Gene Larkin is best known by bar trivia enthusiasts as the man with the only RBI in Game 7 of the 1991 World Series, the greatest World Series game ever played, and I do not give two shits about your opinion, Chicago.
Twins fans, of course, remember him for being the man with the only RBI in Game 7 of the 1991 World Series, the greatest World Series game every played, and I still do not give two shits about your opinion, Chicago.
Anyway, please enjoy this work of speculative fiction about what he might be up to right now.
- Keeping an eye on his flip phone, waiting for ESPN or MLB.com to show up on caller ID to talk to him about another classic Game 7. The last time it rang, it was a political survey, which he refused to answer. That's how you get on their radar. Eugene Thomas Larkin is on nobody's radar. Nice try, Obama.
- Since he allegedly lives in Eden Prairie, let's just assume he's at Eden Prairie Center, where Mallrats was filmed. Maybe he's at the Friday's getting a burger (the Ruby Tuesday closed, dammit). Maybe SportsCenter is showing a highlight package of memorable Game 7s. Maybe they show a certain switch-hitter's Series-winning hit. Maybe one of the patrons or bartenders says, "Man, Gene Larkin. Unbelievable." Gene just nods and says, "Unbelievable...or is it?" He turns to an imaginary camera. It's his favorite bit.
- The same as above, but instead it's the Redstone off Flying Cloud Dr., and he's getting the Buffalo Shrimp.
- Dominating his old dude paintball league. Just dominating it.
- At the hardware store. Torn on buying a new shovel. Winter's gonna be here soon enough, but they don't make shovels like they used to. Got those dumb curves in the handle, supposed to be good for your ergonomics. Eugene Thomas Larkin doesn't believe in ergonomics, and he sure as shit isn't gonna pay $29 for a snow shovel with a stupid handle, Ace Hardware.
- In his kitchen. There's a raccoon in the yard. It's been getting into the garbage. It's making a goddamn mess, is what it's doing. He opens the pantry door and grabs a baseball bat. Alejandro Pena thought he could sneak one past him 25 years ago this very night. "Guess what happened next," he mutters. He goes into the backyard. He swears he can hear cheering.