We Need To Talk About How Sad Carlos Quentin Is
Carlos Quentin is with the Minnesota Twins now. You may not have heard. You see, after retiring last May, a strange thing occurred. The body that was constantly breaking down and betraying Quentin actually began to heal, and the thought dawned on Carlos that he could give baseball another shot.
And he is.
After working out for teams, Quentin signed with the Twins, and now he's with them this spring trying to earn a spot on the team. He's also saying all the right things.
“I decided to take on this challenge, because it’s completely different than anything I’ve done,” Quentin told the Star-Tribune. “If I can help this team, that’s all I can ask. I’m excited for this experience.”
You're excited for this experience, huh, Carlos? You sure about that? Because that photo of you up there, it says different.
This is me you're talking to now, Carlos. It's Tom.
You remember me, don't you? From the good old days with the White Sox? There's nobody here but us, trust me, you can talk to me. There's no point keeping quiet, as your eyes are already telling me everything I need to know.
Sure, the idea of giving baseball another chance seemed like a good one at the time. I mean, it makes total sense. You didn't retire originally because you were done with baseball, it just felt like your body was done with you, but now your body is back. Even if you're 33, you're not looking to be an everyday player, you were just looking for somebody to give you a shot and let you serve as a Veteran Presence, and get some occasional at bats off the bench.
And it felt good, man. It felt really good to put on that workout for all those scouts and know that teams were interested in you. You were still feeling that high when you signed with the Twins. You didn't do it for the money. You've made plenty of it in your career, so the $750,000 Minnesota was giving you was secondary, you just knew that the Twins presented you with an actual chance to make the team.
But then you actually showed up to camp. When you got there, they not only handed you a Minnesota Twins uniform and hat, but they expected you to put it on. Then they wanted you to pose for a photo in your hat and uniform.
That's when it hit you.
That's when you began to question whether or not baseball mattered enough to actually want to be a Twin. It was an existential crisis.
But you're also a man of your word, Carlos. You signed that contract with the Twins, and you don't want to back out on it now, even if it's killing you inside.
And it's killing you inside, Carlos.
Don't deny it, I told you, what your lips aren't saying your eyes are. I see the conflict in there. The pain. The uncertainty. I see you wondering if the Twins are really an organization you want to risk hurting yourself for.
I think we both know the answer to that last question Carlos. No, of course they aren't. They're the god damn Twins.
It's just, we both also know that you're going to carry on anyway, because that's who you are, and that's who you've always been. The very idea of going back on your word makes you angry enough to want to punch your own bat and break a bone in your wrist so you can derail an MVP-caliber season.
I look at you in this photo and I see a man resigned to his fate. You can get through this, Carlos, I promise you.
And if you ever want to actually open to somebody and talk about it, I'm here for you. I'm your friend, no matter what uniform you're wearing.