Ozzie Guillen: The Man Who (Finally) Said Too Much

Denial

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).

Ozzie Guillen is a simple man who said what he felt. He wanted more money; the White Sox weren't going to give it to him. He left. Simple.

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

The Fight That Never Comes

In approximately 14 months, the most anticipated fight of the last 10 years will finally happen. November 22, 2012. Thanksgiving night, if the NFL doesn't bully its way into a third night game.

Mayweather vs. Pacquiao will finally come to fruition...according to Jalen Rose.

Finally. We have a soothsayer whom we can trust, right? Jalen wouldn't steer us wrong.


Imagine it. Imagine the sheer amount of money that would change hands to watch the fight. The ticket sales at the MGM Grand. The ticket sales at bars and restaurants and movie theaters across America and in the Phillippines. The pay-per-view numbers. The millions of dollars put in at betting houses and the casual bets in office pools. (Not to mention Skip Bayless' secret horror at the fact Mayweather could possibly win.)

It would be the largest gate for a boxing match since the Rumble in the Jungle, which as much anticipation as Ali vs. Foreman.

Imagine it.

For that's all you and I will be able to do.

Wishin', and hopin', and thinkin'

Floyd Mayweather is cocky. He is arrogant. Shoot, he's an asshole. He really hates Larry Merchant, too. But he is a very good fighter. He controlled Victor Ortiz through most of his last fight, and he didn't throw any low blows or cheap shots. Even the supposed cheap punch he took to stun Ortiz was not what it seemed. The gloves had touched and the referee had signaled for continuation.

Somehow, that adds to Floyd's aura as a villain. You can almost see his "Rise" commercial: "Should I really think this ruined my legacy?"

Floyd Mayweather is one of the best welterweights of all time on record alone. He's been rated as Fighter of the Year twice, almost ten years apart. Outside of that, he's a man who believes he is the best of all-time, probably no matter the weight class and is out only for himself, a fact confirmed in his post-bout interview with Merchant. I mean, come on, Floyd, you shouted out your record company?

Muhammad Ali believed he was the best and proved it by losing, coming back and winning. Floyd Mayweather says he's the best, but I don't believe he can come back from a loss; he's never had to. With Pacquiao the last and only clear test left on his horizon, Mayweather's choices are clear: pick up a pencil and take the chance to fail or take a fast powder out of the classroom.

I get the feeling Floyd didn't enjoy tests in school.

Paths diverge and converge, again

Prior to his resounding defeat over Victor Ortiz, the last solid knockout Mayweather scored was against the "Big Show" Paul Wight at Wrestlemania 24. Considering it took four chair shots and a set of brass knuckles (not to mention a "professional" wrestling match), it was somewhat less than a clean victory. It does illustrate the career path of Floyd "Money" Mayweather: entertainer.

We've gone over the shout to his record company after the Ortiz bout. We just mentioned the WWE appearance. Add to that his retirement from boxing in 2007 to focus on his promotional company, as well as his appearance on Dancing with the Stars that same year, and it's clear that "Money" Mayweather truly lives up to his nickname.

Meanwhile, Manny Pacquiao is also one of the greatest fighters of the last decade, but he is not making his bread solely from boxing. His burgeoning political career has been highly publicized by Skip Bayless (I think he mentions it on "First Take" even when they're not discussing boxing), and Pacquaio has done TV work since 2005, most notably in the U.S. after appearing on Tosh.0. Not surprisingly, Tosh took a shot at Mayweather after taking a shot from Pacquiao: "See, Mayweather? That's how a man behaves."

Both these men are well-documented world-class fighters who have the records and the opponents to prove it. And the main link between both of these men is that they're lives will not be lived in the ring. For them, boxing is a means to an end and not the end itself.

That's something George Foreman realized, something Joe Frazier didn't, and something Muhammad Ali couldn't understand.

What if...

The main stumbling block is the random drug testing the Mayweather camp has demanded. What makes it more surreal is that Pacquiao accepted the testing, with the condition that random testing end two weeks before the fight—and Mayweather balked. Why Money chose to not accept Pacquiao's compromise is beyond me. He should have realized the sports world would react the way they have with calling him everything from "afraid" to "coward".

Is "Money" Mayweather afraid of Manny Pacquiao? I honestly don't think so. Would it be the lopsided affair for the Fighting Filipino everyone believes it would be? No. Floyd Mayweather would give Manny a run. Besides, no boxing fan in their right minds wants a two-round KO. They want a fight for the ages.

That, in today's boxing world, is just not possible. Gone are the days of heavyweight bouts past where kids and parents would gather around the radio a la Cinderella Man. Gone are the days when Wide World of Sports would have up-to-the-minute coverage of Ali vs. Frazier with Howard Cosell ever present at ringside. Gone are the days, even, when millions of viewers would put up hard-earned cash on a pay-per-view for Tyson vs. Holyfield and witness the moment of a lifetime.

Those days are gone for boxing. This fight might save the sport, but ultimately, I think Mayweather-Pacquiao would be the final convulsion for the sweet science's professional realm. Perhaps deep down, both of these men realize that and that is why neither will budge on their demands.

But imagine it. Next Thanksgiving, 2012, in the middle of a huge fall sports season. The NBA lockout has ended and football is full-swing, but the world will pause to watch the best in the world settle the question we've been asking for three or four years now.

The day has arrived, the stage has been set
Everyone in America has laid down a bet
The Strip is deserted, the schools were closed down
Tonight, this is the only ticket in town.
"I knew it couldn't happen, I knew he wouldn't show"
Says Skip Bayless loudly from his seat in the front row.
"He's afraid of Pacquiao—" SMACK! "You know what?"
"The fight's starting," says Jalen. "Skip, please shut up!"
And then a roar in the grandstand, a roar in the rafters
Surely there's only one thing that can come after
And yes, it's Mayweather, his posse in tow
The Pretty Boy finally decided to show
His face is a mask, he's ready to settle
They've called him a coward, it's time to prove mettle.
Larry Merchant is ringside, preparing his cards
"I wonder what Floyd will say after getting hit so hard?"
Now the time has come, they're both in the ring
It's time to determine who's really the king
And as they touch gloves and the bell rings...


We all wish this could be more than a beautiful dream.

See you in the cheap seats.

JS

A South Side Love Story, Part 2

"See the worst thing they can give guys like you, Shane, is hope."

The arrival of September has brought the typical signs of the coming fall. Bleary-eyed students walk to their early classes. Halloween candy is on-sale obscenely early, and a 90-degree heat wave in Peoria marks summer's last stand.

The other common signs of September are also apparent: the Cubs are already looking forward to next year, the Bears are doing something or other in preseason (NOT UNTIL JERRY'S GONE!), and my beloved White Sox are in the thick of the chase for the AL Central title.

Were in the thick of the division race, I should say.

A three-game shellacking at the hands of the Tigers pushed all but the most starry-eyed of Sox fans off the bandwagon. Which means, of course, your resident romantic is still driving the bus.

Make a choice, already

It's not like the Sox have been the popular pick to make a bold move this season. Even when they were only 5.5 games out of the lead, none of ESPN's experts were high on them to catch the Tigers. That was to be expected, since everyone had actually watched them play more inconsistently than the Bad-News Bears.

The Sox aren't a juggernaut. They aren't overachieving. In fact, they aren't underachieving. It's more drastic than that. They're downright flighty.

Remember the girls (or even guys, I know women are reading this as well) you've dated who couldn't ever make a simple decision? The ones who'd need a pro-con list to decide between McDonald's and Wendy's? That's the White Sox.

There's no other way to describe a team that gets swept in a critical late-season series (losing the final game by 13 runs), then sweeps a doubleheader the very next day against the team that has been the bane of their existence all season.

On the road, no less.

Add in the fact that the struggling rookie pitcher who was picked up at the trade deadline came six outs within a perfect game in the nightcap, and you have the 2011 Chicago White Sox.

McDonald's or Wendy's, McDonald's or Wendy's. Why don't you pick?

Optimism hurts

The Indians are feeling the pain, too. The Tribe moved into second place after the White Sox's debacle of a weekend and probably thought they had a chance. But they took a sweep from the Bengals as well, culminating a "snatching-defeat-from-the-jaws-of-victory" loss this afternoon. Sounds familiar, right?

I have a good friend that an Indians fan, and I'm wondering if he's thinking the same thing I am: Maybe it's not us. Maybe the Tigers are just that good. After all, they have Justin Verlander (who is probably a hologram) and a video game-type lineup. Even Brandon Inge is hitting and I think I saw some of the duct tape peeling off his knees.

Maybe the Tigers are just that good.

For the Sox, the past five days can be described this way:

Friday: Girl calls: "Hey, I want to talk." "What about?" "...About us."
Saturday: (First seven innings) "Listen, I really think you're a great guy and I've loved the time we've spent together...(last two innings)...that's why I think we should break up."
Sunday: Spend day crying in the house watching "Brian's Song" to fend off the questions of why you're crying.
Monday-Tuesday: Phone rings. "Hello?" "Hey, sorry about what I said. I think I was making a mistake. Do you want to meet up somewhere?"

It wouldn't be fair to say any coherent person would say no. There have been too many R&B hits about this very situation. However, I think I'd be smart enough to say no when the girl called me.

But this isn't a relationship. This is baseball.

So for the last two weeks of the 2011 season, I'm going to watch every single White Sox game and hope feverishly that the boys can pull out a miracle finish. Hope the Tigers stumble and fall.

This time, I'm hoping my girl doesn't play me for a fool.

See you in the cheap seats.

JS