I’m not a thinker. I’m a writer.

Do you ever get frustrated with the limitations of your own intellect? (It’s a sign of a fine intellect.)

The other day I was reminded of the story about the former Philadelphia Phillies first baseman John Kruk. During his playing days, he was sitting at a sidewalk table drinking beer and smoking a cigarette in all of his Ruthian obesity.

“You call yourself an athlete!” sniffed a woman passing by.

“Lady, I’m not an athlete,” Kruk came back, “I’m a baseball player.”

“Murray, you’re not a thinker,” I thought to myself the other day. “You’re a writer.”