Keith Jackson

My grandma once told my mama, 'The kid's walking crazy around the cornfield, talking to himself.' I was calling ballgames.

I've had two jobs and one wife.

Bo Schembechler was the best after-dinner speaker I ever heard. He'd even have the old boys in the back of the room snorting and jumping up and down.

I don't want to get back into the pressure cooker of play-by-play and worry about travel. I don't want to die in a stadium parking lot.

We're thrifty. We can live off our interest, save the principal, and let the kids go off and have a hoot.

I talk to the guy who busted his butt all week to buy a color TV, and the woman who's raising her kids, the people I owe a debt to. I'm talking to people in hotel rooms, lonesome people.

When the money gets bigger and the stakes get higher, the sea gets wider, and the sharks in the water grow sharper teeth.

If I could get someone like John Grisham or someone like that to sit down and write a book with me, I'd love that.

If I've helped people enjoy the telecast, that's fine. That's my purpose.

You must tell the truth. You must be truthful to yourself and the values of the game that got you there.

The older I got, the more willing I was to go into the Southern vernacular, because some of it's funny.

This 'Whoa, Nellie!' thing is overrated. There were all kinds of stories going around. People said I had a mule in Georgia named Nellie. Well, we had a mule in Georgia, but her name was Pearl.