Thursday, October 27, 2005

Thank you.

Pat: I celebrated last night, jumping, laughing, and cheering. This morning on the Red Line, reading the Sun-Times, I cried. At almost every article. I cried reading the RedEye. Reading the recaps online. It's all so incredible.

These men: AJ the gritty center-of-controversy, the team mascot by the end of it; Crede, the shaky batter who turned into a Gold-Glove fielder whose bat made sure any Sox deficit was temporary; Konerko, who joins the pantheon of great sluggers with a a clutch grand slam; Jermaine, who quietly became the most consistant, solid player on the team; Garland, Buehrle, Garcia, and Contreras, a four-ace hand; Podsednik, the zero-HR speed-stealer who knocked a walkoff blast in Game Two; Iguchi, the consistent fielder whose WS batting slump only made his ALCS and ALDS heroics stand in sharper relief; Uribe, who I'm surprised still has ribs after the spectacular foul catch in the last inning of Game Four; Rowand, the tiny Gold-Glove-worthy center fielder who never blinks about throwing himself headfirst into walls; The bullpen of solid Cotts and Politte, standby Viscaino and Hermanson, October phenom El Duque, Jenks who suddenly matured into a hundred-mile-an-hour ace, and even Marte who nearly blew it earlier but proved himself world-caliber--as did every single one of these pitchers--in the 5-hour-41-minute marathon game 3; and even the scrubs: Widger, Ozuna, and Perez, Harris and Blum, oh, Harris who crossed the plate for the game 4 winner and oh, the mighty Blum, whose only WS at-bat was the game 3 winning home run; and even Everett, who I desperately wished to be traded away all year, and who finally woke up when it counted, batting .500 in the Fall Classic; heck, possibly even Man Soo Lee, the bullpen catcher. These men are no longer men. They are a team; they are heroes all; they are legends. They will grow old, their careers will close. Some will be traded, some will go free-agent, all will eventually retire, in Sox hats or otherwise. But this team--the team that gave Chicago a world series crown after 88 years--will live on forever. They are gods now, their names will flow together for years. They will be remembered 20 years from now, 40 years from now, 60 years from now. In this city, cursed with eternal sports mediocrity, winning teams are titans, and the 2005 White Sox have just joined the 1985 Bears and the Repeat-Threepeat Bulls in the pantheon of champions.

Thank you, Ozzie, thank you, Williams, thank you, Reinsdorf, thank you, all the players. Thank you.

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