Jim O'Donnell: No reason that Reinsdorf’s ’24 buck turners can't ‘flush’ to 123 losses
LOVE HIM OR NOT, one certainty about Jerry Reinsdorf must be acknowledged:
The man has no aversion to turning a buck.
“Pissants” of the press box like Malibu-based exile Jay Mariotti may forevermore holler for deeper truths. But that's just impassioned sports commentary.
For more than four decades, Reinsdorf's been cranking out golden revenue streams as one of the master puppeteers in The Captive Sports City.
So what if he is to winning sports operations what Taylor Swift's new “The Tortured Poets Department” is to successful couples counseling?
Not exactly a horse and carriage — unless Taylor's carriage is running over the scorned, lame-blast ex-guypal.
FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE he co-authored “The Curse of the Breakup” by allowing the Michael Jordan championship Bulls to be prematurely Air-nailed into the ages, Reinsdorf is sitting on the cusp of even more infamous history this spring.
His 2024 White Sox are pathetic — really, really pathetic.
They're so bad that news of any win is rarer than the McCaskey Bears announcing an assertive, coherent plan for a new stadium.
The Fail Hose are so anemic that manager Pedro “Flush” Grifol and his badcaps have Major League Baseball history in their sorry sights.
That history is the land-mine 120-loss season of Casey Stengel's 1962 expansion Mets. It remains a record for a post-1900 MLB team.
THOSE STARTUP METS were bad.
But thanks to the quip-facile Stengel, they were framed as comically bad. And “The Ol' Perfessor” was also fortunate enough to have significant Yankees equity with a New York press corps that included such word-twinkling scribes as Jimmy Cannon and Jimmy Breslin.
No such luck with Reinsdorf and his '24 Mechanical Munch Bunch.
They have no poets in the press box and certainly none in the broadcast booths.
Steve Stone's Cleveland-bred roboticness is already pioneering a new vamp of artificial intelligence. Radio analyst Darren Jackson is plumbing new audio depths known only to failing time-and-temperature specialists.
And when a team's play-by-play men are named Len Kasper and John Schriffen, it's pretty apparent that Sox staff feet are off the talent gas pedal.
SO WHAT ARE DISHEARTENED White Sox fans to do?
Very simple — root, root, root for the Guaranteed Rot team to lose. And to lose in historic fashion.
A 100-loss season would be so pedestrian. At 110, OK, addition by lack of “Flush” traction. A tie with Stengel's stumblers at 120 would be like kissing a Krispy-Kremed Bridgeport cop on West 35th Street.
So as a goal — and to touch ignominious numeric symbolism with the scorned Mr. Jordan — how about 123?
A 39-123 SEASON by Jerry Reinsdorf's 2024 White Sox.
To paraphrase Sly Stone, they can make it if they try.
And they must. For themselves. For their schmocking and outraged remaining watchers.
For all of those Captive Sports City edge-woods who remain hopeful that Reinsdorf will take his MLB franchise anywhere else and allow the American League to begin anew with an expansion team on the South Side.
Because even at 123 losses, the feeling persists that Reinsdorf will still be turning some bucks.
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
CARL ERSKINE DIED at age 97 this week.
He was the last of Roger Kahn's fabled “Boys of Summer.” That classic book chronicled the concluding era of the Brooklyn Dodgers, who finally got good when the shrewd Branch Rickey built out around Jackie Robinson, Gil Hodges, Pee Wee Reese and others.
Erskine was a pitching mainstay of those Dodgers. His MLB career ended in 1959, two years after the Dodgers alighted to Los Angeles. To this day, he remains one of only two pitchers in franchise history with multiple no-hitters.
Erskine had two. Sandy Koufax threw four.
But the rich legacy of Erskine's life began the year after he retired. In 1960, he and wife Betty had their fourth child, son Jimmy.
JIMMY WAS BORN with Down syndrome.
In 1960, a baby with that challenge had a life expectancy of 10 years and a high likelihood of being institutionalized.
The Erskines declined to accept conventional expectations.
The father turned down a well-paying sales job in NYC and passed on an offer to begin coaching in the Dodgers system.
Instead, he and his wife returned to their hometown of Anderson, Indiana, and announced, “Jimmy's coming home with us.”
FOR THE NEXT SIX DECADES, they devoted their lives to “mainstreaming” their youngest child as much as possible.
Along the way, Carl Erskine became an enormous asset to Eunice Kennedy Shriver and the growth of the Special Olympics. That was her personal passion, spawned by her family's experience with sister Rosemary Kennedy.
The first formal Special Olympics was held with 1,000 young athletes at Soldier Field in 1968. It has since expanded to close to 5 million participants around the world in more than 175 countries.
TWO YEARS AGO, filmmaker Ted Green crafted a 90-minute documentary titled, “The Best We've Got: The Carl Erskine Story.” Vin Scully, Bob Costas and Tim Shriver appear and Charley Steiner narrates. The work is available to stream for a modest fee at carlerskinefilm.com.
Last November, Jimmy Erskine died at age 63 — known and embraced by so many who had worn Dodger Blue from Jackie Robinson and Koufax to Tommy Lasorda and Clayton Kershaw.
His father's remarkable life doubleheader was complete.
Jim O'Donnell's Sports and Media column appears each week on Sunday and Wednesday. Reach him at jimodonnelldh@yahoo.com. All communications may be considered for publication.