Once you get to be a certain age, if you’re introspective (like me), I’ll bet you’ve given some thought about what your obituary might look like? How will you be remembered? Will it be for a lifetime of achievement? Or perhaps it will be for a single moment.
In a way, I feel sorry for the late Carroll Hardy, who spent parts of eight seasons in the major leagues. This is how Richard Sandomir begins his piece in The New York Times on the ex-ballplayer who died August 9 at the age of 87.
Carroll Hardy, a reserve outfielder for the Boston Red Sox, was on the visitors’ bench in Baltimore late in the 1960 season when Ted Williams, the team’s megastar, fouled a pitch off his right foot during his first at-bat against the Orioles. Hobbled, he left the field.
Hardy was told by Mike Higgins, known as Pinky, the Red Sox manager, to pinch-hit for Williams. Hardy proceeded to loft a soft line drive to the pitcher, Skinny Brown, who threw to first base for a double play.
It was an ordinary play in a forgettable season for the Red Sox, except for one detail.
No one had ever — ever — pinch-hit for Teddy Ballgame.
So when you think about it, it wasn’t even for something that Hardy did, it was for something that someone else did.
This despite the fact that Hardy was quite an accomplished individual in his own right: A standout multi-sport athlete in college, as well as a highly successful sports executive.
Instead, he’s the answer to a trivia question.
Do you think Williams even remembered Hardy’s name? Actually, I’m guessing he did; he was known to have an amazing memory.
The Boston Globe was much more succinct: “Carroll Hardy, the only player to ever pinch hit for Ted Williams, died on Sunday in Colorado from complications of dementia. He was 87.”
Amazingly, a quick search of the on-line Boston Herald returned nothing.
Boston Magazine ran this profile on Hardy in 2018.
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