In their eternal quest for love, the White Sox conducted a post-season survey of customers, present and alienated.
Upon collating results, the ballclub learned of this public demand for a fan-friendlier squad, a warm and cuddly group of millionaires more inclined to smile, sign autographs or at least fake interest in those paying the principal.
And the envelope, please.
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Albert Belle?
It would be a bold move indeed and, unless Belle pulls one of his infamous Halloween tricks on the Sox, he will jump the Cleveland Indians for Comiskey Park. A member of the Sox family said Monday night the deal “is all but done” and not to worry about late money arriving from another precinct.
Say, the Florida Marlins, who are said to be offering even better prices and a lifetime supply of corked bats.
The immediate reaction is that Jerry Reinsdorf, who runs the Bulls and the Sox, has taken another plunge after his largely successful basketball experiment. Dennis Rodman wears rouge and wedding gowns. Albert Belle goes more for the designer frown, as though his sanitary hose is wrapped too tightly.
Whatever it takes. The difference is that Belle’s market value is significantly higher. Thus, by signing him to a long-term contract, the Sox would not be renting a Rodman, or even a Tartabull.
A five-year deal will seem like forever if Belle changes lakes without changing also his attitude.
Thing is, Belle’s problems involve everything but opposing pitchers. He hit 48 homers and knocked in 148 runs last season, not far from the 50 and 126 he posted during the summer of 1995. The Sox probably can find a place for those numbers in their lineup, as close to Frank Thomas as possible. If Thomas isn’t the best-paid member of the team, he’ll be better protected.
Once upon a time, the Sox were in a similar fix, groping for answers to raging disinterest. That was 1972, when they acquired the troubled Dick Allen. He bonded with his manager, Chuck Tanner, became the league’s most valuable player, and put the franchise back in a dress shirt as attendance boomed. Also, by 1975, Dick Allen was back in Philadelphia.
The Sox won 85 games in secret this summer, and if Belle doesn’t qualify for the Nobel Peace Prize, that’s because it’s not his schtick. What he does is report to work ready to work every day, and if that doesn’t sell tickets, maybe nothing will.
The Sox must talk to him about his gruff exterior, if they haven’t already, but the idea is not that he trade his bat for a finger bowl. The man competes intensely, though on occasion he seems inclined to fight the world. Not necessary.
Reinsdorf, meanwhile, is no less an oddball. In a sports industry that pays for promises, he insists on paying for performance. He has a $58 million salary structure with the champion Bulls and could wind up with $50 million for the Sox, which is 108 million reasons to argue this notion that he doesn’t want to win. If Reinsdorf weren’t committed, he could do it a lot cheaper.
But Belle produces, so Reinsdorf went after him, and it just so happens that Belle is departing a Cleveland juggernaut that finished a combined 46 1/2 games ahead of the Sox in the division the last two summers. If you can’t beat them, raid them.
Reinsdorf might not endear himself to some fellow owners, but he always can say that fiscal responsibility means buying proven commodities and would be right. Besides, this does have a last gasp feel to it. If Sox fans don’t respond to Belle, perhaps there aren’t enough of them anymore.
The upper deck might be the safest place when he strikes out, but a little zeal never hurts. He has one autograph to sign, and that will free the Sox to make more moves.
Their gamble is not so much on Albert Belle. Their gamble is that Sox fans, present and alienated, will care.