When are 96 wins no better than 90, and when are they even worse than 89 (which were technically 88 in the first place)? When you’re the Chicago White Sox, that’s when. Part two in a series.
Throughout the history of the Chicago White Sox, many pitchers have come and gone. Boone Logan is one of those pitchers.
Jeff at Royally Speaking invited me to participate in another roundtable discussion, this time looking at the 2008 AL Central in review. You can read it in its entirety here.
To enjoy this year’s World Series is really nothing more than to revel in the same loathing and contempt we always have. And that’s a good thing.
Cover your eyes, fans: the Boston Red Sox may be on the verge of murdering baseball itself.
A pair of multimedia sports collages tell us more about the 2008 White Sox than their creators probably think they do. Or than we would ever want them to.
In which we succinctly answer your questions on what failure, mediocrity, and Addison Street all have in common.
To reflect on the end of this year’s baseball is to find that all, somehow, is well.
They went 100 miles, 200 miles, 300 miles, and the train kept-a-rollin’.
We could be heroes, just for staving off total humiliation another day.
Q: How many White Sox batters does it take to get a runner on second? A: Four. One to hit a double and three to leave him there. Twelve runners left stranded. An opposing ace on the ropes in the first inning. A chance to strike a deathblow before the Rays even get to bat. [...]
The thing is, we all kind of knew what would happen. We knew what would happen in the fifth inning of a Javier Vazquez start, and we knew the Good Guys’ only runs would come from the bomb squad, and we knew the Rays would be aggressive, and we knew. . . well, we just [...]
I meant to post this earlier, but we’ve been having some server issues today due to, among other things, high traffic (!). But our good friend Jessica at Her Rays graciously lent me the floor today to explain ourselves on behalf of the Second City. Enjoy it, and raise a glass for our old friend. [...]
Still talking to myself, and nobody’s home.
It wasn’t October baseball – not yet – but it was the next best thing and they won the only way they possibly could have: improbable plays, remarkable work by the starter and closer, and one timely swing of the wrecking ball. No, that wasn’t October baseball we saw. But the next time we talk [...]
