Dr. John

Like the man said, it must’ve been the right time, but the wrong place. Last night, Michele and I were sitting under the stars, clouds actually, at Ravinia on the North Shore. A world away on the South Side, Dylan Cease was throwing for the White Sox. We were listening to Handel, as performed by The Music of the Baroque. The tickets were a bargain at $10 apiece, unlike tonight—you want to hear Stevie Nicks, it’s going to cost ten to twenty times that. Because I could listen to the music without having to use my ears, I followed the Sox-Twins’ game on the phone, starting in the sixth inning. I knew right away Cease had a no-hitter going. I can’t help but think Twins’ manager Rocco Baldelli tried to get Cease out of his rhythm, or “freeze the kicker” if you will, by letting infielders Nick Gordon and Jermaine Palacios pitch the eighth inning; a 7-0 game slowly, too slowly, turned into a 13-0 rout. Three up and three down for the Sox might’ve been better for Cease. He got the number eight and nine batters out, leaving only Luis Arraez in the way of a no-no. Only Cease left a pitch over the plate for Arraez to line into right field for a single. For what it’s worth, I think plate umpire Jeremie Rehak squeezed Cease on the first pitch to Arraez. On an 0-2 count, he’s throwing heat upstairs to challenge Arraez. Oh, well. A win’s a win. Maybe I’ll consider climbing up on the bandwagon if the Sox can complete a sweep. You never know.