(See parts 1-5 before reading this)
On the ride back to his hotel, my dad and I were soaking in the moment. We were analyzing the series, talking about the Angels and how we both thought that they were tired and beat up from a long season. And how, despite the fact that the White Sox won pretty handily, we both knew that the Angels were a far better than they showed in that series. He and I may not be Rooney and Farmer, but we can still discuss a mean game of baseball. Once we got past the “complete game” and “Joe Crede” talk, he asked me the all-important question. “Are you planning on coming in next weekend for the World Series?” Knowing that he had tickets to game 2 on Sunday, I responded, “How could I not?”
The next day at work, I looked for flights. How could I not miss any work, get from Southern California to Chicago and back and still see game 2 on Sunday night? Oh, and I had to do this 4 days in advance. One flight stood out perfectly. It left LAX at 6:30 pm on Friday and got into Chicago around 12:30 am. And I would leave Chicago at 6:00 am on Monday morning, land at LAX at 8:15 am and drive straight to work. Nobody would even know I was gone. And little did I know that I would be going to not one, but both World Series games that weekend. My dad scored two tickets for game 1. My brother gave up a chance to fight me in the ultimate cage match for the 2nd ticket and said that I could go. You’d probably say he’s a nice guy, but deep down, he knew I could kick his ass :) (Yes, we’re grown men and we still talk to each other this way).
I slept in on Saturday as late as I could, given the long flight and the time change. After moving around slowly for a couple of hours, my mom suggested that I get ready. The weather forecast called for light rain and temperatures in the mid-40s. So I got ready for the game, Bears-style. T-shirt, long sleeve shirt, Sox sweatshirt, and my still-not-washed-since-Game-5-of-the-ALCS Paul Konerko jersey. I also brought one of those headbands that covers your ears, winter gloves and, of course, my traditional White Sox hat. Yup, we were ready.
We got to the stadium real early so we could park and soak in the moment. We were at the World Series. The WORLD SERIES! We immediately bought programs and put them back in the car. Next thing I knew, my dad was talking to a buddy of his, who ended up taking us to the The Stadium Club. So, not only were we at the World Series, but we were living large before the game. As I gorged myself with a Chicago style buffet (including an 18 inch Polish Sausage), we were all just talking White Sox. We’ve all been waiting our entire lives for this moment. And it was right there in front of us. It was completely surrounding us. It encompassed every part of each and every one of us. And we were all just waiting patiently until the first pitch.
I told my dad, “You know, we could potentially be seeing Clemens’ last game ever”. Sadly, not only was Clemens hittable, but he also hurt himself in the 2nd inning and never came back. When I said that, I didn't mean it that way. It's sad to see one of the greatest pitchers of all time possibly end his career like that. In a series that was supposed to be dominated by pitching match ups and suspect hitting, game 1 was tied 3-3 in the 3rd inning. Wandy Rodriguez was shaky in relief, but only gave up 1 run. The running joke between my cousins and me is that Rodriguez moved to the US when he was about 5 years old. And when the immigration officer asked him his name, the cute little boy said, “Wandy Wodwiguez”. At the age of 5, Randy forever become Wandy.
Ok, back on topic… For all of the talk of an unused bullpen, Ozzie had full confidence in them. After a leadoff hit in the 8th, Neil Cotts had first and third, nobody out and a one run lead. Long story short, Cotts struck out the next two hitters. Ozzie came to the mound, put his arms out along his sides, and called for the big man, Bobby Jenks. As Jenks was warming up on the mound, the cold night in Chicago didn’t seem quite as cold anymore. One more out and they were onto the 9th inning. I turned to my dad and said, “Have you noticed that he didn’t throw one pitch in the strike zone while he was warming up?” But as soon as the first batter stepped in, Jenks brought the heat. Sitting in the right field bleachers, I’ve never seen so many heads turn around after each and every pitch. They were looking at the pitch speed. I couldn’t quite see it, but I saw a guy in the row in front of me mouth, “Ninety-nine”. Someone had a brilliant sign at the game – “We don’t have a curse. But we have a Jenks.” Jenks went on to strike out the next four batters, earning his first World Series save. Twice, the guy in the row in front of me mouthed, “One-oh-one”. The White Sox bullpen struck out the final 6 hitters in the game. Yes, we have a Jenks. And we were up 1-0 in the World Series.
--- To be concluded (this time for real) ---
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