Top of the 8th

Things were not looking good for my first White Sox game of the season. A loss was inevitable. Unofficial Cubs mascot/ drum-banging superfan Ronnie "Woo Woo" Wickers almost ran over me with his bicycle as I was crossing the street the evening before. I knew it was him, too, because the guy wears his specially-tailored Cubs outfit (it even says "Woo Woo" on the back in block lettering) everywhere. He probably sleeps in it. And with the Cubs-Sox crosstown series coming up in a few days, tensions are running high enough in the city that I took it as a warning shot from the Wrigleyville Lush Mafia: watch your back, bra. We don't like your kind.

Still, even with the hit out, I wasn't going to stay in hiding for the rest of the summer like a Windy City Salman Rushide. I needed to get my game on with some of those lower deck reserved outfield seats I love so much, where the fashion of choice among the fashion-conscious is a t-shirt with the word "Chokes" in place of the Cubs logo. I must've seen at least 20 people rocking these tees, along with another half-dozen wearing last year's Cub-baiting model -- where the Cubs logo has been replaced with "Cork." Despite this, I witnessed no overt hostility towards the few souls brave enough to wear actual Cubs gear in the stands. Maybe Sox fans have more Clintonian empathy: we both root for slumping teams, and we feel your pain. Or maybe the Wrigleyville Lush Mafia has sent its undercover spies to infiltrate the White Sox Nation and destroy it from within. I saw something I've never witnessed in 10 years of Sox games: a fan tossing the opposing team's home run ball back on to the field. It's such a chump move -- no wonder they invented it at Wrigley Field.

The game itself featured seven -- count 'em, seven -- jacks, including two Paul Konerko solo blasts and a sweet Ronnie Belliard shot to left field. Of course, the pitching sucked moose tit, and I was so looking forward to getting a chance to see newly-appointed closer Shingo "Mr. Zero" Takatsu baffle hitters. Instead, Mark Buehrle pitched seven maddeningly inconsistent innings: he got lit up for five earned runs, but somehow made it to the 8th with something like 65 pitches. Buehrle is a huge tease: sometimes he looks absolutely dominating (like when he woke up in the 7th inning and retired the Cleveland batting order 1-2-3) and sometimes you can't even trust him to get out of the inning (like in the 6th, when he gave up a pair of home runs and became preoccupied with Jody Gerut's attempts to steal a base).

Sox manager Ozzie Guillen brought Buehrle back for the 8th after a rally in the bottom of the 7th knocked Indians starter Cliff Lee out of the game and pulled the Sox within one run of tying the game. Classic case of devil you know being preferable to devil you don't, but Guillen should have taken him out. Still, Buehrle took the mound and served up a line drive single to Indians catcher Victor Martinez. Give him the hook, Ozzie! Next up: 3rd baseman Casey Blake. Line drive single to exactly the same spot in center. Give him the hook, Ozzie! Travis Hafner comes up to the plate next and makes Buehrle pay for a weak fastball, loading the bases. Give him the hook, Ozzie! Guillen comes out to the pitchers mound to stall for awhile and the bullpen gates swing open. Finally! But it's Mike Jackson, owner of a belly-itching 5.00+ era. Dear god, noooooooooo!

The rest of the story was written when Ronnie Woo Woo tried to leave his track marks on my face. Indians manager Eric Wedge counters the move by pinch-hitting Ben Broussard for fan-favorite Lou Merloni and...Broussard takes Jackson's very first pitch deep for a grand slam. Awful. Game over, man, game over.