The end is only a pause, no matter that it feels like something is over. And it will be over Sunday after the White Sox once again meet the New York Yankees at giggly Comiskey Park, the 38th game in an ordeal that made the White Sox schedule look like it had been drawn up by a Cubs fan.
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This was going to tell the White Sox who they were and what they can become: Yankees there, Yankees here, Cleveland here, Cleveland there, Yankees there, Cleveland here, Yankees here.
This has been a revolving door of dares, with only the occasional interleague relief of the Astros and the Reds or, most refreshingly, the Cubs dropping by with their undemanding contribution to the Sox’s season to die for.
The White Sox went into the stretch not so much an uncertainty as an anomaly, a glitch on the baseball radar, asparagus stuck in the baseball teeth. Any team can get lucky early, swapping ambitions with the Angels and the Tigers and the Royals.
Ah, but the Yankees and the Indians, back to back to back to back to … get through this, Chicago, and count your limbs.
“Another game and a day off,” Sox manager Jerry Manuel said, refusing to exhale.
On the South Side they play ’em one meat-grinder at a time.
In spite of a soggy 12-8 thumping by the Yankees Saturday, the White Sox are 27 up and only 10 down for the stretch, beating the Indians six of nine and the Yankees seven of 11.
They also are whole, healthy and ready for more. Believe this. The White Sox are the team to catch, to admire and to measure.
Not just in the American League Central but on all points of the greater baseball compass.
The world is dropping by to find out how and the fans are even showing up without demanding door prizes for their efforts, though they take the bats and mouse pads anyhow. Saturday they waited through a rain delay that began with the Sox five runs down in the eighth.
The tipoff on what these White Sox are now might be Ed Farmer’s radio reason to stay through the delay.
“If Herbert Perry can score from second and the Sox can load the bases,” Farmer said with complete assurance, “the White Sox are only a slam away from a tie.”
This sounded not only perfectly plausible but downright expected. The White Sox have come back to win 20 this year, though only two after the eighth inning. In other times and maybe still occasionally, disbelief is required. To fret is to be a White Sox fan.
The unasked yet understood questions from local and visiting inquisitors is always the same. How did this happen and when is it going to end?
The short answers are teamwork and it ain’t.
Here’s how the White Sox have evolved through the fierce foundry now nearly finished. The most pressing concern seems to be who the fifth starter will be. And wasn’t the question just yesterday–and maybe still is outside the South Side–who are any of the Sox starters?
Hands are being wrung over the inconsistency of young Kip Wells, a world-beater one night, a panhandler the next. It was Wells who beat the Indians and it was Wells who dug the hole against the Yankees.
Wells does not get in and out of trouble as interestingly as Jack McDowell used to, but not every successful career is built on the 1-2-3 inning.
“It’s tough to win when you give up runs every inning,” Wells concluded, gaining valuable wisdom. “You make good pitches, you get guys out. Eight runs should be enough to win a game.”
The clamor for Wells to do better reflects the growing import of the White Sox season. Questions come about young righty Jon Garland, down in Charlotte, having maybe the best minor-league season of any pitcher.
“We think the world of Wells,” Manuel said. “He will be a big part of what we’re doing.”
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When the biggest concern is the odd pitcher at the end of the rotation, things are just fine. Winning has diminished all the worries.
Perry appears to be an acceptable third baseman. The bench has no power hitter? Not a problem. Manuel doesn’t platoon much and there seems no need to.
The defense is last in the league but seems to commit errors without penalty. Frank Thomas rarely shows up on first base and critics aren’t offended. And the worst is happy history.