From John Lardner:
A young ex-paratrooper visited Ebbets Field, Brooklyn, one day, and addressed some language, as ball fans will, to Mr. Leo Durocher, the Brooklyn manager, himself the most polite and clean-tongued gentleman in the national pastime when his mouth is shut, which is a hypothetical situation.
I should really stop here because this is perfection, but the continuation isn’t bad either:
After the game the fan was beaten up with a blackjack and hospitalized by two men whom he identified as Mr. Durocher and a house cop. He must have been confused, because Mr. Durocher and the house cop say they didn’t do it.