Thrilling play, hard work
HOUSTON -- That was work, but if you were a Chicago White Sox, it was worth the 5:41 it to took to get the job done.
Pushing across two runs in the 14th inning on a homer by Geoff Blum off Ezequiel Astacio and a bases-loaded walk, the White Sox moved a tantalizing step closer to their first World Series triumph since our troops were still marching Over There, defeating the Astros by a 7-5 score. They can complete a second straight sweep for the American League tonight.
And where are those 2-1 and 3-1 games we were expecting? For the third straight game, we had offense. OK, we had walks. But we sure did have base runners. We had key LOBs. We had situations. We had drama. Hey, we even had a 45-pitch inning.
Forgotten fairly quickly -- I mean, that's the way it seemed to me -- was the great pregame controversy concerning the retractable roof here at Minute Maid Park. The roof had been closed for every previous Astros playoff game this year, and that's the way everyone from owner Drayton McLane to the batboy prefers it. But for the World Series, the commissioner's office had the call, and the day-of-game decision was to leave the roof open.
By the time the game reached the 10th inning, no one was very concerned about the roof. They were far more concerned about the state of their beloved Astros, who were tied at 5-5 and fighting for their Series life, and who had just been subject to one of those delectable El Duque moments in the bottom of the ninth.
It wasn't quite as dramatic as the bases-loaded, none-out escape against the Red Sox, but it wasn't bad. This time Orlando Hernandez got out of both a tie game, first-and-third, one-out and bases-loaded (three walks, one intentional), two-out situation by fanning first Willy Taveras for out number two and cleanup man Morgan Ensberg for out number three.
Everything was going Houston's way until the fateful fifth. The Astros had reached Jon Garland for one in the first, two in the third, and one more in the fourth when Jason Lane led off with a homer to center. That certainly seemed to be enough for Roy Oswalt to work with. The righthander entered the game with a career postseason record of 4-0, 3.10, and was coming off an absolutely dazzling performance last week against the Cardinals, when he threw seven innings of three-hit, one-run ball in the pennant-clincher.
But this was not the same Oswalt who had overwhelmed the Cardinals. In that game, he relied almost exclusively on one pitch, a diabolical fastball he was able to locate anywhere he chose: in, out, up, down, wherever he wanted, when he wanted. Astros pitching coach Jim Hickey said there was maybe one other game all year when Oswalt had been able to dominate so thoroughly with just that one pitch. It was a fantasy night, for sure.
Right from the start, you knew this wasn't the same Oswalt. He was throwing more breaking balls, from the opening batter on. He did fan Scott Podsednik leading off the game with a breaking ball, and there was nothing wrong with that. A strikeout is a strikeout. He got through the first inning all right, thanks to an inning-ending double play, but any thought that he might duplicate that outing in St. Louis disappeared in the second inning, when he walked two men, and was saved from big trouble when, with first and second and nobody out, Aaron Rowand lined hard to short and Paul Konerko was doubled off.
Still, he entered the fifth with a 4-0 lead and the Astros had to assume that he was having one of those savvy veteran nights in which he would simply find a way to win. The guy, after all, has won 59 games the last three years. This clearly indicates he knows how to function when he doesn't have his best stuff, or his best location. And with just 43 pitches thrown, he was in no trouble in that category.
The inning did not begin well. Joe Crede took a strike and then took an Oswalt offering to the opposite field, the ball landing about four or five rows deep into the right-field stands. That name Crede just keeps surfacing in these little White Sox sagas, doesn't it?
Juan Uribe, who is also having a very big postseason, first from the No. 9 spot in the order and now from the eighth, singled to center. Garland was up next and the entire Western world knew he'd be bunting. He gave it a good shot, but he couldn't get it down, and wound up striking out. It would be a long, long time before Oswalt could record out number three. Try 33 pitches.
Podsednik singled. Tadahito Iguchi brought home the second run with a single. Jermaine Dye then submitted a terrific at-bat, knocking home the third run with a single to center on pitch number 10. After Konerko flied to center for out number two, A.J. Pierzynski brought home both runners with a long double to center that one-hopped the fence just to the right of the great rise in straightaway center.
That made it 5-4, and Oswalt still had a lot of work to do before he could sit down. Rowand walked on a 3-and-2 pitch, and Crede was hit by Oswalt's 40th pitch of the inning. Betcha not even Matt Clement had himself a 40-pitch inning this year. That loaded the bases for Uribe, who went to 1-and-2, fouled one off and flied to center. On the 45th pitch of a fascinating inning, Oswalt was able to seek comfort in the dugout, his 4-0 lead turned into a 5-4 deficit.
The White Sox sixth? Oswalt set them down on nine pitches. It's not every day you see a pitcher have back-to-back pitch counts of 45 and 9. Who can explain these things?
As far as the White Sox were concerned, forget about that complete-game stuff. When Luis Vizcaino entered the game in the bottom of the 10th, he was Ozzie Guillen's sixth pitcher, and the fifth since Cliff Politte had come on in relief of Garland in the eighth, an inning in which Politte (walk), Neil Cotts (walk) and, finally Hermanson (Jason Lane double down the left field line) had not been able to keep the Astros from tying the game after Politte had retired the first two batters easily.
Did I say ''easily?" Sorry. There's nothing ''easy" about any of this.
Bob Ryan is a Globe columnist. His e-mail address is ryan@globe.com. 
