After he struck out looking against Philip Humber in Monday’s Orioles v. White Sox game, Nick Johnson slowly shuffled toward the visitors dugout, staring confusedly at his 34” piece of ash. It’d failed him again.
He’d always wondered if the brown goo that he’d been taught to rub on his bat as he waited patiently in the on-deck circle actually tasted like caramel.
It looked like caramel. It felt like caramel. It might be caramel.
Nick slowed his pace, inhaled deeply, and although he was surrounded by tens of thousands of onlookers, in that moment he felt alone.
He quickly brought the bat to his lips and began gnawing on the tacky brown goo like he was eating corn on the cob.
It wasn’t long before he realized that it was not in fact caramel, but what his pappy had always referred to as “tree boogers”. He flung the bat aside, stomped down the dugout stairs and stat on the bench making this face. Forever.