There was a minimum of excitement over the Minnesota Twins in the 1970s. Rod Carew made attending games at Met Stadium more tolerable for the stragglers that decided to do so.
This mattered not to me. I was a beat reporter covering the Twins from 1974 through 1978 and enjoyed it more than any newspaper task before or since.
Carew was a big reason — not only his excellence as a hitter, but his quirks that you learned by talking almost daily to Carew or to his teammates.
I wanted to do a large article on Carew for the St. Paul Pioneer Press during an offseason and convinced him to meet for a late breakfast at the old Lincoln Del on Minnetonka Boulevard.
Rodney ordered an omelette. It arrived fluffed. Rodney wanted the eggs flipped, not fluffed. The omelette was returned still with a degree of fluff. Back it went. The third time the omelette almost passed muster, but not quite to the specifications that Rodney had outlined to the wait person.
"Maybe you ought to order a hamburger," I finally said.
Carew flashed his world-class smile.
He hadn't been sending back the omelette to be contrary. He was doing so because he was fastidious in all things — whether inventing a stance for a specific pitcher, or with his wardrobe, or with what he intended to eat.