Chicago White Sox batter Tadahito Iguchi (15) of Japan hits a three-run home run off of Boston Red Sox starting pitcher David Wells

The origin of the curve ball is shrouded in mystery. Some believe the claims of one William “Candy” Cummings who says he invented the pitch in the 1870’s. More likely, it was a host of pitchers who figured out early on that if the ball was gripped a certain way and released with a snap of the wrist, it would move precipitously away from or toward the batter, depending on which side of the plate the hitter is standing.

There has even been something of an ongoing controversy as to whether or not the ball curves at all. As late as 1941 Life Magazine published a series of pictures which purported to show that the curve ball is actually an optical illusion, that the ball doesn’t move.

This is silly of course, as any slow-motion camera will clearly show. But even knowing the physics of the curve ball doesn’t help Major League hitters much. All they know is that when thrown by a master, they’re in deep trouble at the plate.

For a period of time, the curve ball fell out of favor with Major League pitchers. During the 1980’s and 90’s, not only did pitchers become more enamored of the split fingered delivery as an “out” pitch but umpires were refusing to call the pitch for a strike – death to curve ballers whose pitch relied on umps not giving up too soon on the diving, slanting ball that in the hands of a master would cross the plate at both a downward and sideways angle.

Then, the wheel turned again as it is apt to do in a game that has had such longevity and the curve was back in style. It says a lot about this particular pitch that the curve ball has achieved iconic status among both hitters and pitchers to the point where it actually has numerous nicknames. It is “Uncle Charlie” or “The Yellowhammer” or “Captain Hook.” And its modern masters include some of the best pitchers in the game such as Oakland’s Barry Zito, the White Sox own Freddie Garcia, and the ageless playoff warrior for Boston, David Wells.

Wells was on the hill for Boston last night enjoying a 4-0 lead in the fifth inning thanks largely to his control of a devastating curve ball. When released, Wells’ curve starts off head high and out of the strike zone. By the time it crosses the plate, it has dropped to the knees and traveled a good 18 inches or more which usually causes the hapless batter to freeze like a side of beef in cold storage.

The pitch had puzzled White Sox hitters for 4 full innings. Then Carl Everett singled sharply to right center on a low outside fastball and Aaron Rowand got a lucky break and made contact with Wells’ “Uncle Charlie.” Rowand was fooled on the pitch and swung way too early, the ball hitting off the very end of the bat and was softly popped directly down the left field line. Bosox left fielder Manny Ramirez had been shading Rowand slightly toward center field so was out of position to field the ball and could only watch helplessly as the ball dropped inches fair for a freak double. Everett, running hard and intelligently, guessed that Ramirez wouldn’t be able to catch up to the ball and scored standing up. That made the score 4-1 and the White Sox were in business.

The next batter was catcher A.J. Pierzynski, hitting hero of game one but badly over matched by the lefty slants of Wells. The first pitch Wells threw was a real yakker of a curve, so devastating that A.J. actually flinched thinking the ball was going to hit him. Instead, it dropped gently over the outside corner of the plate for a strike. Nevertheless, A.J. battled hard, fouling off a few good pitches, until he was finally able to ground the ball softly to the right side of the diamond allowing Rowand to take third. Joe Crede then stepped up big and with the Boston infield playing back conceding the run, the White Sox third sacker lashed a ground ball “seeing eye” single to center scoring Rowand making it a 4-2 ball game. If the infield had been playing in to cut off the run at the plate, the ball may have been fielded by second baseman Bill Mueller. As it is, we’ll never know.

What followed next was painful for Red Sox fans to watch as it happened and also for White Sox fans in retrospect. Juan Uribe, badly fooled on another brilliant Wells curve ball, hit the ball off the end of the bat and sent a wildly spinning masse shot of a ground ball slowly toward second baseman Tony Graffanino. Tony “G” was a fan favorite and beloved teammate for the 3 plus years he played for the Chisox and had been a reliable second baseman for the Carmines, making only three errors since being picked up in a trade with Kansas City in July. But the angels who sat on the shoulders of the Red Sox last year during their championship run must have been on a coffee break because as Uribe’s grounder reached Graffanino, the ball scooted under his glove and into short right field. What was at least one sure out became an error that allowed Crede to take third.

Still, the Bosox were ahead 4-2 and Wells had proven himself a battler in his 28 previous playoff starts. Sure enough, he induced left handed hitting Scott Podsednik to pop up weakly to third which took the sacrifice fly off the table for the White Sox. If they were going to inch closer and get Crede home from third, it would be up to second baseman Tadahito Iguchi to hit safely.

“Da Gooch” had proven himself an unbelievable clutch hitter all year long. Not only were 11 of his 15 home runs hit to either tie or win ballgames but his batting average from the 7th inning on was a white-hot .340. Clearly, the Japanese import liked to bat with the game on the line.

Wells’ first offering was off the plate. Then he snapped off his best curve ball of the game, a real jelly roll of a pitch that started in the left hand hitter’s batters box and dropped like a brick over the inside corner of the plate for a called strike.

What happened next was not exactly “The Shot Heard ‘Round the World” that Bobby Thompson’s legendary 1951 home run became known as but the noise made at U.S. Cellular field could at least be heard in Rockford.

Iguchi watched as Wells threw another great curve, not quite as good as the previous pitch but still a real biter, burrowing toward the inside part of the plate like a scared mole when Iguchi stepped slightly “in the bucket,” moving his left foot backward just enough so that his hips flew open and allowed the bat to move through the hitting zone with lightening speed. Ball met bat and Iguchi met history. The ball sailed on a line drive over the fence for a shocking three run homer and the White Sox had surged ahead 5-4.

After the game, Wells allowed that he had “hung” the ball. This is clearly not the case as replays show that it was a good pitch, well located and that Iguchi simply won the battle. Pitchers hate hitters (and vice versa) and usually refuse to give them any credit for winning the most lovely of one-on-one competitions in sport – the eternal struggle between the hurler and the hitter.

The game was far from over at that point what with White Sox pitcher Mark Buehrle getting slapped around by the top of the Red Sox lineup with alarming regularity. The dangerous duo of David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez had come through in the first and third innings accounting for 3 of the 4 runs scored by the Bosox and Jason Veritek owned the Sox hurler going 2 for 2 and an RBI.

But Buehrle hung on grimly for two more innings as Red Sox hitters hit cannon shot after cannon shot only to have their efforts thwarted when the ball ended up being hit almost directly at White Sox fielders. Buehrle left at the end of the seventh to be replaced by the Chisox newly minted closer, Bobby Jenks.

I profiled Jenks here, saying that he had “the heart of a lion and the soul of a serial killer.” Bobby didn’t disappoint as he mowed down the Red Sox allowing only an 8th inning walk to Trot Nixon and a solid double by Tony Graffanino in the 9th. Tony G’s hit with one out could have redeemed him in the eyes of history and Boston fans but alas, Jenks threw a perfect cut fastball that Johnny Damon popped up weakly to Pierzynski in foul territory for the second out and then induced shortstop Edgar Renteria to ground out to his counterpart Uribe to end the game and send the White Sox to Boston with a 2-0 series lead.

Boston has been a magical franchise through the years and has proven that it can come back from the brink of disaster time and time again. In the last two years, they are a spectacular 8-1 in elimination games. And they’ve come back twice since 1999 when down 2-0 in the Division Series. Clearly, with the Red Sox nation behind them, the Carmines feel capable of any miracle.

But this time, it may be different. The Red Sox are putting knuckleballer Tim Wakefield out on the mound for game 3, a pitcher the White Sox have hit well. And with Freddie Garcia going for the Chisox – a proven big game pitcher who has been throwing the ball well recently – the White Sox have an excellent chance to sweep the World Champs.

All depends on Wakefield and the vagaries of the knuckleball – a pitch that even the pitcher doesn’t know exactly what route it will take to the plate. If the wind is wrong or if Wakefield’s release is just a bit off, it could be a very short stint for the veteran hurler.

One thing is certain; all the White Sox have to do to advance to the League Championship Series is win one of the next three games. Given the depth and talent on the Chisox pitching staff, it seems inevitable that the current champs will go down to defeat while thinking bitterly about both the Graffanino error and the thunder that shook northern Illinois as Iguchi’s blast disappeared into the night.

UPDATE

Laurence Simon has locked up his kitties for a while to blog about bloggers rooting for their respective teams in the Division Series.

Go here and sign up to be recognized. And if you’re a White Sox fan, please go as we are horribly outnumbered by both Bosox blogs and Bronx Scum Bag fans.

Chicago White Sox A.J. Pierzynski is congratulated at home plate by Carl Everett (L) and Aaron Rowand after hitting a three-run home run against the Boston Red Sox in the first inning of their American League Divisional Series

Forty six years is a very long time to go without a home playoff win for most baseball franchises. But given the fact that no Chicago team has won a World Series since 1917, the concept of time for White Sox fans has become a relative thing. We here in the Windy City do not measure our sports disappointments using such archaic and unenlightening concepts like linear time. Rather, the bio-rhythms of the cicada – who return every 7 years – is a more appropriate notion. Hence, when viewing the dearth of playoff successes for the Pale Hose, it sounds much better and is actually more accurate to state that it has been approximately 6 1/2 cicadian life cycles since the White Sox managed a home playoff triumph.

Doesn’t sound quite so bad when put that way, huh?

That said, it is hard to overestimate how sweet the White Sox 14-2 victory over the Boston Red Sox was for Chicagoans. We are so used to seeing our players tie themselves into Gordian knots of apprehension, giving into the pressure at playoff time that to see how loosey-goosey the Chisox were from the get go has allowed a small measure of hope to creep into our settled and fatalistic approach to gaging our chances of ultimate success during baseball’s mean season.

It was the World Champion Boston club who looked like bushers. Red Sox starting pitcher Matt Clement (an ex-cub…’nuff said) had a perplexed look frozen on his face for the entire time he was on the mound. It was almost as if he didn’t quite know where the ball was going to end up once it left his hand. Come to think of it, that’s pretty much the case. Clement plunked two of the first three batters he faced and then watched helplessly as White Sox scored two runs by getting only two hits – a liner to right by Carl Everett, and centerfielder Aaron Rowand’s soft single over the head of shortstop Edgar Renteria, a ball not hit hard enough to dent a Rosatti’s Chicago style pizza box.

Still, Clement could have gotten out of that first inning with only the minimal damage of two runs but for Chisox catcher A.J. Pierzynski. Now A.J. has been in a power slump, having last hit a home run about the time that the aforementioned cicadas were emerging from their 7 year slumber. Well…perhaps not quite that long. At any rate, the White Sox backstop sent one of Clement’s perplexed deliveries on a line to the opposite field and into the seats for a three run homer. The crowd went wild, the home team dugout erupted, and Clement? Clement cast his eyes skyward apparently seeking help from some of the same baseball gods that intervened last year to give the Bosox a World Series title.

But those whom the gods destroy they first drive mad and then laugh uproariously at the looks on their victim’s faces. The whiskers that grace Clement’s chin seemed to turn several shades grayer and by the time Red Sox manager Terry Francona pulled the hapless hurler in the 4th inning following a two-run blast by White Sox shortstop Juan Uribe, Clement looked like Odysseus after being pummeled by Poseidon’s wrathful storms – a broken shell of a man, tattered and torn by the South Sider’s onslaught.

The slaughter was on and there was nothing the Chowderheads could do to stop it. Before he exited the game, Clements gifted White Sox slugger Paul Konerko with a solo homer before giving up Uribe’s towering drive into the left field seats. He was replaced by former White Sox reliever Chad Bradford whose underhanded delivery turned the tables and perplexed the Chisox hitters for an inning. Alas, for Red Sox fans, their relief was shortlived. Bradford is a set-up man out of the bullpen and not intended to pitch to more than a few batters.

The submariner then gave way to Jeremi Gonzalez who came in and promptly threw a home run ball to a man who had 507 at bats during the regular season without a single round tripper. To say that Scott Podsednik’s 3-run tater was unexpected is like saying Federal prosecutors found no corruption in Mayor Daley’s city hall; it’s something you just can’t believe unless you see it with your own eyes. No one looked more suprised than Podsednik who didn’t quite know how to behave when circling the bases. Instead of the stately, majestic home run trot of your typical power hitter, Scotty scooted around the bases so fast it appeared he believed someone was playing a huge practical joke on him and he better get a move on before they changed their minds.

Topping off the day was a second homer by Pierzynski, this time off Bronson Arroyo, another Boston lamb led to the slaughter. The tally for the Red Sox bullpen was 6 runs on 4 hits over 4 2/3 innings for an Earned Run Average of about 12 runs per 9 innings. Not an auspicious beginning for a crew that is being counted on to relieve Boston’s aging and inconsistent starters.

On the other side of the coin, White Sox pitcher Jose Contreras pitched well, if not spectacularly. All the early runs simplified Mr. Contreras task immensely. All he had to do was throw strikes and allow the over-anxious Red Sox hitters to get themselves out. The vaunted Bosox offense could manage only two runs against the slants of 3 White Sox pitchers with the dynamic duo of Ortiz and Ramirez going a combined 2 for 8 – Ortiz getting both hits – and both men leaving a combined 5 players in scoring position. Best not to gloat where those two are concerned as they are just as likely to knock the ball all over the yard for the rest of the series. But for this game, they were as quiet as mice in Boston’s North Church.

Most baseball people expect the Red Sox to rebound following this humiliating defeat and I see no reason why this should not be so. They are professionals who realize that this game was a fluke and probably not indicative of the way the rest of the series will play out. The one intangible is that a great weight has been lifted from the White Sox shoulders which will allow them to relax a little. It has also given the club some confidence, two elements that can translate into winning baseball for the duration of the series.

We’ll see. In the meantime, playoff warrior David Wells takes the mound for the Red Sox tonight. He’ll be opposed by playoff rookie Mark Buehrle, a pitcher who threw well the last few weeks of the season. Will the canny veteran Wells be able to stifle the Chicagoans and give his potent offense a chance to get it into gear?

My guess is that it will be a high scoring game decided in the late innings. And in a bullpen vs. bullpen match-up, I like the chances of my White Sox.

UPDATE

The Baseball Crank predicts my beloveds to win the Bosox series but then inexplicably gives the hated Yankees the nod in his expected ALCS - in a sweep no less.

The ridiculousness of that notion is so profound as to call into question Mr. Crank’s sanity. With their aging, injured, patchwork pitching staff, it’s problematic whether the Bronx Bums will be able to get by the Angels much less sweep a team with a pitching staff as deep and talented as the White Sox. Methinks I detect a whiff of Yankee Kool aid on the breath of the Crank…best mix it with a few grains of salt.

And Pauli at The Commons bemoans Clements ineffectiveness in the second half of the season. This is all part of the “Ex-Cub Factor” that I will write about tomorrow.

A NEW WHITE SOX MASCOT?

One of the traditions of post-season sports reporting – any sport – is the so-called “Match-up” column where sportswriters pretend that it matters if a player for one team at a particular position is better than his counterpart playing for the other team.

This is sheer sophistry. It is idiocy personified. It’s a useless exercise carried out by self-important writing hacks who don’t have the talent or the brains to write for the “legitimate” sections of the paper like news, politics, or culture…

Which, of course, is why I’m going to take a stab at it myself.

Actually, it is kind of silly. After all, what possible relevance is there except in the most tangentially nebulous way if one first baseman is better than the other? What matters is how they perform on the field not some statistical comparison that you can throw out the window once the postseason begins anyway.

That said, the reason to do it is because it’s fun! Here then, are some mostly honest position by position comparisons between my beloved Pale Hose and the World Champion Boston Red Sox. The White Sox player will always be listed first.

CATCHER

A.J. Pierzynski vs. Jason Veritek

A.J. has been rightly credited with superior handling of the talented White Sox pitching staff all year. In baseball parlance he “calls a good game.” Only an adequate throwing arm, if the Red Sox are smart, they’ll try to run early and often. Offensively, A. J. hasn’t hit a homer in a month and is only average in the clutch.

Veritek on the other hand is a field general. A true throwback, he’s tough, smart, and a take charge player on the field. Better than average arm which may put a crimp in the White Sox running game Only the 3rd Captain in the entire history of the franchise, he’s a clutch hitter with a killer instinct at the plate. If the White Sox try to pitch around Ramirez and Ortiz, Veritek is perfectly capable of doing enough damage to make them wish they didn’t.

Big Edge to Boston.

FIRST BASE

Paul Konerko vs. John Olerud

Very quietly, Paul Konerko has become one of the most reliable sluggers in the American League. With 40 homers and 100 RBI’s, Konerko’s value on a team that lost slugger Frank Thomas to injury and last year’s heavy hitters Magglio Ordonez and Carlos Lee to off-season trades cannot be overstated. In short, for the White Sox to win, Konerko must produce. The Bosox know this which is why they’d be smart to pitch around Konerko and make one of the other Sox players beat them. An average glove but steady and reliable in the field.

John Olerud is a veteran with a smooth glove and excellent hitting skills. Seeing him as a Cincinnati rookie, Ted Williams thought that he reminded him of himself when it came to hitting – high praise coming from the self-absorbed Hall of Famer. Indeed, Olerud has a sweet swing that rarely breaks down under pressure. What he lacks in power, he makes up for in clutch hitting ability. And he’s a veteran of the playoff wars, an intangible that most of the White Sox players don’t have.

Slight edge to Chicago

SECOND BASE

Tadahito Iguchi vs. Tony Graffanino

“Da Gooch” was a Rookie of the Year candidate and for good reason; a .278 average with 15 homers and 71 RBI’s, Iguchi’s offensive numbers were more than impressive for a second baseman. However, his value to the team could never be measured in stats. Iguchi functioned as the proto-typical #2 hitter, a true “push-along” player who moved lead-off hitter Scott Posednik over to second (or more usually third base given Posednik’s base stealing binge in the first half of the season) on a consistent basis. And he proved himself more than capable in the late innings to deliver big hits. In the field, he’s weak going to his right, much stronger to his left, he hesitates to take charge and possesses only an adequate arm. He makes an excellent pivot on double plays, however, and like all Japanese players is sound fundamentally.

Tony “G” was a fan favorite when he was a utility infielder here in Chicago. Graffinino is solid if unspectacular defensively with good range both left and right, an adequate throwing arm, and makes the pivot well. A decent hitter with some power and is good in the clutch, Tony is a good Major League second baseman who is probably playing out of position in that he might be a better shortstop. But the Bosox needed a second baseman when Mark Belhorn went down and Graffinino hasn’t disappointed.

Slight Edge to White Sox

THIRD BASE

Joe Crede is the most maddeningly frustrating player to watch on the White Sox. A promising rookie two years ago, Crede has yet to live up to his true potential. His defense has improved immensely however and he can now be placed in the top tier of defensive third basemen in the league. He possesses a cannon for an arm and moves well both left and right – especially important given the weakness of shortstop Juan Uribe going to his right. Crede fills the hole better than just about any third baseman in the league and guards the line as if it were his own personal property. At the plate, he is streaky. Currently he’s on fire and it should be interesting to see if he can maintain the nearly .400 average he hit for in September.

Bill Mueller is a canny veteran with cat-like reflexes and possesses a strong arm. But he’s weak going to his left and his glove has been shaky at times. A switch hitter, he possesses power from both sides (left side dominant) and gives the Bosox some RBI punch at the bottom of their line-up.

No Advantage

SHORTSTOP

Juan Uribe has been a slight disappointment for the White Sox. After a 25 home run output last year, Uribe’s production fell to just 16, although he hit 7 long ones the last month of the season. His average also was on the rise at season’s end. Defensively he’s more than adequate with a strong arm and good going toward the middle. Excellent in combination with Iguchi on twin killings, he has demonstrated a weakness going to his left and his arm can be scattershot at times.

Edgar Renteria has been a defensive disappointment with the Bosox. Something must have happened between his stint with the Cardinals where he was known for his defensive ability and his current status as something of a liability. No one can doubt his bat, however, and he has proven himself a dangerous hitter.

Slight Edge to White Sox

LEFT FIELD

Not much of a comparison here. While Scott Posednik has been the major impetus during the Sox drive to the Division title with his ability as a lead-off hitter to get on and steal bases, he’s in a horrible base stealing slump since he came off the disabled list earlier in September which leads one to believe he still is not quite right. An adequate outfielder with an average arm, he possesses the speed to chase down fly balls anywhere from left center to foul territory.

Manny Ramirez is perhaps the best hitter in the game today and worth every penny the Red Sox are paying him. Who cares about his defense when the guy can hit like that?

Big Edge to Boston

CENTER FIELD

Aaron Rowand vs. Johnny Damon

Rowand is another Sox player having an off year. After hitting over .300 and 24 home runs last season, Rowand has slumped to .270 with only 13 homers this year. Defensively, he has played outstanding, gold glove type ball at times. At other times, he has played indifferently. Still, he gives the White Sox some pop at the bottom of the lineup and if he gets hot, watch out.

Damon is a tremendous talent, a great leadoff hitter who walks rarely but garnered nearly 200 hits. A smart, tough player, he patrols center field like it’s his own private preserve and can run down just about anything. A great asset to his team and a true spark plug. If he gets on base with consistency, the White Sox lose.

Edge to Boston

RIGHT FIELD

Jermaine Dye is a solid pro who had an above average season. His 31 homers were second on the team and it should be interesting to see where Ozzie Guillen places him in the lineup. For most of the year, Dye batted 5th or 6th. But with Carl Everett in a pronounced slump for the last two months, Dye was hitting 3rd in front of Konerko. Not known as a real clutch hitter, he probably would be better off batting 5th. An excellent defensive outfielder with a rifle for an arm.

Trot Nixon is another solid pro although somewhat less spectacular at the plate. He is, however, an excellent clutch hitter and plays a solid defensive right field with good range and a strong arm. It remains to be seen if Nixon can regain some of the pop in his bat that he’s had in the past although injuries may have hurt him there.

Slight Edge to White Sox

DESIGNATED HITTER

Problem child Carl Everett kept his mouth shut most of the year. Then, when he hit a slump and Guillen dropped him to 6th in the order, Everett made it clear that it didn’t sit well with him. It was a big thing for about a week and has since dissipated as a result of the team clinching the Division. However, any residual bad feelings in the clubhouse are not good this time of year. Otherwise, Everett appears to be snapping out of it and playing against his old team should give him some extra incentive to do well.

David Ortiz is one of the greatest DH’s ever to play the game. The Ortiz-Ramirez show will be the story of the series. If White Sox pitching can limit their damage, they win. If not, look for a short series.

Big Edge to Boston

STARTING PITCHING

The White Sox quadrimvirate of Contreras, Garland, Buerhle, and Garcia were lights out for the first half of the season. They slid precipitously in August and the first part of September which allowed Cleveland to get back in the race. However – very bad news for Boston fans – it appears the starters have regained their early season form. In their last 8 starts, they have a combined ERA of 1.57. Contreras was Pitcher of the Month in September and both Garcia and Buerhle are excellent big game pitchers. Garland is a question mark although his last three starts have been above average.

Boston’s group of Clement, Wakefield, Schilling, and Wells is a good, proven group of playoff performers but far less reliable. This could be the Bosox Achilles heel against the White Sox – especially Clement (who the White Sox have knocked around a couple of times already this year) and Schilling who is just a shadow of his former spectacular self.

Big Edge to White Sox

BULLPEN

The White Sox have the best bullpen in the American League bar none, hands down. Guillen has used them intelligently which has given the group of Cotts, Politte, Vizcaino, and Marte a ton of confidence. Closer Bobby Jenks is young – but old enough to throw a fastball 100 mph. If the White Sox have the lead after the 6th inning, it’s almost an automatic “W.”

The Bosox have some good arms but much less reliable. Timlin always gives White Sox players fits as does former White Sox submariner Chad Bradford. But with Keith Foulkes well known troubles – one reason the White Sox gave up on him – the bullpen is hardly as solid as the Chisox group.

Big Edge to White Sox

BENCH

Ozzie Guillen has been giving players like Pablo Ozuna and Timo Perez game time all year long and both are primed for pinch hitting and perhaps even a starting role if things go south. And catcher Keith Widger has proven himself an adequate back up.

The leading Red Sox pinch hitter is Jay Payton with three hits – and he was traded to Oakland in July.

Edge to White Sox

MANAGER

While Ozzie Guillen is a strong candidate for Manager of the Year, the regular season means butkus this time of year. And Terry Francona has been there, done that. Can a manager freeze? Yes, but don’t look for that to happen to the happy-go-lucky Guillen. However, you’ve still got to give the nod to Francona.

Slight Edge to Boston

PREDICTION

Will the old baseball adage “Good pitching beats good hitting” prove out? The answer is yes. But the question isn’t whether pitching or hitting is more important, the question is performance. If the White Sox pitchers pitch like they are capable of doing, the Red Sox lose in 4. If not, it could be the Bosox in 3.

More likely, it will come down to game 5 in Chicago – with my White Sox winning a low scoring game in a low scoring series.

UPDATE

A couple of notes:

First, if you’re a baseball fan. be sure to bookmark Baseball Musings for the duration of the playoffs. Most fans are statistics nuts (like me) and former ESPN researcher David Pinto has the goods on everybody and everything.

‘THE KID WITH THE GOLDEN ARM,” BOBBY JENKS, CHEERS ON TEAMMATES PAUL KONERKO AND A.J. PIERZYNSKI FOLLOWING THE SOX CLINCHER ON THURSDAY

He can throw a baseball more than 100 miles per hour. At that speed, the ball screams toward the hitter appearing to be a tiny, jet propelled pellet of white-hot molten plasma, a blur to the eye of even the best of Major League hitters and forcing them to begin their swing almost before the pitch leaves his hand. And his 12 to 6 curve ball thrown almost 20 miles per hour slower has made more than one Major League hitter look like a busher with cataracts.

He also has the pudgy, cherubic face of a 15 year old choir boy.

But what Bobby Jenks has that makes him a potential star closer for the White Sox during the upcoming post season is the heart of a lion and the soul of a serial killer – two attributes that a successful baseball fireman must have in order to succeed when the game is on the line and the pressure so intense that equally gifted pitchers have buckled and broken.

Being a closer has more to do with possessing a mindset rather than any specific set of baseball gifts. Some of the greatest closers in the relatively short history of the position did not possess the overwhelming fastball of a Bobby Jenks or a Rob Dibble, the former Cincinnati great from the early 1990’s. The St. Louis Cardinal’s closer in the early 1980’s, Bruce Sutter, relied on the relatively new pitch – the “split fingered” fastball – to rack up his Hall of Fame numbers. And Dennis Eckersley, another Hall of Fame closer for the Oakland A’s, relied on pin point control and a devastating slider to confound hitters.

But what both of those men had and what Sox youngster Jenks seems to possess is an absolute killer instinct, a “take no prisoners” approach to the task of closing out a ballgame. It is an attitude that apparently cannot be taught but rather is part of the psychological make-up of a pitcher from the start of their careers. Jenks began his professional career in the Anaheim Angels organization. He was a raw, callow youth, so enamored of baseball during high school that he was declared academically ineligible to play 3 out of the 4 years he attended school in the small, Idaho town of Spirit Lake.

However, Jenks played American Legion ball and dazzled the competition both as a pitcher and a hitter, leading the league in homers and RBI’s as well as victories. Invited to a showcase camp for potential major leaguers, Anaheim (now Los Angeles) Angels scout Jack Uhey recognized the potential in the raw youth and signed him up.

The Angels figured they had a potential 20 game winner in the youngster and they tried to make him into a starting pitcher. As a 19 year old rookie in the “Low A” affiliate in Butte, Montana, Jenks struck out 42 batters in 52 innings but also walked 44 hitters. Not an auspicious beginning but the Angels stuck with him. The following year he struck out 96 hitters in 98 innings for Cedar Rapids and was temporarily promoted to the club’s double A affiliate in Arkansas for that teams playoffs. He did well enough there that during the next two years, he was tapped to play in the prestigious Arizona winter league where 2/3 of prospects end up on major league rosters. But the hard throwing kid with the golden arm was suffering the fate of most young pitchers – the injury bug had bit and bit hard.

Apparently, young Bobby throws so hard that the stress on the elbow causes what’s known in the business as “reaction fractures” – small cracks that cause intense pain. All professional pitchers have learned to pitch with pain as the unnatural act of flinging a baseball with velocities approaching 100 miles per hour every four or five days causes the muscles and tendons of the arm and shoulder to stretch and contract in an abnormal manner. Most pitchers learn to deal with the pain and pitch through it.

But the kind of pain caused by a fracture of the bone in the elbow can only be fixed by surgery. So, in 2004, Jenks went under the knife and had a screw placed in his elbow to keep the fractures from spreading. Fearing his career was over, the Angels released him. Taking a chance, the White Sox picked up his contract in less than 24 hours and immediately sent him to their instructional league in Florida. It was there that the Sox decided to make the 24 year old fireballer into a short reliever. Within a few weeks, they sent Jenks to their Triple A affiliate in Birmingham where he dominated the hitters, striking out 52 in just 41 innings. That, coupled with a decent spring training stint with the main club made his elevation to the majors simply a matter of time.

The call came July 5th. Manager Ozzie Guillen had become concerned over back problems being experienced by his closer at that time, veteran Dustin Hermanson, and thought that Jenks would be a good back-up for the ailing pitcher. The move proved to be a stroke of genius when Hermanson took the young fireballer under his wing and began to train Jenks in some of the finer points of closing a baseball game. Apparently, Hermanson’s tutelage had more to do with teaching the youngster how to prepare mentally for his appearances rather than any tips on how to throw a baseball.

The results have been remarkable to see. Guillen eased Jenks into the role of closer over the last few months of the season so that now, with the playoffs looming and Hermanson’s bad back a real question mark, Guillen feels no compunction about putting Jenks on the firing line during the most important games of the year.

At times, Jenks has been unhittable, striking out 50 batters in barely 39 innings. But the real test of a closer is in their ability to overcome mistakes. And Jenks has proven himself adept at getting out sticky situations created by his occasional wildness. This ability will stand him in good stead during the playoffs when every pitch in the late innings usually has the potential to turn the game around.

The ascendancy of Jenks over Hermanson, who until his probable career ending injury was one of the dominant closers in the American League, has given Sox fans hope that this in fact could be the year that frustration turns into triumph. The last time a Chicago baseball team won a World Championship was in 1917, a record of futility and heartache unmatched by any other Major League club in existence today. And with a flamethrower like Jenks in the wings, if the Sox have a lead going into the last inning, their chances of success and vindication have been increased substantially.

UPDATE

In addition to his outstanding work on the Plame Game, Tom McGuire is now evidently rooting for the White Sox to beat Cleveland since his Red Sox are now in trouble of missing the playoffs.

I would say to Mr. McGuire, no need to fret as my Sox literally own the Tribe’s backsides at The Jake this year, winning 8 while losing only 1. The snakebit Tribe will fall like a ripe huckleberry and allow his Sox to face my Sox in the Division Series beginning October 4 at US Cellular Field.

Needless to say, given the huge advantage my Sox enjoy in starting pitching and defense, his Carmines will feel the sting of defeat at the hands of my beloveds quicker than one can say “Bucky Dent” – who McGuire may not be aware began his career with none other than my White Sox.

UPDATE II

Color my face red but McGuire is a fan of the most hated, despised, and loathed franchise in all of professional sports, the New York Y**kees.

From here on out, since the name of the team is actually an obscenity and this is a family-friendly blog, we will x-out part of the Y**kees name in the interest of not corrupting children. Also, Y**kees is actually quite descriptive if one were to substitute a “uck.”

WHITE SOX SLUGGER PAUL KONERKO (L) CONGRATULATES PITCHER MARK BUEHRLE (R) FOLLOWING THE CLUB’S 4-1 VICTORY OVER MINNESOTA ON SUNDAY

There’s a hint of fall in the air here in Chicago. The leaves on the few elm trees that remain following the Dutch Elm blight that took so many of the beautiful giants in my youth are beginning to turn as are the gangly sycamores and noble hickory whose easy to reach lower branches have given dozens of generations of Midwestern boys both the thrill of accomplishment in climbing their first tree and the misery of their first broken bone as they would occasionally plunge willy-nilly from those same inviting limbs landing awkwardly on the ground.

One other tree also has begun its seasonal transition; the beloved Green Ash (Fraxinus pennsylvanica), a friend to early settlers due to its ramrod straight trunk which was used extensively in the construction of log cabins. More recently, Midwesterners discovered another use for the tree’s wood: It makes wonderful weapons for baseball batsmen.

There is no more difficult feat in sports than a baseball batter’s attempt to hit a round ball careening toward him from a little more than 60 feet away, inches from his person, at more than 90 miles per hour with a rounded stick of wood weighing on average 34 ounces. The 5 ounce ball of tightly wound horsehide around a plug of cork can be made by the pitcher when thrown to dip, to shoot left or right, to slide, to flutter, or to hop like a scared rabbit.

It can also be made to curve so that when leaving the pitcher’s hand, the ball appears to be making a bee line straight for the batter’s head only to fall harmlessly, knee high, over the outside corner of the diamond shaped home plate. The 18 inch sideways break of the ball while dropping 10 inches causes the knees of the best major league hitters to turn to jelly as their rear end obeys the natural law of self preservation and attempts to flee even while the highly developed mammalian brain of the batter fashioned over 50 million years of evolution is screaming at the rump to stay put so the player can swing the bat. All to no avail. The pitcher tries not to smile too broadly because he knows the next one he throws may not be as perfectly delivered. It may in fact hang like a ripe plum, low and inviting over the middle of the plate, at which point the batter swings and connects and sends the ball flying into the next zip code.

This is the essence of baseball; the eternal struggle between pitcher and batter. The one-on-one face off in baseball is the most lovely of human competitive endeavors as it reveals all of the characteristics of sport that captures us and demands our attention. There’s courage, guile, physical prowess, and a will to win at stake on every pitch. It is what makes baseball such a sublime and elevating experience for those of us who love the game and hold it so close to our hearts.

Those of us with a passion for the game are now a distinct minority in America. It wasn’t always so. The fact that there are dozens of reasons why this is true tells us more about America than it does about the popularity of baseball. While there are many that bemoan the fall of baseball from its preeminent position as the number one sport in America, one cannot escape the fact that the game has fallen victim to what is the essence of America itself; an unalterable and inexorable fact of life in this country that things do not remain the same, that society and culture are in a constant state of motion.

America has changed. Baseball hasn’t.

Baseball couldn’t change. The game itself is draped in tradition, in memory. There is no other game seen through the prism of remembrance quite like baseball. Whether sitting on the back porch in 1950’s and 60’s suburbia listening to the hissing, static filled play-by-play on radio while the fireflies blinked to announce their presence and the sweet smell of Jasmine filled the nostrils with the scent of summer, of family, of a shared passion. Or perhaps in the city you sat on the front stoop with every other house on the block blaring out the call of the game, a broadcast legend conducting a city wide symphony of sound, mothers with babies, fathers with sons, and the young, the old, laughing, talking, arguing, loving. A neighborhood, a community united around a passion so intense that enmities were temporarily forgotten as “the boys” or “the bums” performed extraordinary feats of effortless athleticism with both the workmanlike attitude of the blue collar hero and the pizazz of a circus performer.

Yes, that America existed at one time. And while memory may skew some of the details and gloss over much of the unseemly realities from those times, there is no doubt that baseball for much of the country occupied a privileged position in the hearts and minds of the people. In a time before the total saturation of sports, before ubiquitous replays, before free agency made players into hobos, before steroids turned the players into Frankenstein monsters, before rape trials and murder trials and divorces and scandal after scandal there was the pitcher, the batter, and the lovely dance of strategy and possibility. To bunt or not to bunt. To swing away or hit and run. To pitch out, or put the rotation” play on, or simply to play “straight up.” This was actually part of the national conversation when baseball was king.

But America stands still for no one. Certainly not for a game that used to be known as “The National Pastime.” For that is what one did when a game was in progress; pass the time in other pursuits while the game itself functioned as the background to daily life. While we sat on the porch listening to the game, as a family we would be laughing, joking, carrying on, reading, knitting – all the things that families do together that cements the bonds of love and affection we hold so dear and make life itself fill up with joy and satisfaction. Of course, utter silence would reign when some pivotal point in the game was occurring. But otherwise, baseball was important for what it meant as a shared experience for the family, for the neighborhood, and for the larger community in which we lived.

But those things have faded in significance. The reason why is not really important. It’s not like one can get in a time machine and take America back and deposit her in some other reality. Some refer to that period as a simpler time, a misnomer if there ever was one. It’s never been “simple” being an American. The ability to change, to adapt has always been the most highly prized attribute in American society. “It’s good to be shifty in a new country” was actually an adage taught in grammar school in the 19th century. The unbridled pace of change that makes America such a hugely vibrant and vital place also makes it a scary, even depressing milieu to live. For many, the psychic cost of change is too much to bear and broken lives and shattered families litter the seascape of our society like the flotsam and jetsam of a shipwreck following a huge storm.

Change is neither good nor bad; it simply exists. And the changes in American society that have caused the game of baseball to lose its luster and hasten its fall from grace say more about us as a people and how we interact with each other than it does about the game itself. It is ironic that while sports – all sports – currently occupy such a lofty position in the national psyche that the essence of the games and their original purpose as a uniting expedient for American communities has been lost. Now the games are shared experiences nationally. There is not quite the same feeling of intimate association with a particular team and its players. Sports is very big business. The franchises are owned by giant corporations rather than the gentleman sportsmen of the past. The Yawkeys, the Comiskeys, the Wrigleys and other former owners used to take a personal interest in seeing that their teams were competitive. This is not necessarily true today as the relentless rise in salaries has necessitated that the bean counters dictate how competitive a team might be in a given year. Can’t afford that extra $15 million a year for a front line pitcher? Oh well, maybe one of the kids we drafted last year will come through and allow us to be competitive until September.

This is what passes for strategy in today’s game.

But even the machinations of heartless corporations can’t dim my love and affection for baseball. Try as they might, neither the players nor their hated nemeses the owners can destroy the game. Even if some mighty wind arose and swept away every major league club, their high priced players, their greedy owners, their luxury boxes, their cookie-cutter stadiums, and especially their grasping, conniving, insufferable sports agents, the world would go on. In fact, it doesn’t take a soothsayer to know that even if such a calamity were to occur, the very next day, somewhere in America, whether on a farm or in a back yard or city park, young boys would gather to play the game. Which also says a lot about America. Some things will never change. And I suspect that despite the popularity of other sports, there will always be just enough of us who love baseball to keep it alive.

Not everything in America changes. And that is a good thing.

If you are a sports fan and live in Chicago, the story unfolding on the South Side of the city where grown men in silly looking clothes and serious looks on their faces play a game that civil war soldiers called “Rounders” but that Chicagoans are currently referring to as “Hangman, is all too familiar. Outside of a magical, glorious run of 8 6 World Championships in 10 8 years by the Bulls, Chicagoans are inured to failure by their sports teams. It’s become a source of embarrassment for the city that the record of futility enjoyed by its baseball, football, and hockey teams has surpassed any other city’s sports franchises.

A large part of the feeling is tied up in the Chicago’s former nickname “The Second City.’ Chicago is not the “Second City anymore.” Los Angeles surpassed Chicago in population back in the 1970’s. And “The Third City” just doesn’t seem to have that snap, crackle, and pizazz as other nicknames that cities have attached to them either by default or design. “The Big Apple,” The Big D,” “Music City,” and “The Big Easy” are complimentary monikers that bring tourists who drop millions of dollars into the civic coffers, attracted by the reputations of those towns for fun and frolic. Hell, even Detroit is “The Motor City, despite the fact that few if any automobiles are built within the city limits today.

But Chicago? Chicago used to be “Hog Butcher to the World” until the hogs got all huffy and decided that the slaughterhouses of Kansas City were preferable to the cramped, dusky environs found in “The Jungle” of Upton Sinclair. And “The City of Big Shoulders” that poet Carl Sandburg saw has shrunk to “The City of Slim Hips” found in the gentrified neighborhoods on the city’s North side.

Not to worry. There would always be the Bears and the Cubs. What of the White Sox, you ask?

The White Sox have been an afterthought in the minds of Chicagoans for more than 100 years. This situation was exacerbated by the ownership of the franchise by the Comiskey family whose tight fisted policies toward both the players and fans were legendary in the sports world. Charles Comiskey, owner of the team during the infamous “Black Sox” betting scandal of 1919 reportedly made the players pay for washing their own uniforms. And while more competitive as a baseball team since the end of World War II than the hated Cubs, the team always seemed to come up short during crunch time.

On more than one occasion during the last few weeks I’ve had some troll send me an email gloating about the fall of my White Sox from invincibility. Invariably, the correspondent is some rube from the sticks, at which point I politely inquire as to the status of their major league franchise. This has proved itself to be an effective riposte because, of course, there is no major league sports franchise in Iowa, or South Dakota, or some such place where the people are dependent on minor league teams for sports enjoyment. Our teams may suck, but at least we’ve got major league sports franchises – or at least teams that call themselves such. I wouldn’t necessarily call the Blackhawks “Major League” anything given that their current owners, the Wirtz family, are more interested in their lucrative liquor distribution businesses than they are in putting a professional hockey team on the ice.

But with the national media finally turning their gaze to the White Sox, it’s become something of an embarrassment to realize that the “collapse” of the team is making more national sports news than the bitter division battle between the Red Sox and Yankees. What has happened is not a collapse as much as it has been evidence that there is in fact a God. For only God could make a team like the Cleveland Indians to scorch the American League as the Tribe has done in the last two months.

The Sox had a lead of 15 games on August 1st over the Indians. Since that time, the Sox have coasted home with a .500 record – 25-26. The Indians however, have been unconscious. Playing at nearly a .750 clip – including winning an unholy 17 out of their last 19 ballgames – the Indians have surged to a 37-12 mark during the same period. Not coincidentally, this is virtually the same record the White Sox had for the first two months of the season.

Alas, when tallying up wins and losses, it matters much more how you finish as season than how you start it. Thus, my Sox find themselves fighting for their playoff lives this week. And the prospect of a three game series to end the season in Cleveland that could decide everything has most of us who root for the South Siders having feelings somewhat akin to those of the hogs many years ago who were led into the pens of the stockyards to await their fate; an overwhelming desire to have it over with already.

There is still a good chance the Sox will make the playoffs if not win their Division outright. The Yankees and Red Sox also have a date with history and destiny next weekend. One of those teams will take two out of three games which means the Sox will still probably sneak in as the American League Wild Card entry in the playoffs as long as they don’t have a major swooning experience against the lowly Detroit Tigers who they play for four games in the lead up to the weekend war with Cleveland. And Cleveland may falter a bit when they play Tampa Bay’s youngsters who are led by the most intense man in baseball, manager Lou Pinella.

So the outlook, while grim, is not beyond hope. But after such a fine season during most of which the White Sox had the best record in baseball, it would be a shame if they were denied playoff entry at the last moment by some angry god who we Chicagoans offended many years ago and who has caused us untold amount of suffering when it comes to our lame, but loved sports franchises.