Jamey Carroll
I’ve been in enough clubhouses to know players don’t always stop and smell the roses. They’re too busy grinding. But Jamie Carroll—twelve years in the bigs, Game 163 hero—helped me understand what makes certain moments sacred. I asked him about the thirteenth inning against Trevor Hoffman, about Todd Helton’s walk-off, about leaving Montreal for D.C. And what came back wasn’t just stats or box scores—it was joy, community, and the kind of energy that makes a ballpark holy ground. Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of baseball. But the way Jamie tells it? You’ll feel like you’re there.
Jamie, you played a dozen years in the big leagues. Looking back, what kind of privilege was it to play that long?
The further I get from the game, the more I realize how special it was. At the time, you’re grinding, but now I look back and think, “Wow, I got to do that.” It was unique, it was hard, and it was special. I’m extremely grateful.
Let’s talk about Game 163 in 2007. How much does that stand out for you?
That’s right at the top. It was the only playoff chance I had in twelve years, and to have it be a play-in game was already unique. What I remember most is that 2006 had been the best year of my career—hit .300, played every day. Then 2007 was my worst, statistically. Yet I’ll always remember 2007 more because of what we did as a team. It was bigger than me.
Bottom of the 13th inning—take me through that at-bat.
Honestly, I didn’t think I was going to hit. I’d been mostly a defensive replacement. When Holliday scored, I thought Clint Hurdle was going to pinch-hit for me. I even stopped halfway to the plate to check. But Brad Hawpe told me, “Go up there and win it.”
So I step in against Trevor Hoffman—one of the greatest closers ever—with Michael Barrett catching, a guy who’d been my roommate. He knew I always took the first pitch. But I swung. When I saw the ball drop, it was pure joy. Like being seven years old again.
What was it like after the sac fly and the win?
Unbelievable. We always tease Holliday for smashing his chin and stealing the thunder, but to celebrate with that group, with that crowd—it’s what you play for. Ice-cold beer burning your eyes never felt so good. That whole run was playing free, nothing to lose. That’s dangerous. We carried it all the way to the World Series.
Was there a turning point to that crazy run?
Yes. Todd Helton’s walk-off against the Dodgers. I’d never seen him celebrate like that. That moment lit the fire, and from there we just kept rolling.
Do you have any keepsakes from that game?
I’ve got a huge banner photo of me from the playoff run hanging in my house. It’s weird to have my own picture up, but it’s a reminder that if you work hard, good things happen.
Final thing on ’07—you did it off Trevor Hoffman. Intimidating?
Oh yeah, it’s Trevor Hoffman. But at the same time, you flip the switch. You say, “Let’s see how good I am against the best.” That’s what I loved—facing Maddux, Clemens, Rivera. Who gets to do that?
You also played for the Expos before moving with the team to Washington. What was that transition like?
Mixed emotions. Montreal gave me my shot, and it meant the world to me. If they’d built a downtown stadium, I think the Expos would still be there. When we moved to DC, it was relief to finally have ownership and direction, but it was hard leaving the people—the security guards, the staff you saw every day.
That first game in DC, President Bush threw out the first pitch. My parents couldn’t even get inside because of Secret Service. They finally snuck in through a food elevator carrying hamburger buns. We laugh about it now, but it was chaos.
And you played for Frank Robinson. What was that like?
Frank was tough, but if you played hard, he loved you. He gave me an opportunity. He’d bark at you when you screwed up, but I’ll be forever grateful. The day he passed, I wore all my old Expos gear to coach Little League. I wanted to tell the kids about him.
One spring, my brother Wes was in minor-league camp. He got pulled up for a day, and Frank thought I’d just brought him in off the street. But that day we played together and even turned a double play. It’s one of my greatest baseball memories.
NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.