to take off every stitch of your clothes.
Ramona: I don't think so.
[Cobb points a gun to her head]
Ramona: That don't scare me, 'cause if you shoot me, I'll be dead. And you're not gonna screw a dead lady!
Ty Cobb: [cocks gun] I might like it.
Ty Cobb: Baseball is a red blooded sport for red blooded men. It's no pink tea, and molly-coddles had better stay out... It's a struggle for supremacy, a survival of the fittest.
Al Stump: All right, listen, you son of a bitch. If you die before the book is finished, I'll write the story I want.
Ty Cobb: I ain't gonna die before the story's finished.
Al Stump: I'll write slow.
Ty Cobb: I'll die slow.
[pause, and then]
Ty Cobb: Now get your clothes on, we're gonna go get some pussy.
[to a teammate who just struck out]
Ty Cobb: Who signed you?
Teammate: Go to hell, Cobb.
Ty Cobb: Who did that?
[to Stumpy, about Cobb, as Willie leaves for town]
Willie: And you sir, you should leave this disgusting, wretched, sorry son of a motherfucker - immediately. Good evening.
Ty Cobb: I had to fight all my life to survive. They were all against me, but I beat the bastards and left them in the ditch.
[after Cobb stole third]
Opposing pitcher: Shoulda stuck it in that bastard's ear when I had the chance.
Al Stump: I put up with your bullshit. I give words, I interpret, I give *life* to your bullshit. And you give me nothing. *Nothing!* But grief.
Ty Cobb: You have never been this close to greatness in your short life son. And you love it.
Ty Cobb: Know ye that a prince and a great man has fallen this day.
Opposing pitcher: [to Cobb, during game] I hear you're from Georgia - where the women are women, and the sheep get nervous.
Ty Cobb: I started playing baseball when I was a kid like everybody else but better than everybody else.
Al Stump: I gotta put your family in my book.
Ty Cobb: Your book? MY book! And nothing about my ex-wives or my children is going to be in it. My book is about baseball!
Al Stump: My book is about Cobb.
Ty Cobb: Cobb is Baseball!
Ty Cobb: [dictating his biography to Stump] 'Cobb, a prince among men, misunderstood in his genius, as genius always is'...
Ty Cobb: This is the second line from what will be the greatest biography of a great man ever written - type it!
Al Stump: I didn't know what I was getting into with this job.
Ty Cobb: Shit! Will you stop explaining yourself, and stand by your damn convictions? You beat the great Ty Cobb - I respect that, but if you're gonna print it, print it all. My second son weighed 300 pounds. Died in the arms of a whore in Paso Robles, California. My other son, lost all track of him. My two ex-wives won't speak to me, and my daughter, you know goddamn well won't speak to me, and Ty Cobb
[pointing down to his crotch]
Ty Cobb: can't get it up anymore. Print it all!
Jameson: Is there anything you'd like today, sir?
Ty Cobb: I want everything back I took out of Bethlehem Steel, and I want it all now.
Jameson: Right away, sir.
Al Stump: This is all confusing.
Ty Cobb: It is not confusing. It's simple - you won. You go ahead and tell the whole wide world that the greatest ballplayer who ever lived is also the greatest bastard. Eureka! Who fucking cares?
Al Stump: I gave a few bucks to a local kid to repaint the sign, and disappear for awhile to finish the manuscripts, and wait for Cobb to die. While I waited: Ernest Hemingway blew his brains out, Getty bought Honolulu Oil, Coke came out in cans, and the brunette in the courtyard ran away with a handsome young lawyer, and on July 17, 1961, Ty Cobb died quietly in his sleep. I don't believe it was quiet. Nothing he ever did was quiet, but that's what the newspaper writer said who wrote the lead, and we all know, writers never lie.
[Stump is in a bar with his friends]
Al Stump: We call ourselves writers! All we do is sit around talking about baseball and getting drunk a lot. You call that writing?
[All his friends: Yeah!]
Ty Cobb: [V.O. during end credits] A ball bat is a wondrous weapon, but you should never grip it at the end if you want balance and control. Learn the fundamentals. The game is a science. Batting is a mental activity, a study in psychology, an observation of little details. Every great batter works on the theory that the pitcher is more afraid of him than he is of the pitcher. The batter owns the plate. The pitcher must come to you. If John McGraw were a young man, I would've killed him. I regret I didn't go to college. I feel I should have been a doctor.