On the John presents...

Barrett, Pierzynski, and Herm’s: a punch and a lunch

Completed on May 21, 2006

I didn’t see the play.

My buddy Sven saw the play. He was at the Cell when it happened. Called me up to see if I was watching, and to find out what they were saying about it on TV.

“What happened?” I asked.

He told me. 

“Oh,” I said. “No, I didn’t see it.”

So I didn’t see the play. Most people, though, most people saw the play. And yet it seems that everybody saw something different. We’re all in agreement that A.J. Pierzynski knocked over Michael Barrett on his way to the plate during Saturday’s Cubs-Sox game. That much we’re sure of. But everything else seems to be up in the air.

Sven, a Sox fan, says that after slapping the plate in celebration, Pierzynski tried to step around Barrett in an effort to grab his batting helmet from the dirt. That’s when Barrett grabbed him, said something, and then laid him out with a stone cold cold cock to the jaw. My buddy Davis, on the other hand, saw something else. Davis, a Cubs fan, says that after slapping the plate in celebration, Pierzynski gave Barrett an intentional shoulder bump on his way to the dugout. That’s when Barrett grabbed him, said something, and, well, laid him out with a stone cold cold cock to the jaw.

We all seem to agree on that. 

One of my favorite aspects of sports is the way that one play can be interpreted in sharply contradictory ways, as well as how the competition on the field can mean different things to different people. The Pierzynski-Barrett brawl has shown the split between Cubs fans and Sox fans, but it has also shown the split between players and fans.

The fan split is obvious. Fans are loyal to a fault. Of course A.J. knocked into him. Of course he did. He’s the game’s great irritant. Makes perfect sense. On the other hand, it looks as if he really was trying to walk around Barrett. Yeah—yeah, look at him. He’s walking around. Look.

I am a Cubs fan, as is my best buddy Ben. Ben didn’t see the play, either. Like me, he saw it later, online. And though we are Cubs fans, we both agree that Barrett was in the wrong. Pierzynski made a great play; Barrett was in his squat, awaiting the throw, and seeing this, Pierzynski bowled him over, an action that is perfectly reasonable, and perfectly legal. Barrett says that he told Pierzynski that he didn’t have the ball, but how could Pierzynski know that? He’s charging home. So he knocks him over, and he scores, and in the thrill of the moment, Pierzynski slaps the plate in celebration. Then comes the tricky part. Pierzynski’s intentions as he passed Barrett. Sven says one thing, Davis says another. Oh, to be an unbiased sports fan.

******

Regardless of Pierzynski’s intentions, Barrett was clearly out of line. The situation simply did not call for a sudden punch to the jaw…there’s no way to argue otherwise…and it was around this time in our conversation that Ben and I began to get hungry. We decided on Herm’s Palace, Skokie’s landmark of a hot dog joint. When we arrived, there were two people in line in front of us. The owner/manager Scott was behind the counter, taking orders in his usual way—fast. Anybody who meets him knows that he is friendly, inviting, and engaging, but the quality that new patrons hold to is his speed. He takes orders fast, and he totals up the prices fast. Nobody at Herm’s uses a calculator or a cash register for determining prices. It’s all done in their heads.

The people in front of us finish ordering, and Ben and I stroll up to the counter, thinking. But Scott’s a step ahead of us. “Grilled Cajun chicken sandwich, large fry?” he says to Ben, as more of a statement awaiting confirmation than a question.

“Yes,” Ben says.

“Two hot dogs-ketchup, large fry?” he says to me.

“Yes.”

He smiles. “Then what the hell are you guys standing here for?”

Ben and I get our drinks and sit down in view of the television. Game 3 of the Cubs-Sox series is on, and the customers inside Herm’s are geared up. When Michael Barrett steps to the plate in the top of the fourth, the fans at the Cell boo, and the Sox fans at Herm’s dig their feet into the floor, trying to will a poor play from this ultimate instigator. Sure enough, the soon-to-be-suspended Barrett grounds out to third. When Pierzynski comes up in the top half of the fourth, everything is reversed, including the outcome. A.J. lets fly a two-out home run to deep center to pull the Sox even at two runs apiece, and the Cell erupts. Take that, Michael Barrett! In a stoppage of play, you can sucker punch our guy all you wants. But out on the field, we are victorious. And the fans at Herm’s applaud, and high five, and shout for their guy Pierzynski. And Ben and I eat, watching.

******

The media saw the play. 

They had the same reaction to the play that the fans had. Hot damn! This is a rivalry! Look at those two guys going at it, one in his White Sox pin stripes, the other in his Cubbie blue. And would you look at that? They play the same position. Two catchers, the backbones of their respective teams, slugging it out in the holy name of rivalry.

Or so we would hope. 

But I think it’s simply wishful thinking that a fan-based rivalry would mean nearly as much to the players as it does to the fans. Certainly the players take note of these rivalries, and feed off of the enthusiasm of the fans that surround them, both in the ballpark and in the universe at large…but how could we possibly expect A.J. Pierzynski and Michael Barrett, Chicago ballplayers for a combined three seasons before 2006, to fully appreciate the Cubs-Sox rivalry? To live it, to play it, to hold it dear? It’s unreasonable and foolish, and though we support them and take up their causes, we the fans will never fully know what it is to be a professional athlete. When Barrett punches Pierzynski or Jose Valentin mocks Sammy Sosa or Roger Clemens throws a bat at Mike Piazza, we rush to our sides in an effort to support our heroes, but there are things happening between the players that we will never be able to fully appreciate or understand or internalize; in a very practical sense, fans and players are separate entities who share a loose connection based on their involvement in sport.

And that’s OK. Sports mean different things to different people. It is the great unifier. 

Ben and I finish our meals, and head back to the counter to pay. Scott is there.

“Together or separate, guys?”

“Separate.”

He compiles the totals, rapid fire. “Grilled chicken—large fry—water—6.85 for you. Two hotdogs—large fry—was that a medium?”

“Yup.”

“—medium Coke—6.80 for you, sir.”

We pay and leave. In the eighth inning, with the Cubs trailing four to three, The Great Michael Barrett steps to the plate with Todd Walker on first, and promptly smokes a triple to deep center field. On the next at bat, Jacque Jones dumps a ball into the Sox bullpen in left field to put the Cubs up 6-4. Cubs fans cheer wildly; Sox fans sulk. The Cubs’ dugout leaps up in joy. Barrett passes Pierzynski at home, and then waits for his teammate Jones. They high five. Ben and I high five. Sven, presumably, slaps his hands together in disappointment, along with the rest of his fellow Sox fans at the Cell. Jones and the soon-to-be-suspended Barrett greet their teammates in the dugout. Meanwhile, Pierzynski, the Great Irritant, waits for the next pitch. 

And I am happy.

Copyright 2006, jm silverstein