A fittin’ St. Patrick’s Day for baseball it was, too, featuring those two fine Irish teams, the San Dieg O’Padres and the Chicag O’White Sox.
Making it all the more complete was the continued hot hitting of that noted Irish right-fielder from County Caracas, rookie Maggli O’Ord O’nez.
Good guys wear green.
Catching the Sox for the first time this spring in shamrock shirts and caps was a little off-putting, but it could have been worse. They could have been celebrating National Doily Day, though a little lace might be good for Albert Belle.
The Sox whacked the ball around with callous insolence in a game that should have been called after the Sox scored eight in the sixth, invoking the little-used shillelagh rule.
“We will not be batting .318 for the year, you know,” said Jerry Manuel, the maiden manager of the Sox.
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Never mind that after the game the Sox were hitting .330, there is more dry wit in that one observation than has come out the mouth of any Sox manager in this decade. Whether Manuel can manage will be seen, but at least he can think.
“I have told the team that I am not about edifying myself in front of a TV audience,” Manuel said. “I told them I will never edify myself at their expense. This is the order of things–team first, them and then myself.”
Edify? Is there a thesaurus in the clubhouse?
What is expected of Manuel is illustrated by the cover of the Sox media guide. Grinning back over his shoulder, Manuel has pen ready to fill in the lineup card around the names of Thomas, Belle and Ventura.
It is kind of like the conductor adding the chorus to Pavarotti, Carreras and Domingo, nice work if you can get it and Manuel managed to get it by being so completely the opposite of Terry Bevington; that is to say, alert, cheerful, coherent.
“I have no idea about any of that,” Manuel said. “I have a plan, a simple plan, no matter who was the manager before.”
That plan is?
“Round the bag and look for a double, run through the bag and slide, those type of things,” he said.
Simplest plan I ever heard came from Bob Lemon, who told his players, “Get your work in and wear shower shoes in the clubhouse.”
And everyone knows, Manuel, too, that baseball is pitching, exactly what the Sox lack.
“We are deeply interested in discovering which people shall follow Jaime Navarro in the pitching rotation,” Manuel said.
They have names. Bere. Baldwin. Sirotka. Eyre. Parque.
“They have to pitch as though they are in the prime of their careers for us to be successful,” Manuel said.
Still, there are all those hitters. On this day they got 19 hits. The Sox have been averaging more than 10 runs a game for the last six games. Pitching or not, there is reason for optimism.
“Our young left-handed pitching could be decent,” Manuel said. “Our young shortstop (Mike Caruso) has come a long way. Our offense is healthy and we are working on our defense.”
Pessimism can wait. Crossing the parking lot from the Sox offices to the press box, I am stopped by a tourist with a familiar Chicago accent.
“I think you do a great job,” he said. “Could we get a picture in front of the stadium?”
I agree and smile winningly, my arm around his shoulders while his wife snaps the Instamatic.
“If I get this blown up and send it to you, will you sign it?” he asks.
I reach for a business card.
“Just send it in care of the Sox, Mr. Schueler?” he asks.
I nod and give him a thumbs up. Reality will arrive soon enough. In spring, it is illusion that counts.
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