"Silly Old Bear... If the harbinger of spring is the sound of a bat on a ball, then I have become the harbinger of winter; a barren and desolate spot your bat will never hit. As my ball strikes the padded glove with the disgruntled furl of thirty thousand fans trudging out of the arena, watching as you throw down your bat in disgust and mourn what you'll never be, know this: you will never defeat me, Pooh Bear. Not as long as you or I will live."