The White Sox Win the World Series - Part 7

(This is really the final post - The story begins here.)

I think we were collectively getting greedy. We were getting used to winning games. In my mind, I still thought “We need to win game 2”. We can’t split at home and then go to Houston and face their ace, Roy Oswalt in game 3. Once again, two of the best pitchers in the game faced off – Andy Pettitte and Mark Buehrle. This was a baseball fan’s dream. To be able to see some of the game’s greatest pitchers on consecutive nights in the World Series. It doesn’t get any better than that. For this game, the entire family got to go. Mom, Dad, brother, sister-in-law and me. The forecast was for colder weather and more rain. Yup, my Konerko jersey stunk to high hell, but I’d be damned if I was going to wash it after going 3 for 3 (The last 2 ALCS games and Game 1 of the World Series). So, we layered up, put on hats and gloves and headed back to the south side.

With the score 4-2 Astros in the 5th inning and Andy Pettitte settling in, things didn’t seem so bright. Despite the best efforts of the White Sox scoreboard operator, there was really nothing to bring that crowd back into the game. Just like game 2 of the ALDS, Mark Buehrle gave up 4 runs, and we would need some sort of Tony Graffanino-like miracle. With runners on 1st and 2nd in the bottom of the 7th, we got our miracle. A phantom hit-by-pitch on a 3-2 count to Jermaine Dye. Just like all of the other calls that had gone our way throughout the playoffs, they still had to take advantage. Paul Konerko came to the plate. The reason I like Konerko so much is that he’s a smart player. He normally takes the 1st pitch. And with a new reliever coming in, you want to make him throw a few. And the opposition knew that. With bases loaded, you have to throw strikes and get ahead in the count. Like, I said, Konerko’s a real smart hitter. He knew he’d get a pitch to hit. He knew he had to be ready 1st pitch. And he did. He hit a frozen rope over the left-centerfield wall. I will never see another sports moment like that in my life. Comiskey Park erupted. Grown men started hugging other random grown men. I don’t even remember seeing or hearing any fireworks. Paul Konerko just changed the entire game, and possibly the entire series. Those are the moments you live for. That was it. A grand slam in the World Series to take a 6-4 lead. “6 more outs” was our new battle cry.

By the ninth inning our new cry became “3 more outs!” We could taste victory. We were actually going to go up 2-0 in the World Series. The big man came out of the bullpen and the entire crowd started to do the Ozzie move. 41,000 fans were calling for Bobby Jenks. But this time when our heads turned, the scoreboard didn’t read “99” or “101”. It was reading “95” and “90”. My brother asked me if that was his changeup. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. Maybe the cold and rain was slowing him down. Maybe he wasn’t fully rested. Whatever it was, our Jenks wasn’t the same as the night before. Jose Vizcaino of all people tied the game up with a 2 run single. It hurt. But we saw Ozzie come out of the dugout to take Bobby out of the game. And he didn’t look worried. Not Ozzie. He knew the game wasn’t over. Heck, it was still tied and we had last wraps. And if Ozzie wasn’t worried, neither were we.

Some drunk guy in a Blackhawks jacket never stopped yelling, “DE-TROIT SUCKS! DE-TROIT SUCKS!” Hey, it made no sense and was a little annoying. But hey it’s hard to disagree. And if that was going to work, then I’m on board. Detroit sucks.

For the ump-teenth time, the loud speakers blared one of my favorite 80s songs, “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey. That was the White Sox theme song for the playoffs. They never stopped believing. And neither did any of us. The White Sox know how to manufacture runs. If one of the first two guys could get on base, I liked our chances. Either Juan Uribe or Scott Podsednik. Sure, Brad Lidge was pitching. But anybody is hittable. I checked the scoreboard after Lidge pitched to Uribe and it was reading “97” and ”98”. Yikes. Podsednik got himself into a nice 2-1 count. Throughout the playoffs, he had been working very nice counts, fouling of pitches and drawing walks. That’s what we needed here. Our speed demon on the bases. Lidge also knew this. So he offered up his best fastball. Pods took a swing and drove it into the gap. I was thinking “triple”. So was Pods. He was off to the races. But the ball didn’t hit the gap. It kept going. For a guy who hit 0 homeruns and 1 triple in the regular season to hit his 2nd homerun in the postseason is just unheard of. The most unlikely hero won the game with a walkoff homerun. We embraced, we screamed and once again, we didn’t hear the fireworks. It was 40 degrees and raining. It was perfect. Nobody left either. 41,000 fans just stayed. And I know for my parents, they were ecstatic. Not only for the White Sox, but for all of us, knowing that we were there together. And for that, I’m happy for them.

After about 3 hours of sleep, I took a cab to O’Hare at 4:30 the next morning. I broke my recent “no coffee” craze (for like the 10th time) and willed my way through the workday.

I watched game 3 at home. I was still a little exhausted from the weekend. Turns out, I made an EXCELLENT choice. I had my computer and was IM-ing with friends and family throughout the game. I even had my cousins Danny and Eric on videoconference. We had done that before and their TV is about 10 seconds behind mine. So I had to pull the microphone out if I were to get excited about anything, as to not ruin it for them. Now, remember, I hadn’t seen a game on TV in a couple of weeks. You may have been used to Joe Buck and Tim McCarver. I wasn’t. And I’ve got to say that Tim McCarver ought to be nicknamed “Captain Obvious”. He offered no insight into anything. “So and so is a drop and drive pitcher. That means he drops and then he drives”. Oh, is that so, Tim? I suppose that it was your idea to have the gay baseball that talks to us and explains how a changeup works. Or perhaps it was your idea in the 12th or 13th inning to inform us that: “In five hours you could – Cook a Turkey, Fly from Baltimore to Iceland, Watch 1/5 of a season of “24”, Watch the longest World Series game ever”. How retarded do you think your audience is, Fox? Do you think I can’t figure what I could do with 5 hours? God, I hate Rupert Murdoch. Wait, what were we talking about? Oh yeah. The World Series.

14 innings and 5 hours and I don’t remember how many minutes later, Geoff Blum hit the go ahead homerun. Geoff Blum? He played for the Astros a couple of years back and they said he couldn’t be part of the Killer B’s, despite fitting right in. Speaking of, the Killer B’s sort of made sense about 7 years ago when those players were actually good. Now it’s just lame. Lame like every sign I saw in Houston. “Sock the Sox” and “Hit a Homer” with a picture of Homer Simpson are the two that stand out. Are the people of Houston that lame or does Fox only show the lame signs? God I hate Rupert Murdoch. So yeah, at 1:20 am Central time, every I know went straight to bed. Cousin Danny had to wake up at 5:00 am to teach the next morning. I talked to Cousin Kevin a couple of days later, and he was up until 2:20 am, as he’s the only one of us on Eastern Time. Even my dad, who is a morning person, IM-ed me after the game, “Geoff Blum and Damaso Marte. My picks to click!” I suppose I can’t really complain about my loss of sleep. They’re truly dedicated.

It didn’t seem real. The White Sox were up 3-0 in the World Series. Their pitching was anything but dominating. They gave up 3, 6 and 5 runs in the first 3 games. But they were finding ways to win. Just like they had all season. There was no need for dominance. Their teams in the past had dominant bats and that never seemed to work. Maybe Kenny and Ozzie were right all along. They needed a team to win. They needed 25 guys, including Geoff Blum and Damaso Marte. Each of them needed to do their part to win.

I had to watch game 4 in public. Sure, there aren’t many White Sox fans in California. But it had to be out in public. So I picked a sports bar and sent out an email. I was joined by Poker Jason, Brent, Dan and Leah. I think they all came because I told them I might break down and cry if the White Sox won. Wouldn’t you know it – After all of the hype of the “Big 3” in the Astros rotation, it was their 4th pitcher that threw the game of his life. Fox must have hated this. But baseball traditionalists loved it. The game was 0-0 after 7 innings. Poker Jason suggested that we order a lucky drink. He asked, “What would be appropriate for the White Sox?” Although Miller Lite is the official beer of the White Sox, it just didn’t seem right. After a few moments, Jason had it. A white Russian. The right colors and the right drink. So we ordered a round of White Russians. And that’s all I need to say. Jermaine Dye singled in Willie Harris for the go-ahead run. And our bullpen closed things out. Everybody contributed. They all deserved the MVP. And I was just hugs and high fives all around.

Leah asked, “Who’s the first call to?” Home of course. My mom picked up and I just screamed, “They WON!” They were watching at home with the family – Brother, sister-in-law, my grandma (who was born a year after the last World Series), my aunt and uncle were all there. It was perfect for all of us.

When I woke up the next morning, I logged onto ESPN.com just to make sure it wasn’t a dream. It was real. The White Sox, a team with no real top-caliber players, won 11 of 12 playoffs games. They beat the reigning world champions (The Red Sox), the best top to bottom team in the American League (The Angels) and the team with the best 3 starting pitchers (The Astros). And they beat them all with style. They won their last 8 games. Something just seemed right in the stars for them and for the fans. We never stopped believing. We witnessed history. And we’ll forever have a story to tell. The 2005 Chicago White Sox were our team.

My cube in my office is still plastered with White Sox signs. I have every box score for every win in the playoffs. It’s been no secret who I’ve been rooting for. The playoffs have consumed my life for the past 4 weeks. I’ve neglected just about every other aspect of my life since the playoffs began on October 4th. I have zero regrets. I’ve enjoyed every moment of the ride. Almost 2 weeks ago in Anaheim my dad said, “There’s no script. You don’t know the outcome. That’s what makes it so exciting.” You know what, Dad? I’m not sure they could have scripted a better outcome had they tried.