Commentary : Whither Go the White Sox? : Not St. Pete, for Pete’s Sake! How About Washington?

Chicago’s White Sox, team of puny averages, doormat to the American League, are said to be ready to bolt the Windy City and relocate in St. Petersburg, the Retin-A capital of the world.

I guess they’ll rename the team the Support Hose.

Will they start their games at 4:30 p.m. and give $2 off on the early-bird?

Don’t get me wrong, I love St. Pete. I love driving around, observing the 5 miles per hour speed limit. I love shuffleboard. I love sitting in one spot on the same park bench all day long, baking. Just put some tin foil over me, stick a thermometer in my pocket and turn me every two hours.

Why are they going to St. Pete?

Why don’t they come here?

They belong in Washington. They play bad baseball. It’s what we’re used to.

If they come, I’ll wear white socks. So will my friend, Teddy, assuming, of course, that Ralph Lauren sells white socks. They don’t wear white socks in St. Pete. No sir, they wear black socks with those plaid bermuda shorts.

I’m sure Edward Bennett Williams, who’s vowed he “will not stand in the way of baseball for Washington,” would waive his territorial rights and welcome the White Sox here. Why not? They’re maybe the only team the Orioles can beat. That might be because The Munchkin of 1,000 Moves, Roland Hemond, worked for them before he worked in Baltimore.

I’m writing this to White Sox owners Eddie Einhorn and Jerry Reinsdorf, a couple of swell guys, and in Reinsdorf’s case a fellow Washingtonian, since he attended George Washington University as an undergraduate. Eddie, Jerry, boychiks, read my lips: St. Pete isn’t exactly a Disco Inferno. What are you going to have your organist play between innings to make the fans feel comfortable, that familiar sound of dentures rattling? Will you bring in your reliever from the bullpen, on one of those large, pedalling-to-the-market, condo tricycles?

You want humidity? You must want humidity or you wouldn’t dare consider St. Pete in the summer. We’ve got serious humidity.

You want a stadium? We’ve got RFK. Jack Kent Cooke always says it’s really a baseball stadium. He doesn’t want it. It’s yours.

We’ve got deep dish pizza. Does St. Pete? I think not. Their food you can only eat with a spoon or a straw.

We’ve got the kind of big-time, bossman political machine you’re accustomed to. If you liked Mayor Daley, you’ll love Mayor Barry. Barry will come to your games if you schedule them when he’s out and about, like 3 a.m. He likes night games. Middle of the night games.

You want things that remind you of Chicago, right? We’ve got gangsters. And we’re proud to say that in the recent murder rankings, we’re No. 1!

We’ll do a rousing seventh-inning stretch. We’ll whoop and holler like we do for the Redskins. In St. Pete you can’t have a seventh-inning stretch, because most of your fans will be under physician’s orders not to undertake such strenuous physical activity. The best you’ll have is a seventh-inning stand.

My colleague, Sandy Bailey, a native Floridian, recalled that 12 years ago, when she worked there, the median age in St. Pete’s Pinellas County was 64. Now it may be 76. A lot of these people moved down from the urban Midwest. Not to bring up an unpleasant memory, but many of them were there for the Black Sox scandal. They might not have forgiven you. On the other hand, no city loves a juicy scandal more than Washington, D.C. You’ve got soulmates here. Half of the Mayor’s advisors are in jail, and every time the phrase “pardon me” is uttered on Capitol Hill, 15 Congressmen plead, “Me, too.”

Washington’s perfect for your stern GM, Larry Himes. No problem with his formal dress code and his rule: no beer in the clubhouse. This is undoubtedly the only city where most fans would come to the ballyard in Brooks Brothers suits, and everyone here drinks Perrier, anyway.

But why should I beg the White Sox to come?

Maybe the Pale Hose aren’t good enough for Washington. The last time they won the World Series was 1917. Every other nonexpansion team in the American League has won it since. Even the Washington Senators won it seven years after the White Sox.

It’s not like the Chisox have made any brilliant moves lately. Last winter they traded Richard Dotson to the Yankees and Floyd Bannister to Kansas City. As of Memorial Day they were 11-5. The White Sox have lost 11 of their last 13 games. Even the Orioles have done better.

How many White Sox can you name besides Carlton Fisk? And he doesn’t count, he’s on the DL.

Name the manager. (I said La Russa, too. It’s Fregosi.)

White Sox for $300, please.

Dave Gallagher, Steve Lyons, Mark Salas, Fred Manrique.

Sam? Jim? Danny? No one? Okay, Sam, select again.

White Sox for $400, please.

Donnie Hill, Ron Karkovice, Russ Morman, Jeff Bittiger.

No idea? Let’s switch to an easier category: El Greco’s cousins for $12,000, please.

The White Sox are neither well known nor well respected.

But we have nothing now.

They’re better than nothing, aren’t they?

While you’re chewing on that, consider a best-case scenario: Maybe Michael Jordan is a White Sox fan, and he’ll pine for them, and want to come here and play for the Bullets.