orgullodemexico

War of the Words From the mouth of White Sox manager and new U.S. citizen Ozzie Guillen comes a verbal barrage. "I will tell the truth," he says, "whether you like it or not." And nothing stirs him like the memory of a tragedy in his native Venezuela Although baseball fans in Venezuela would be happy to have him as their president, Guillen has joked that he's already got a job -- as mayor of Chicago. Al Tielemans/SI By S.L. Price What's the manager's move here? Pay somebody and have the man beaten? Crippled? Killed? This is a Venezuelan prison, after all; two hundred bucks should do it. Or maybe Ozzie Guillen himself should confront the man who helped murder his best friend -- get in his face and ask the question he has choked back for more than a decade: Why? It is Nov. 5, 2005. Guillen, the Chicago White Sox manager, has just seen a face that stopped him cold. A prison guard asks him what's wrong, but Guillen waves him off. Instead he turns to his 21-year-old son, Ozzie Jr., and rasps, "That's the motherf----- who killed Gus" -- Gustavo Polidor, the major league infielder who was gunned down at age 33 in Caracas a decade earlier. Guillen had wondered then what he would do if he ever met either of the two men responsible for the crime, and now that time has arrived. With options. Guillen, who has come to the correctional facility in Los Teques, 13 miles southwest of Caracas, to see a jailed friend, didn't anticipate such a moment. But as baseball's preeminent avatar of the unexpected, maybe he should have. As last season proved, the combustible Guillen, now 42, will do just about anything: tweak fellow managers, publicly rip -- or kiss -- his own players, threaten to resign. Narrating each step with the rat-a-tat rhythm of his hyperbolic, profanity-laced Spanglish, he defied conventional thinking in everything from player relations to roster moves to game strategy, leading his team to the best record in the American League before making a smashing run through the postseason and ending the Curse of Shoeless Joe Jackson. In only his second season as manager he took the eternally overshadowed White Sox to their first World Series title since 1917. Back in Venezuela his countrymen found Guillen to be just as unpredictable: On any given day he might call Venezuela's bombastic leftist president, Hugo Chávez, "an idiot" or yell "ÁViva Chávez!" His weekly column in the sports section of the Caracas newspaper El Universal sometimes veers from baseball into religion or culture, but it's always delivered in a take-it-or-leave-it voice best exemplified by the title of his recently published anthology, Se los dije. I told you so. Yet nothing explains the mercurial world of Ozzie Guillen better than his first days back in Venezuela last fall, an emotional whipsawing that managerial icons such as Bobby Cox and Tony La Russa could hardly imagine. On Nov. 4 Guillen, the first Latino ever to manage a major league champion, became the first man to take the World Series trophy to Latin America. He couldn't step outside his house without being asked for a picture or autograph or hug. People told him he had achieved the greatest feat in Venezuela's recent history; a nation scarred by violence, including kidnapping and extortion threats against beloved ballplayers, finally had something to celebrate. There was a three-hour press conference in Caracas jammed with hundreds of reporters; a public embrace with the childhood coach who had taught him how to play ball; a festive reception at the U.S. Embassy. Then came a ride in an open truck around the field at Estadio Universitario, his old ballpark, with Guillen, wrapped in a Venezuelan flag, showing off the trophy. Fifteen thousand people stood and cheered and wept. The next morning Guillen; his wife, Ibis; and Ozzie Jr. drove to Los Teques to see former Philadelphia Phillies reliever Ugueth Urbina, who was there awaiting trial for attempted murder. On Oct. 16, at his cattle ranch in Valles del Tuy, Urbina is alleged to have led a group of men who attacked five workers with machetes, then doused them with gasoline and paint thinner and set them on fire for allegedly stealing a gun belonging to the pitcher. One victim was burned over 50% of his body; another needed 300 stitches to close wounds on his shoulder, back and hands; and the others suffered injuries from bruises to broken bones to a perforated eardrum. Urbina proclaimed his innocence, but Guillen isn't sure what to believe. The two men have year-round homes in the same housing complex north of Miami Beach, play golf and fish together, and in recent off-seasons Urbina has been a constant presence in the Guillens' house. Ozzie had to go see Ugie in prison. "When you go to jail in Venezuela," Guillen says, "you go to hell." Guillen was ready for the stink of urine and sweat, the dank heat of a cell built for 10 men but crammed with three dozen; he had visited friends at the prison before. But then he walked in and glanced up a flight of stairs and saw a short, skinny, dark-eyed man descending. The two locked eyes. The man turned around and walked back up. It was Hernán López Ortuño, one of the two men convicted of murdering Polidor, a former shortstop for the California Angels, Milwaukee Brewers and Florida Marlins, in a botched carjacking attempt in April 1995. Guillen and Polidor had been best friends -- more like brothers, really -- for 14 years, ever since Polidor had taken the 16-year-old Guillen under his wing in the Venezuelan winter league. López and an accomplice, Marco Tulio Quintero Flores, had marched up Polidor's driveway in Caracas and tried to steal his car. Polidor's wife, Eduvigis, was standing next to the vehicle with their one-year-old son, Gus Jr., in her arms. When Polidor, who had been nearby taking out the garbage, began to argue with Quintero, López threatened to snatch Gus Jr. from Eduvigis. Then, as Polidor protested more heatedly, Quintero put a bullet in the ballplayer's brain. The killers fled in a waiting station wagon. Guillen, who had just built a new house in Caracas, moved Eduvigis and her three children into his old house. Polidor, he says, would have been a coach on his White Sox staff, "no question." Now Urbina passed López on the way down the prison stairs. After hugging Guillen, Urbina said, "You see him?" Guillen said yes. What to do? After Polidor's death Guillen hated his country. He doubted God; he couldn't sleep; he wanted to hurt the men who had killed Gus. Guillen is a man who claims he never forgives -- a man who says about a mere war of words, "You throw me rocks, I've got an F-16 ready to go, because I'm going to shoot you" -- and now here was his chance. Amid the cacophony of the prison, with Guillen's mind racing and his blood up, the manager and his son heard Urbina say, "Don't worry." What did that mean? Was Urbina offering to arrange for López to be harmed? (Urbina, speaking through his U.S. agent last week, denied he ever suggested such a thing.) Maybe Guillen misunderstood. But the seconds were racing by; this was not a time or place to expect clarity. Guillen told Urbina to stay away from López. Then, Guillen and his son recall, Urbina said, "What do you want to do?" Despite his impulsive nature, Guillen knows the virtue of holding back. Four times in October during the American League Championship Series against the Los Angeles Angels, when any other manager would've gone to his bullpen, Guillen stood pat. Four times his starting pitchers won complete games. When, after winning the World Series, his players raced onto the field in celebration, Guillen again did the unexpected, sitting still in the dugout, his face blank. López? He's still facing 16 years of hell. "Nada," Guillen said in answer to Urbina's question. Nothing. "Why?" Urbina asked. "Because it's over." The two men talked for a half hour. On the ride back to Caracas, Ozzie sat in the front of the car with the driver. He could hear his wife and son sobbing behind him. Soon he cracked, too, and the nation's hero cried all the way home. Ozzie Guillen is a reporter's dream. He'll talk about anything. He can't help himself. A baseball writer's job is often a grinding exercise in reading between the lines, divining a team's direction from the pauses, burps and raised eyebrows that punctuate the clichés spouted by men determined to say nothing -- not one word -- that might touch off a SportsCenter feeding frenzy. In the last decade the most prominent major league manager to break with baseball's code of virtual silence was the New York Mets' Bobby Valentine, and maybe it's just an accident that he now plies his trade in Japan. "I don't know when, why and how we became so sterile," says White Sox general manager Ken Williams, "but this was a game that enjoyed enormous popularity from the beginning because of its characters. We have to have a little personality." A little? Guillen makes Valentine sound like Alan Greenspan. "Most managers say what people want to hear, because they're afraid to lose their jobs," Guillen says. "And they kiss people's asses. I don't. I've got my money. Fire me? I'll show you I don't need you. I might not get hired again? I don't give a s---." Ask about his managerial philosophy. Or don't. He'll tell you anyway. "It's not easy to play for me, because I will tell the truth whether you like it or not," Guillen says. "I don't say, 'Well, uh, somebody....' No! I'll say, 'Konerko f----- it up.' People say, 'That's just Ozzie being Ozzie.' Bulls---. It's just Ozzie being true. Players try to own this game. But the players know they're not going to big-league me. I tell my players, 'Listen, boys, I'm going to be here longer than you.' Even if I'm not going to be here longer, I'm going to show you: I'm the man here. "People say, 'Joe Torre: genius.' 'Greatest manager ever: Tony La Russa ... Lou Piniella.' I say they're not good baseball managers. Nobody's a good baseball manager. They talk about Jim Leyland: 'Oh, my god, Jim Leyland....' Jim Leyland quit! Sparky Anderson? Sparky Anderson was horses--- for 10 years with Detroit. If you don't have a good ball club, you're not going to be a good manager. People forget Joe Torre lost with St. Louis and the Mets. The New York Yankees? I could manage that team. Lou Piniella, the best ever? Why don't you win with Tampa Bay? My point is not that he can't manage his ass. It's just that you have to have the team. I'm not a good manager. I'm good people. Nobody was a good manager. Ever." Ask him about intelligence. Guillen dropped out of high school at 16. "There's two kinds of education: book smart and street smart," he says. "You put me at Harvard, at the podium to talk to the people graduating, I know what I have to say, and I know how to say it. But you put Bill Gates in the middle of Caracas, Venezuela? He will s--- his pants. He will die." Freedom? "We've got the best cars in the United States, and you've got to go 55 miles an hour. You have a party at your house, there's someone at your door because the neighbors don't like it. You say something about color, religion or preference about sex, you're in trouble. What kind of life are we living here? You work seven days a week and get paid for four because of taxes, and you don't have a right to say anything?" Alex Rodriguez, the U.S.-born Yankees third baseman who mulled over playing for the Dominican Republic in next month's World Baseball Classic? "Alex was kissing Latino people's asses. He knew he wasn't going to play for the Dominicans; he's not a Dominican! I hate hypocrites: He's full of s---. The Dominican team doesn't need his ass. It's the same with [Nomar] Garciaparra playing for Mexico. Garciaparra only knows Cancún because he went to visit. "People say, 'Ozzie Guillen is a bigmouth, he's so controversial.' No. People don't like it when you tell the truth." For Guillen, it all comes back to that word. Truth is his abiding theme, his defense against would-be censors, a source of strength. "Why," he asks repeatedly, "shouldn't we have the power to say what we think?" Some things he utters as a manager are so obviously said for effect that they're laughable. (Last season's gem was the pronouncement that he would quit if the White Sox won the World Series, ostensibly to prove he was in it only to win, not for the money.) Yet even though he publicly calls out players when they mess up -- "Throw them under the bus!" he cries -- Guillen says nothing about them to the press that he hasn't said to their faces. But to hear Guillen speak -- no, shout -- his version of the truth is to realize that it's also his weapon. Against what, exactly, isn't clear until one morning in his living room in Golden Beach, Fla., when he returns to the subject of the prison in Los Teques. Guillen wants to correct one thing. Yes, he says, jail in his country is hellish, but the devil's hand reaches far beyond any prison. "This is hell," he says, his glance taking in the spacious living room, the table with the photo of his pretty wife and their three handsome, smiling boys, the shelf holding his 1988 All-Star Game platter, a White Sox championship season DVD and a phone displaying the message 50 new calls. "We live in hell." What Guillen means, of course, is that the daily news of disaster, war, child abuse and other crime makes it easy to embrace the darkest view: This pitiless world is as low as one can go. There's much in his experience to prove him right. In July 1989 Guillen's closest friend in Chicago, a Venezuelan named Jon Goicochea, died in a car accident. In 1995, after Guillen had arranged for Gus Polidor to become a reserve infielder for the White Sox, Polidor opted to retire to Venezuela; he missed Gus Jr. too much, he said. Such longing is beautiful, of course. It's also one reason Polidor is dead. The two men couldn't have been more different. Guillen was clownish and electric, Polidor so even-keeled that Guillen called him Tiricia (Sleepy). But from the instant that Guillen joined him on the Tiburones de La Guaira (La Guaira Sharks), who played their home games in Caracas, Polidor never wavered in his support of the younger player. He would drive far out of his way in the wee hours after night games to make sure that Guillen got home safely. They played hundreds of games side by side: Guillen, number 13, at shortstop and Polidor, number 14, at third base. They won back-to-back Venezuelan league titles in 1984-85 and '85-86. They spent holidays together. Even as their careers diverged in the U.S. -- Guillen the All-Star, Polidor the utilityman -- they talked daily. "Friends forever," Guillen says. Five years ago Guillen's youngest son, Ozney, played with Gus Jr. on a youth-league team in Caracas. In their first game Ozney took the field at shortstop, wearing number 13. Gus Jr. stepped in at third base, number 14. Ozzie Guillen was sitting in the stands, watching behind sunglasses, when it hit him: We did that all our lives. Tears rolled down his face, and Guillen silently asked Polidor, Why aren't you here to see this? For the rest of the season he couldn't bear to watch the two boys play. Venezuelan baseball stars have been targeted by criminals for years, but Urbina has attracted violence the way a magnet draws iron. His father was killed resisting robbers in 1994. His mother was kidnapped in September 2004. Before she was rescued unharmed, Urbina, refusing to negotiate with the abductors, weathered five months of worry with a chilling hardness. "I wish I could be like him, sometimes," Guillen says. For the last 15 years Guillen has been a babalao, a kind of priest, in Santería, the Caribbean-based religion that blends spiritual traditions of West Africa with those of Roman Catholicism. The practice of Santería involves devotion to any one of a number of saints; altar offerings of small items such as candy, candles and fruit; and, in rare instances, animal sacrifice. Guillen occasionally worships informally with other santeros but mostly observes his faith alone or with his family. In Santería he feels a daily connection to God that he never felt in the Catholic church, and he says the faith helped him understand that Polidor's death was his friend's destiny. Some believers in Santería see significance in numbers. Like most White Sox fans, Ibis Guillen felt that first baseman Paul Konerko could bail them out of any jam in the ALCS against the Angels, but in Ibis's case it was because Konerko wore Polidor's number 14. After Chicago's 8-2 win in Game 4, Ibis saw the Angels' line score -- two runs, six hits, one error, four left on base -- she nudged her sister and said, "Look at that." Gus was born on Oct. 26 and wore number 14. Two, six, one, four: an omen. But on that same night, Oct. 15, the murky events at Urbina's ranch began to unfold. At first Guillen didn't care if Urbina was guilty or innocent. He considered buying Urbina's way out of prison. Still, something happened on that ranch that night; men were slashed and burned. "If he's guilty, he's guilty," Guillen now says of his friend. "If you did it, then you deserve to be where you are." In the World Series, Guillen's most celebrated move came in the 14th inning of Game 3, when his choice of a pinch hitter, little-used Geoff Blum, snapped a 5-5 tie with a game-winning homer in his first World Series at bat. But Guillen didn't base his masterstroke on some obscure statistic. He didn't even talk with his coaches. The manager had already written the name of another batter, infielder Pablo Ozuna, on the lineup card taped to the dugout wall when he noticed his son Oney standing nearby. Ozzie asked Oney, a junior at Chicago's North Park University who was watching the game from the dugout, what he thought. "Blum's ready," Oney said. "Blum hasn't had a hit in two weeks," Ozzie said. "Blum's going to win you the game." Guillen had never before consulted one of his sons on a managerial decision. It didn't strike him then that Polidor was Oney's godfather, but something about using Blum felt right. When Ozzie sent Blum to home plate, the game of their lives on the line, Oney thought, I can't believe this. On the morning of Game 4 Ozzie was eating breakfast in his Houston hotel room, still buzzing from the epic win just hours before. He spoke of how nervous he felt because Houston's bats were waking up. Ibis cut in. "Don't worry," she said. "It's over. We win tonight. It's Gus's birthday." So it was: Oct. 26. "I believed," Guillen says. Chicago won 1-0 that night to become world champion. After Guillen returned to Venezuela, his mood swung daily between elation and despondency. He visited Urbina four times, but he didn't see Polidor's killer after the first trip. On New Year's Eve, Guillen stood with his family in Caracas and raised a glass. He began a toast, "I hope Ugie ..." -- but choked up and couldn't say another word. On Sunday, Jan. 8, as he prepared to return to the U.S. for the 2006 season, Guillen drove to a cemetery in eastern Caracas. He took flowers and stood at Polidor's grave, feeling awkward because his family was watching. He began to babble. He spoke about the season, about that last night in Houston. "I wish you were there," he said, and to stop himself from crying, he laughed a bit. ("I know he didn't want me to cry," Guillen says now, "because it's not my fault that happened to him.") Then he thanked Gus for everything, for looking out for him all those years, and by the time Guillen was done, he had worked out something important. "I know you were there, Tiricia," he said to the tombstone. "One way or the other." On the morning of Jan. 20, his 42nd birthday, Ozzie Guillen walked into a makeshift courtroom in the offices of the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service in downtown Chicago, waving his hands as the applause from hundreds of people -- reporters, White Sox staffers, INS officials -- got louder. "Looks like the World Series here," he said. Along with Ibis and Oney, Ozzie had just taken -- and passed -- the test for U.S. citizenship. (To the first question, "Who is the mayor of Chicago?" Guillen had jokingly and, some would say, accurately answered, "Ozzie Guillen.") The judge charged with swearing him in was a devoted White Sox fan whose son had been the team's batboy in 1986 when Guillen was its shortstop. There was a sheet cake with little black White Sox helmets on it and gooey icing declaring happy birthday ozzie. An administrator presented Guillen with a miniature Statue of Liberty, and the White Sox gave him the U.S. flag that had flown over U.S. Cellular Field during the World Series. Yet the moment the judge began administering the oath, the jovial mood shifted. The place went silent. The smiles dropped from the Guillens' faces. They listened to the words asking them to "renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state or sovereignty of whom or which you have heretofore been the subject as a citizen," to support the U.S. Constitution and promise to bear arms on behalf of their new country, and to take the obligation freely, "so help you God." "I do," said Ozzie. "I do," said his wife and son. It's a sobering business, changing one's homeland. Guillen will keep his Venezuelan passport and still visit the country in the off-season, but he made his loyalty clear after the ceremony. Becoming a U.S. citizen was his dream, he said to a group of reporters. It's better than winning the World Series, he agreed in response to a question. He'll take his citizenship-test flash cards to spring training and make his players answer them, he said, laughing. This is the greatest country in the world, he said again and again. Guillen's e-mail address is public knowledge. He expected a landslide of messages from Venezuela condemning him: How could he, a man so recently draped in Venezuela's flag of blue, red and gold, say such things about the U.S.? Of course, he was ready with an answer. "Prove me wrong," he said. "I'm rich because of the United States, not Venezuela. My sons got a great education because of the United States, not Venezuela. I'm 42 years old, and I've [lived] 26 years in this country, not Venezuela. That doesn't mean I'm not a Venezuelan. But you think this is not the greatest country in the world? Prove me wrong. Tell me why we don't have Americans going to live in Venezuela and why we have Venezuelans coming to live here. Some people don't like to hear the truth. I'm more Venezuelan than Chávez is, because I represent Venezuela. He's our leader, but you ask people who they'd rather have [running] the country? They're going to vote for me. "I'm not afraid. If they don't like it, what're they going to do? When I get home, they boo me? Big deal. Why do I have to worry about what people think? The thing is, what they think, they don't say. I say it." With that, Guillen stood up, signed some autographs and took an elevator to the first floor. Security ringed him as he and Ibis and Oney burst through the doors and onto the sidewalk of Jackson Street. A black limousine idled at the curb. The security men stopped the lunchtime walkers in their tracks, clearing a path for the Guillens, and what had been a triumphant yet wrenching off-season for Ozzie took yet another turn. A young man held up his cellphone to snap a picture of him. A woman pointed: There goes Ozzie Guillen. There goes the mayor of Chicago, the king of Caracas and now a new American, not to mention the first citizen of a country of his own making, a land of Oz, where no thought goes unspoken and the talk never ends. Guillen grinned and ducked his head and slipped into the limo's blackness. How did he get here? Ask him. Or don't. He'll tell you: The truth made him free.

Some ambitious fans out there were busy putting together highlight videos in .wmv format and posting the videos or links. One fan in particular was putting together a video for each month of the season. How do I find those? Have they all been moved to a special folder? I'd like to see them. Please help Thank You

http://editorialcartoonists.com/cartoon/display.cfm/8687/

I'm posting the requested audio clip in .wav format I also have it in .mp3 format

my email orgullodemexico AT HOTMAIL DOT COM

WHITE SOX RINGTONES http://www.savefile.com/projects.php?pid=998905 Today’s cell phones use ringtones in either .wav .mid or .mp3. It all depends on your type of phone. To install the ringtones you either have to use the WAP browser or use software and cable provided by your cellular carrier and install the ringtones from your PC. More technical discussions about phones and service providers can be found at www.howardforums.com Another source of free ringtones can be found at http://www.motospeak.com I have uploaded four ringtones for all to access. The file names are followed by the URL. As I acquire more White Sox related ringtones I will post them to the project at http://www.savefile.com/projects.php?pid=998905 You can put it on the board (wav format) http://www.savefile.com/files/7735992 He gone (wav format) http://savefile.com/files/2471563 Na Na Na Hey Hey Hey Goodbye (mid format) http://www.savefile.com/files/9465356 MLB on FOX (mp3 format) http://www.savefile.com/files/4985599

Any particular reason these movies can't be posted/shared in .wmv or .mpg format so that we don't have to download more junk (.i.e quicktime)? Thanks!!

NaNaNaHeyHey Goodbye in midi format If you can figure out how to use it in your phone, good luck (you will need to unzip)

What type of phone and service do you have? Do you have a USB and software to upload directly into your phone? I use Nextel and I have the NaNaHeyHey Kiss him goodbye in the .midi format. This polyphonic ringtone is compatible with most phones. Some phones can use ringtones in the .wav format and in .mp3 format. I am sure there are other sound files used that I am unaware of. www.howardforums.com is a good source for tech info and free ringtones. I use Nextel and the i860 and I uploaded it directly into my phone. If you use a WAP browser and download I will try and figure out where to upload so that you can download to your phone. Let the group know what phone and service you are using, it's important.

I've been trying to search for Sox images, Sox gifs, Sox jpgs Looking for World Series Logos, AL Champs logos For use as wallpaper on my Nextel phone and my PDA. HOOK ME UP!!

Did anyone happen to go to this concert at Mambo Cafe? Any pics? I had tickets but the girlfriend couldn't get away from work. :-( The following is from the newsletter of a Chicago DJ: Tito Nieves: Let me tell you that this was the best concert that he ever did in Chicago. I mean all of his songs were right on the money. He brang chills and thrills to everyone that night. To top the night off we had the pleasure of having 2 Chicago White Sox in the house. When Ozzie and Freddy Garcia took the stage, the whole house went mad. You could feel the energy flow through your vains. I didnt know that Ozzie and Tito went back 14yrs and it was the bomb being right next to them. I was outside in the back getting some air when Tito arrived. We gave each other a hug and hung out for a few. Hes a real nice down to earth person and he calls me his twin, I was laughing my ass off when he told me that. Me and DJ Cuco opened the night and got things going. La Unica was the first band to play and I give them props. They have come a long way and there sounding good, keep up the great work Carlos. Cuco took over and did his Claveton and the crowd loved it. The night went on until Tito took the stage and it was on like donkey kong. The sound which was not Mambos was off the hook, thanks to CMN for the idea of bringing their own sound and putting together a great concert. I have to give it to Andrea as she and the staff of CMN for doing a great job.

QUOTE(sox4lifeinPA @ Oct 28, 2005 -> 12:40 PM) Who's eligible for a ring? just the 25 man playoff roster and execs and management? Or anyone who played for the team during the year? My ticket rep told me last week that if the Sox were to win, all the office staff would get a ring. It's up to each individual owner as to how generous they wish to be. The league just kicks in a chunk of money toward the rings and its up to the organization to pay the balance. As for replicas, JOSTENS has a lot of rings on their website and I'm waiting for a response as to whether they will have rings. Danbury Mint also sells team rings, but not World Series rings Remember to check ebay.

At the homepage of www.whitesox.com in the upper left corner is a color logo that says SOX World Champions 2005. I'd like a nice size of that logo or any logo that includes White Sox and 2005. Does anyone have anything to share? Either .gifs or .jpgs

I would appreciate any WS highlight video clips in .wmv or .mpg format that will play in Windows Media. Is there a technical reason as to why the current vid clip is done in Quick Time? I don't understand the need for Windows Media, Quick Time and Real Player. THANKS!! Anyone in Chi-Town going to the United Center tonight for the viewing?

Looking for the following in .mpg or .mp3 format for playback on Windows Media I apologize if this is a repeat post, but the search feature seems to be broke. 1) I'd like GO GO WHITESOX, 1959 fight song 2) Radio call of Sunday's final out to clinch the AL pennant. 3) Video clip of Sunday's final out to clinch the AL pennant. 4) Video clip of 1959 Sox clinching AL over Cleveland.