[The Capital City Goofball approves of Homer's choice of music]
Capital City Goofball: Ah, Mancini. The mascot's best buddy.
Homer: As my son would say, I'm one sad ape-like dude.
(Marge notices the Dancin’ Homer t-shirts being sold at the ballpark.)
Marge: A Simpson on a t-shirt. I never thought I'd see the day.
Lisa: I can't think of a better place to spend a balmy summer's night than the old ball yard. There's just the green grass of the outfield, the crushed brick of the infield, and the white chalk lines that divide the man from the little boy.
Homer: (chuckles) Lisa, honey. You're forgetting the beer. It comes in 72-ounce tubs here.
Marge: I hope you'll space out the tubs this year, Homer.
Homer: What are you getting at?
Marge: Well, last year you got a little rambunctious and mooned the poor umpire.
Homer: Marge, this ticket doesn't just give me a seat. It also gives me the right... no, the duty... to make a complete ass of myself.
Mr. Burns: (taunting) The hitter's off his rocker, kissing Betty Crocker!
Homer: (laughs) Good one, sir.
Mr. Burns: Oh, well, I used to rile the late, great Connie Mack with that one at old Shibe Park.
Homer: (taunting) Little baby batter can't control his bladder!
Mr. Burns: Mmm, crude, but, uh, I like it. Uh, what do you say we freshen up our little drinkie-poos?
Homer: Don’t mind if I do.
Homer: [after Mr. Burns weakly throws out the first pitch] Hey, Burns! Hey, rag arm!