Sandwasher

The Chicago White Sox swept the baseball world by surprise this season going wire-to-wire and capturing the prized jewel.  The following statement certainly won’t shock my 2 loyal readers.  I’m not a baseball expert and don’t claim to be.  My World Series prediction of the Cincinnati Reds versus the Anaheim Angels was a little off.  Hindsight is indeed 20/20.  But, even www.sandwasher.blog.com senor baseball analysts, my Uncle Tom and Uncle Kevin, didn’t even have the White Sox’s on their radar screens.  My Uncle Tom is the next closest thing to Bill James.  He annually wins fantasy football and baseball championships.  If memory serves me correct, I think Tom picked his beloved Detroit Tigers to finish ahead of the White Sox in the A.L. Central.  You may recall my Uncle Kevin from the 2005 NBA Playoffs.  He went 15-0 during the entire playoffs!!!  Most analysts get paid big money to make their predictions and typically end up correctly answering 60%.  Just like my Uncle Tom, Kevin didn’t even give the White Sox a second thought. 

I wanted first hand knowledge of the life and times of the 2005 Windy City summer.  I asked my cousin John Photos to write another article for me.  You may recall some of John’s earlier written works.  Genital Warts:  They cause more harm than just making your penis look ugly; Effects of Leg Function Constraints on a Lifting Task Examined Through Inverse Kinematics Analyses, Direct Dynamics Modeling, and Electromyographic Biofeedback Techniques of college art students; and my personal favorite, but I am biased, John’s exclusive sandwasher debut on May 22, 2005, Cubs Classic (http://sandwasher.blog.com/207121/). 

John’s article takes us on the White Sox’s wild roller costar ride from Opening Day ’05 through Game 4 of the World Series.  Like the ’05 Sox, John has no quit.  Here’s his story. 

     I was as shocked as you were.

     Two years ago, just before the season started, I kept hearing an ad on ESPN radio that made me laugh. The premise was that we were listening in on two Sox fans talking about their team as the lineup was being announced in the background, presumably for Opening Day. We could hear them announcing Paul Konerko, Mark Buerhle, Frank Thomas, and Magglio Ordonez. One of the fans, (the less knowledgeable one with who we are supposed to identify), says, “Same core guys. What’s changed?”

     The public address announcer then bellows, “…and the new White Sox manager…Ozzie GUILLEN!”

     The smug, more knowledgeable fan, (on whom we rely to form opinions), says, “Everything.”

     I liked this ad because it very pointedly belittled the Sox former manager, also-ran Jerry Manuel, implying that the Sox hard luck was not the fault of the players at all and that the team could be great if they could only get a good manager. An ad like this could only exist if it were about new management. To publicly advertise that a player will turn an entire team around is too much pressure. If the star player doesn’t perform well, it is a crisis. The organization has paid him all this money so they can’t bench him, and no one wants that big contract so they can’t trade him. They’re stuck, and the team tanks. On the other hand, if the organization promises us a championship due to the new management, they are almost totally unaccountable. The players remain the focus, and deserve most of the blame if the team loses, and most of the credit if they win. The manager is merely the PR guy for his players. It costs nothing to say you have a great manager, and we don’t really expect our managers to be great, so it’s a brilliant move to try to convince the fans that even though we didn’t fix our pitching staff, or get any more power in the line-up, we are going to have a great year, so come on out!

     When I decide to attend a baseball game in which the Cubs are not figured, it is usually to see something memorable: an outstanding pitching match-up, a ballpark I’ve never been to, or a future hall-of-famer. I guess I could chalk this one up as my first Opening Day game, but the real reason we went was so that my cousin could get a glimpse of her favorite hunk, Aaron Boone, who in this case played for the away team.

     I typically find myself at US Cellular a few times per year. I have nothing against the White Sox, even though as a Cub fan, (according to the news and local McDonald’s ads), I am supposed to hate them. On the contrary, I love the train ride to their south-side stadium, (nicknamed ‘The Joan’ after the sponsor’s spokesmodel, the indispensable Joan Cusack). I also enjoy the roominess of the park since not many people attend and I can move after an inning or two to a much less affordable seat. And most of all, I like the danger. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Chicago is one of the most segregated places on Earth. We really love to keep things in the family, and this extends even into our two baseball teams and, more to the point, their fans.

     I believe this tension between the north and south-siders is brilliantly articulated by way of the Cusack’s. The Cubs are like John; the Sox like Joan. John is a major star, a national treasure really, and he has a huge fan base who worships his every movie, even when it is perhaps undeserving (Must Love Dogs, Kerry Wood). Joan, who is herself a gifted actress, finds herself in the unfortunate position of being in the same family as a major star and will always therefore be second fiddle Cusack-wise. No offense to Joan, it’s just a bit of bad luck. Likewise the Sox, they are little more than the Cubs’ less-impressive big sister. Needless to say this has given the Sox fans a real chip on their shoulders.

     To put it mildly, I am not welcome at The Joan. I made the mistake once of wearing my Cub hat to the park. My mom always told me that they were just jealous. Whatever it is, I am a magnet for fierce-looking men who travel in groups, and I don’t need any help from my hat. Sox fans hate the Cubs so much that when a score was posted indicating that the Cubs had lost in a 9^th inning rally it brought the loudest cheers of the day.

     Besides a prevailing meanness (or is it jealousy?), Sox fans just look tough too. I love seeing historic photos and film sequences that picture crowds full of spectators in their Sunday Bests, all the men wearing suits and ties and porkpie hats, the women in dresses and gloves for goodness sake! Attending a ballgame was equivalent to church. It was something you did with your family, and you dressed up for it. Certainly we have come a long way from all that, and acceptable attire is now a jersey or a cap indicating the team for which you are pulling, jeans, and maybe your mitt to catch a blessed foul ball, although someone should tell this to the South-siders. You can’t even go to a gas station without shirts and shoes, but they’ll let you into a Sox game. Remember that guy and his son who ran out onto the field and attacked the opponent’s first base coach (always a pivotal position -- they were wise to pick up on this). As they were stuffing this guy into the back of a squad car, handcuffed he continued to yell at the cameras. His eyes were black, and he had fangs and a mullet. He could spit blood and beer. It was truly terrifying. Nevertheless, year after year I keep coming back, just in case something special happens.

     One year later I was seated in the upper deck as the starting line-ups were announced. I think it is an understatement to say that I wasn’t that impressed. We know Buerhle can pitch. I like Scott Podsednik, but he’s basically a 29 year-old rookie. Ordonez is gone, Carlos Lee is gone, Thomas should retire while he’s still remembered fondly, and I’ve never heard of the rest of these guys. I don’t remember feeling grateful that Ozzie was sitting in their dugout. Much of the south-side agreed with me. I don’t think the stadium was more than 2/3 full, on Opening Day!? Come September, I think we all expected to be outshined by the Twins for the third year in a row.

     The game moved quickly. If you ever get a chance to see Buerhle, you should go. It’ll only take two hours. This game was no exception. The Indians were breaking bats on first pitches all day. I think they hit one ball out of the infield.

     The Sox weren’t much better. They scratched out a run on a couple singles and a fielder’s choice. But it was enough. Buerhle went 8, and then the ball went to Shingo Takatsu. A gong, an actual gong, was sounded over the PA as he took the mound I guess because he is Japanese and in people get fired up when they hear gongs. He did not disappoint us, striking out two to end it. The gong sounded once more.

     I would not call it a memorable game. A pitcher’s duel, perhaps, but it was some pretty shabby hitting all around. I can’t even tell you who had the only RBI without looking it up. It was the only Sox game I attended this year. To my surprise, the Sox would continue to win 1-run games like this all season long. They were in first on Opening Day, and they never looked back. 

     Not that I can blame them, but Chicagoans are perpetual nihilists. Who wouldn’t be if their city owned two baseball teams who had combined for 185 consecutive seasons without a championship? You start to look for the way you’re going to blow it. It’s a part of your season. Even knowing this, September was very frustrating.

     The Sox had had the best record in baseball all year. They had beaten back their rivals in Minnesota , and it looked as though they would coast into the post-season. Naturally, without a lot of pressure on them, they cooled off. They became something more like a .500 team.

     Then it got worse. They began losing a lot of games. Unfortunately, Cleveland had continued to improve after their abysmal April and just as the Sox began their slide the Indians got hot.

     Then it got worse. The Sox had enjoyed a 15 game lead at their height. Suddenly it was 11. Then 6.5. Then 3. Then 2. And as if the players didn’t know, the Chicago media was going crazy saying, “This is the biggest flop in the history of baseball. This is just like the ’69 Cubs.” My favorite columnist/TV analyst/sports radio loudmouth was practically singing, “I told you so.” How I hate him.

     All the while, the lowly Sox were still in first place! Even if their lead has dwindled, that has to count for something, doesn’t it? At this point, I decided to root for the Sox to go all the way, just to be contrary. I thought it would be good for Chicago . I thought it might be contagious and if enough of us caught it we may even learn how to enjoy winning. (It might even rub off on Cub fans).

     Finally, after dominating Boston, the rest of Chicago followed suit. Sellout crowds. Brand new jackets and caps. Flags draped from balconies. I never knew there were so many Sox fans right here in my neighborhood. All the same, I was happy for them, and happy for my city. We had a winner and the spell was broken. Shoeless Joe would be forgiven, though I saw not one sign mentioning this. Maybe next year.

     Ozzie proved to be the darling. If the MVP award could go to the manager, it would have. Instead it went to Jermaine Dye, who had a few more hits than his teammates but was not a clear standout.

     It took almost an entire season for Chicagoans to believe what that smug fan had told them. Of course, now everyone claims that they were with’em all the way, that they told you so. I only hope that when the Cubs finally win it, we can be just as gracious.

John Photos is an artist and Cubs fan who lives in Chicago.