Jerry Manuel, a wise and alert man, did not humor my question. Did he think, I asked, his baseball team needed a name?
“We have a name,” Manuel said. “Chicago White Sox.”
No, I explained, a name to separate this White Sox team from all the other storied and famous White Sox teams, the “Go-Go Sox,” the “South Side Hit Men,” the “Winning Uglies.” Not a long list, come to think of it, but that’s what comes of being infrequently memorable. When something special happens, a distinctive designation is required.
Oddly, the Cubs do not seem to need the same extra labeling, and it is just as easy to sort the Cubs’ best teams as it is the White Sox. Easier. Just add a year. “’69 Cubs” is the shortest eulogy in the book of the dead.
The New York Yankees have pretty much let “Bronx Bombers” hang about for generations without renewing it like a fishing license every time a pennant is possible. Maybe when the White Sox have won 25 world championships they, too, will have a standing headline. Until then, the search for the perfect catch phrase goes on.
“Jerry’s Kids?”
“Oh, good lord, no,” said Manuel, cringing.
Does Manuel have a term of his own, something affectionate? What does he call the White Sox? “Men,” Manuel said.
If the manager isn’t going to help–Sparky Anderson gave us the “Big Red Machine” in Cincinnati and “Bless You Boys” in Detroit–if he doesn’t think it is necessary, I’m not going to all the trouble of thinking up outrageous puns (“Sox in the City”) and word tricks (“Manuel’s Laborers”) and odd slogans (“Big Hurt and the Little Ouches”) just to boost someone else’s T-shirt sales.
Still, the secret is there somewhere. A team does not get to be the best in baseball without leaving some fingerprints.
“We’re just playing good baseball,” said Manuel, helping not all.
Could it be that the simple and unpoetic truth about this team is that it has no easy peculiarity to exploit, no defining trait, not a bumper sticker in the bunch, that it is merely that most unmarketable of things, a team?
Solid pitching. Not great. No “Spahn and Sain and pray for rain” possible here. No, wait. Let’s try. “Baldwin and Wunsch and let’s have lunch.” See what I mean?
Timely hitting, not overpowering, intimidating hitting, not Murderers’ Row hitting, more like Annoyers Sandwich hitting, from Ray Durham on top to Chris Singleton on the bottom, with Jose Valentin, Frank Thomas, Magglio Ordonez and Paul Konerko in the between. And then Carlos Lee cleans what bones are left.
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Any one of them might hit the ball over the wall, but just as likely they’ll take the walk, or hit behind the runner or simply refuse to be the third out. That could be essence of this team. Nobody wants to be the third out. Make a slogan out of that.
How about a little patch with the No. 3 and one of those no-smoking circle slashes through it? Nah, too confusing. It would look like a shoulder patch for an ambulance driver.
These things have a way of working themselves out. A season’s flavor comes from spontaneity, such as the recent and happy habit of Sox fans to urge their unseen heroes out of the dugout and onto the field with a standing, chanting ovation.
For the second night in a row this is how the White Sox took the field against the Cleveland Indians, encouragement pounding their ears. In spite of seven out of eight acceptable innings from Mike Sirotka, the Sox responded with a 4-1 loss.
However these White Sox will be remembered will be determined in September and in the days of autumn, not in the final moments of spring.
“This is only June,” said GM Ron Schueler, who, and I have this on record, told me it was only May and only April. I fully expect it to be only July soon.
What has been accomplished so far is all prelude and if it weren’t so rare and unanticipated, there would be no urgency to emboss it before its time.
“It’s always easier to sneak up on somebody,” said Schueler. Hold on. Is there something there? Sox. Sneakers. Ah. . . . no.
“I’ve been through a few of these,” Schueler said, “and I know somewhere we’re going to get tested. After the All-Star Game you’ll see clubs start laying for us, changing their pitchers around.”
Perspective is necessary but is it a T-shirt? “Respect the Sox Authority.”
This is Chicago. Let’s do get ahead of ourselves.