After the bell rang this afternoon, I started humming “Go, Go White Sox”. I turned to one of my students (Writing here on the site doesn’t really pay the bills. I am a 5^th grade teacher on the Southside.) and said, “You know where I was last night?”

He said, “The White Sox game?” as he stuffed his books away.

“Yes, I was.”

The place was electric. From the moment I crossed 43^rd St. coming north, you could tell that the fans were out and ready. I arrived ticketless but ready to rock and roll. When I stepped off my bike, gearing up to patrol the strip for scalpers my old levi’s tore straight down the front. I instantly became a hot dog vendor. Not a good start but I was dedicated and decided to head back home for new pants, with only a mile to go it was the right choice. Rd. 2. I park the bike, relieve myself from the saddle gingerly, as to ensure the integrity of my crotch and quickly find a ticket out in 507, eye level with the right field foul pole. Thunderstruck rang clear in my ears and the 40,354 fans put out the lights with the “blackout”.

Danks on the mound. The Sox killer from last series Danard Span at the dish. Strike one, looking. I follow with a hearty Tiger Woods fistpump and settle down in my seat. Pitch two, ball. I signal the beer man to help quell my nerves but that was the only beer I needed because from then on Danks took over. He threw 12 first pitch strikes and was ahead in almost every count. That alone kept the fans in the game, the team’s confidence up and Danks on the mound. It felt like he had the Twins one step behind every move he made. Each time they tried to catch up he would step further and at one point in the 7^th inning a guy behind me said, “He’s thrown 6 pitches to get the last four outs.” It was true, between the 7^th and 8^th Danks got Mauer, Morneau, Cuddyer and Delmon Young only throwing 6 pitches. That’s two All-stars, a DH and a hot left fielder on pitches 88 through 94.

He was engulfed in flames and proved his mental toughness more than anything, stepping up on short rest in a huge game against a club that you watched shell your team, and gave up 2 hits in 8 full innings of baseball.

Then there was the play. The play that sent beers, cell phones and hats flying (all three in my direction, but welcome). The play that made every cent of Junior’s contract worth it. I would venture to guess that there are only a handful of players who could throw out a runner at home perfectly from dead center field. Even fewer who could do it with the runner coming from third, and only some greats who can do it in moments like the Kid did then. On that 5^th inning flyout from Brendan Harris, the entire stadium gripped their rally towel and clenched their teeth, willing the ball into AJ’s glove. Griffey made the most beautiful connection with a catcher that I will ever see. That was the moment when it seemed that Twins baseball would get under our skin. They roped a double, advanced a runner on a pop out and wanted the lead at the half. They came up empty handed and every ounce of momentum was in our dugout. We felt almost invincible. All we needed was the bats to ignite.

Then there was something in the air. Something was communicated to Jim Thome that hadn’t been there. A sense of reliability and confidence. The fans told Jimmy, “We need you big guy. Do it.” He did it for 464 feet straight down the pike. It wasn’t much but it was a lead. That’s all we wanted. He had been cold, taking his usual walks and getting on base here and there but not lighting it up in any way. Not posing a major threat to any hurler he was batting .240 coming in. He was slightly better after pitch five from Nick Blackburn.

Then, there was the short and round, the boom, the boy from the south. He went one, two, three and on some Bad Ass heroics from BA ended the 9^th.

Check out the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J8sgSSeDKwY

The Twins walked off having been burned, Toby Hall strapped on a ridiculous pair of ski goggles and the champagne rolled. The stands looked like Oktoberfest, cheering singing, swaying. Men were embracing. Old women from Oak Lawn, high fiving Bros making the trek from Champaign and a priest dancing behind me. The concourse to the parking lot were the same. It was like we had won the ALCS. It affirmed so much.

We really wanted to get this far. We wanted to know that our divisional lead that had weathered the year wasn’t going to be robbed from us. We didn’t want to face the meltdown. Everyone saw what it does to Mets’ fans, we don’t need that. Especially with the echo of that ridiculous “Go, cubs, Go” drifting south from Armitage. A win last night let us breathe a major sigh of relief. We didn’t have to face the ribbing of the Northsiders or visions of Twinkies celebrating on our field. It also proved that we can have some stellar performances from some great baseball players. Down the stretch, guys who were labeled question marks and caught the criticism of many fans and media, stepped up somewhere, somehow and did work enough to get us on a plane to St. Pete and like fans at a 163^rd game, we’re just happy to be here.

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