Bobby Jenks, missing slider and all, earned his first 5-out save since 2005, using just 10 pitches to turn two key double plays and help the White Sox avoid a sweep at the hands of the Indians. It was only the 8th time in his career that Jenks has earned a save while entering in the 8th, and over two years since he was last recorded a save of more than 3 outs.
I missed most of the game, supposedly golfing, and didn't even realize there was an early start until I got in the car and turned on the radio to find the Sox up 2-0. Which brings up a feeling I've had for essentially the entire road trip. I don't know if it's just me--judging by the site's recent stats, I don't think it is--but I've been questioning my own lack of enthusiasm for the Sox lately.
I don't even think that's the right way to put it, but I'm lacking any hope of concise eloquence tonight. I'm still a huge White Sox fan, obviously, but there are things that I would normally be able to rattle off at will--the upcoming schedule, for instance, or the rotation probables for the next week--that I just don't feel like keeping on top of. So, when you didn't have a gamethread this morning, it was because I just plain didn't know that the game was at 11 in the freakin' morning. I hadn't bothered to check.
I don't watch the scoreboard religiously, and don't have any idea who Twins are facing on any given night. I don't care. The White Sox control their own destiny, and that's all I'm really interested in. Perhaps, it's a fear of what lies ahead--a fear of disappointment--that has prevented me from being as excited as I have been previous division races.
I'm reminded of a young Cheat, staring at his shoes, as he reluctantly asked Elizabeth Bennett to the homecoming dance, sure that she would turn him down with his friends watching in the distance. She may have said yes, but I hardly noticed as I shuffled away as quickly as possible in the hopes that no one would notice.
I've already gone on record as saying I think the Twins will take the division, and even gave a time frame for their inevitable clinching. So, there's that same sense of dread, with Danks hitting the wall and Quentin on the shelf for some not-insignificant period of time, that any hope of success will only lead to more pain in the end. But while I may be fearing the worst, I can remember back to that night in '95 when young Cheat got to touch his first booby.