Sunday night, after countless eons between home runs (Actually, it was 1,348 at-bats, see Aug 9, 2009 box scores —Smilin’ Stan) Jamey Carroll once again connected on a home run. Sure it was a loss, but the hit did get his slugging percentage over .300 for the year.
After the game, Carroll said:
“I know it’s going to be something fun for my family, especially my son. Every day he asks me who hits home runs for both sides and finally today I can say I did.”
While I’m sure Jamey Carroll’s son is a wonderful young lad, this quote only makes me imagine that he is a cruel and domineering child. This is how I imagine the Carroll house is after a game.
Int. Living Room - Night
Jamey Carroll, in dirtied uniform, walks in, his shoulders sagging and his hat clutched in his hands. Imagine an orphan from a Dickens novel. A fire burns brightly in the fireplace and as Jamey approaches, his son spins around, puffing on a bubble pipe and wearing a Smoking Jacket for Tots.
Jamey Carroll: H-h-hello, son.
Son: Father. How was your game?
JC: Th-the game? Oh, it was g-good. Real sw-swell. We won.
S: And who hit the home runs?
JC: Oh, you know. Joe Mauer. Josh Willingham. Adam Dunn hit one against us.
S: Uh huh. And you?
Jamey mumbles incoherently.
S: What was that? I couldn’t hear you.
JC: I uhh, I didn’t hit one, sir.
S: That’s right you didn’t hit one, you puny, muscleless sack of meat.
JC: I’m sor-sorry, sir.
S: That’s right, you are. You’re an embarrassment. Go do your nightly knee pushups and get out of my face.
But then again, I’m probably just reading too far into it.