“So I took some LSD at the airport, because I knew where it would hit me—I’d be in my own, my little area, and I’d know where to go. So that’s how I got to my friend’s girlfriend’s house.
She said, “What’s wrong with you?” I said, “I’m high as a Georgia pine.”
The next day—what I thought was the next day—she told me, “You better get up, you gotta go pitch!” I said, “Pitch? What are you talking about, I pitch tomorrow, hell, what’re you talkin’ about.” Because I had got up in the middle of the morning and took some more acid.
She grabbed the paper, brought me the sports page and showed me—boom! I said, “Oh, wow! What happened to yesterday?” She said, “I don’t know, but you better get to that airport.”