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.
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.
[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.
[to the umpire]
Ty Cobb: How do you do, Cyclops?
Umpire: Shut up, Cobb.
Ty Cobb: You're missing an excellent ballgame.
[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: 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.
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: 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.
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.