White Sox fans beg for world championship

"I'd be lying if I told you that I thought we'd put it together so quickly."

Kenny Williams, general manager of the Chicago White Sox

Kenny Williams hears the pleas from hopeful yet cautious Chicago White Sox fans every day. They describe themselves as loyalists who have adored the team for 40, 50 and even 60 years. Though the faces and the voices are different, the words are usually the same.

"It's a `Please get us there before I die' kind of thing," said Williams, the team's general manager. "It's begging. You realize the importance of it."

Williams, 41, is the architect trying to get the White Sox there, trying to help them win the World Series for the first time since 1917. Could this be the year? Could this finally be the year they match what the Boston Red Sox did 10 months ago by ending an ignominious drought without a championship?

Maybe, especially if Chicago could erase the last week. When the White Sox lost to the Yankees, 3-1, on Friday night to nudge their losing streak to six games, they were booed. Still, as Williams discussed the team with the best record in the American League, he was as passionate as the people that plead for an 88-year nightmare to vanish.

After analyzing the Atlanta Braves over the last 15 years, the Minnesota Twins over the last five, and the St. Louis Cardinals of the 1980s, Williams redesigned the White Sox to emphasize sturdy pitching, dependable defense and a versatile lineup. So far, a strategy that was not centered on power hitters, and that Williams admitted was hardly revolutionary, has worked wondrously.

"I'd be lying if I told you that I thought we'd put it together so quickly," Williams said.

But Williams also realizes that a gaudy regular-season record, now 74-45, will mean little to the White Sox in the postseason. Some baseball executives think the White Sox are a good team, but not as good as their record. The White Sox, the executives theorize, have fattened up on weak opponents and could be exposed in October despite a stellar pitching staff.

Indeed, Chicago is 32-12 against teams from the American League Central and 42-33 against everyone else, including a tepid 8-14 against the Oakland Athletics, the Los Angeles Angels and the Red Sox, all possible playoff opponents.

Jon Garland (16-7), who lost Friday, and Mark Buehrle (13-6) are a terrific tandem, but they have combined to pitch only a third of an inning in the postseason. Dustin Hermanson, the closer, had 30 saves, but he also had a bad back. The White Sox would feel more secure if Williams had snagged Billy Wagner from the Philadelphia Phillies. Williams tried, but the Phillies would not let Wagner budge.

Even though Cincinnati Reds center fielder Ken Griffey Jr. may not be a glaring need, Williams has pursued him, too. The anxious fans are aware of the desire to bolster the offense and chanted "We want Junior" last Wednesday.

"I respect the heck out of Kenny because he swings for the fences," Brian Cashman, the general manager of the Yankees, said of Williams. "He will do whatever it takes to help his team win, except cheat."

In the last 14 months, Williams has acquired pitchers Freddy Garcia, Jose Contreras and Luis Vizcaino, outfielders Scott Podsednik and Carl Everett, and infielder Juan Uribe in trades. He has also signed pitchers Orlando Hernandez and Hermanson, catcher A.J. Pierzynski, second baseman Tadahito Iguchi and outfielder Jermaine Dye as free agents.

When Williams swings for the fences, sometimes he misses. Roberto Alomar was scooped up from Arizona last August and failed, and Shingo Takatsu, a reliever, has faded after shining last year. But Williams, who is the only African-American general manager in the majors, keeps pushing.

"That's the only way I know," he said. "Anything else, and I wouldn't be me."

Williams, whose roots with the White Sox stretch to 1982, when he signed for US$160,000 out of high school, batted .218 in 451 major league games with them and three other teams. He does not link his aggressiveness now to his aggressiveness as a player because the jobs are different.

Harold Baines, the White Sox bench coach and one of Williams' former teammates, joked that Williams' football background makes him more aggressive. He was a wide receiver at Stanford in 1982 while John Elway was flipping passes.

"He didn't play in the big leagues as long as he wanted," Baines said. "He went in another direction and worked his way to the top."

While Manager Ozzie Guillen is the mouth of the Midwest, Williams, who hired him and listed the move as one of his shrewdest decisions, prefers being the shadow of the Midwest. He so dislikes public speaking that he often cannot sleep for two nights beforehand.

When Williams sits in the stands, he is unnerved by being surrounded. But if the White Sox figure out how to navigate through October, Williams knows there will be a lot more people surrounding him, a lot more people begging for that elusive title.

"I'm comfortable with it," Williams said. "No need for therapy."