I knew it was coming. Probably months ago, even a year or two ago, but I didn't want to accept it.
Sports is an art form to me. Sports is a great drama, an ancient retelling of Greek or Shakespearean tragedy played out every single day in the farthest-reaching corners of the world. Two sides meet for battle and they clash until one team stands alone.
Sports is artistry in rhythm. The quiet simplicity of the up-and-under, the crossover, the turn of a double play. Moves and plays where the mere mention of their names can conjure immediate stories, fond memories and long-buried heartbreak: "The Shot Heard 'Round the World". "The Catch". "A.J.'s K."
Sports is the representation of perseverance. The idea that one person can survive in the direst of circumstances and still triumph. The idea that one group of players can put aside their differences, band together and stand at the top of their mountain. The idea that a town, a city, a nation, can urge their team to do the impossible.
Sports is all these things. Between the lines.
Once the game is over and the lights are extinguished, sports is a business.
Nothing more.
I've known this, and I've still never been quite able to accept it. I watched players of all talent levels come and go from my teams and I've always missed the little things they've brought to the table. Mike Caruso, Andres Nocioni, Tony Amonte: they were all worth something to me. But they weren't a match for the bottom line, so they weren't worth anything.
Ozzie Guillen is the winningest White Sox manager in fifty years, by my count. He is the most successful Sox manager in terms of postseason appearances and victories, not a hard thing to do on the South Side. And he is, of course, the hands-down favorite for most vocal, straightforward, and honest manager in the game of baseball.
Those are all things I want. Many other fans do, many other fans don't. But to the men in the front office who run the team, he was not worth it.
The word officially came down as soon as last night's game was over. Fittingly, the Sox nearly squandered a three-run lead and only won when A.J. Pierzynski recovered a dropped third strike and stepped on the plate for a forceout. The oddest ending for any Sox game I've seen, and it's still easier to accept than the truth of Ozzie's resignation.
Anger
The Sox mantra during Ozzie's tenure has been "fight, struggle, and survive." They've fought other teams, they've fought the umpires, they've fought the media, and sometimes, they fought amongst themselves. But they were fighters, and on the whole, they were winners.
Why? Because their manager was a fighter, and a winner.
Ozzie Guillen is from Venezuela, a far cry from the cushy neighborhoods of 75 percent of White Sox fans. Let me rephrase that: a far cry from ANY of the neighborhoods of White Sox fans, save for those who live in Englewood or up around the Howard Red Line stop. He embodies the mindset of "tough neighborhood kid". Anyone else in America who comes up that way, we glorify them as an individual, gritty, persevering. But we take a man who came from damn near nothing and turn him into a national joke.
America's funny that way. We praise individualism but live a group mentality. We glorify merit and hard work but then say "it's not what you know, it's who you know."
I think Ozzie would call that idea "horse***."
Bargaining
The staff will most likely be broken up. Many will be happy to see Greg Walker leave, myself included. It's iffy if Harold Baines will stay and Jeff Cox (who was no Joey Cora in the coaching box) is probably an afterthought as well. Don Cooper (aka The Pitching Whisperer) is the only man who has a guaranteed extension, but how will he fare with the new man in charge? Only time can tell.
Still, this pales in comparison to the men that are staying in black and white: Alex Rios, the laziest center fielder in baseball; Carlos Quentin, whom we've been waiting on too long; Will Ohman, a great example for the "never trust a former Cubs reliever" postulate.
Most of all, it should have been Kenny Williams' turn on the spit. Kenny's a smart man with the willingness to barter, but he almost always seems to pick the wrong man. A short list of Kenny's busts: Todd Ritchie, David Wells, Bartolo Colon, Shingo Takatsu, Jerry Owens, Josh Fields, Scott Linebrink, Alex Rios.
The book is still out on CQ; he needs another good year. The young pitchers we've gotten have been good, but Coop takes most of that credit. So shouldn't the blame fall on Kenny?
Jerry Reinsdorf is a businessman who doesn't let his love of the game interfere with economics. He wants a winning team to put fans in the seats. Maybe instead of letting go of the manager, he should take a page from (oh goodness) the Cubs and let go of the GM.
I'd trade Kenny for Ozzie in a heartbeat.
Depression
I don't enjoy winter, especially that period after New Year's Day when there's no more family holidays to look forward to. The snow doesn't mean Christmas anymore, it's just snow. The ground is frozen, the sidewalks are dirty and slushy and the sky is a forlorn gray. Baseball seems a distant dream at the beginning of January.
Now, there's one less favorite Sox personality to look forward to once spring training begins.
Yesterday at work, people were asking me what was wrong. One guy told me "you look like your best friend just died." It's really silly to think that way about a man I've never come close to meeting or being in contact with, but I loved Ozzie as a manager and as a person. Before that, I watched Terry Bevington jam up the works and saw Jerry Manuel go into a Buddhist trance in the dugout. We had the man we needed and he led the starving White Sox fans into the promised land.
My best friend hadn't died so much as moved away.
It's silly to think of it that way, but it's true. Ozzie embodies the spirit of Chicago more than any other successful manager or coach of my lifetime. Ditka was before me, and Joel Quenneville hasn't made that plateau just yet, so Ozzie is the man. Hard-nosed, brutally honest, loyal to his boys, and "$^%& anyone else who's not with us." That's the attitude I want in my White Sox manager, because since the 1950s when they were scrappin' with the Yankees, that has been the attitude of the Chicago White Sox.
It's difficult to let that go.
Acceptance
Baseball is a business. I don't like it but I know what the deal is. Managers have come and gone quicker than the seasons. More successful managers than Ozzie Guillen have been shown the door, some on much worse terms. It's still to be seen if this divorce is followed by arrows flying through newsprint and video clip, but for now, it's a peaceful goodbye.
Ozzie is gone, most likely gone for good. He should get a statue in the outfield with Big Frank and Chuck Comiskey, but it may never happen (probably because no one would want to see a statue of Ozzie making the choke sign).
The complicated fact of it is the White Sox were Ozzie Guillen for the past eight years. They took on his identity and lived it. John Danks and A.J. are fiery competitors who were able to play freely in Ozzie's system. Paul Konerko, the quiet team captain, lived comfortably with Ozzie managing. They understood each other. When the White Sox told Ozzie to keep quiet in 2007, the team faltered badly. The next year, they unclamped him, and the Sox posted one of the most memorable seasons in the past 20 years.
The next man may be better. The next team may be more successful. But they won't have Ozzie.
I don't think I can accept that.
See you in the cheap seats.
JS
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