Homer History: Paul Konerko slams door on Houston in World Series

In our Homer History series, writers re-tell the stories of memorable home runs from their perspective. In this installment, Ryan McKinnell from the Yahoo Sports blog Cagewriter relives the Paul Konerko grand slam that changed Chicago baseball.

I still remember exactly where I was the day Paul Konerko hit the grandest home run in White Sox history.

I was tucked tightly inside a Northwest Indiana riverboat casino bar with my mother, the woman who instilled the love of baseball in me at an early age. She explained how to fill out a scoresheet, the intricacies of a well-timed hit-and-run — something the 2005 small-ball Sox did on a seemingly daily basis — and the patience and appreciation a game like baseball took.

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On Oct. 22, 2005, the day before Game 2 of the World Series, I found myself driving on Interstate 80/90 up from Ball State where I was in my junior year. It was sleeting on the window of my ’98 white Ford Explorer. I was beyond excited and that four-hour drive flew by like a brief commercial break. I would be meeting my mom at Comiskey (if you think I’m calling it U.S. Cellular Field you’re reading the wrong story) for the first World Series game in Chicago since 1959. If that seems like a long time, well, it was — but not nearly as long as the last world title in 1917.

(AP/Yahoo Sports) At the time, I was just 22, but even then I understood what 88 years represented; it meant people lived and died Sox fans and never saw a World Series Championship.

The Sox won that first game 5-3 and it was truly one of the most special days of my life. I was entering adulthood at the time. I was partying a lot. I was spending less time at home. And little did I know that three years later I would be moving my life to Las Vegas and getting married shortly thereafter.

Point being: I was growing apart from my mom, and we probably both knew it, but baseball was something we (I) could still find time for.

Game 1 was special to me personally, but it paled in comparison to what the next day had in store.

Game 2 was on Sunday, Oct. 23, and call it what you will: fear, paranoia, systematic cynicism, or just good ol’ loser-itis — any positivity I’d managed from the win the day before had vanished.

I couldn’t help it. I was a baseball fan in Chicago.

Just because Steve Bartman was wearing a Cubs hat the day he slapped Moises Alou’s glove out of the sky doesn’t mean we didn’t feel cursed too. This was Chicago baseball — we were all cursed. I mean, what was the difference between 88 years or 98 (which at the time, was the Cubbies drought).

The answer: not a damn thing. Chicago was never meant to win a baseball championship, and that was that.

Before ending up at that riverboat casino, Mom and I went to Soldier Field on the morning of Game 2 to watch the Bears play the Baltimore Ravens. During halftime, the entire 1985 Chicago Bears team were brought onto the field to celebrate their legendary Super Bowl XX victory.

[Elsewhere: Check out the Dunk History series on Yahoo Sports]

Looking back on it all now, I don’t know why I was so worried, championship magic was obviously in the air.

Midway into Game 2, the Sox were caught in a 4-2 hole after normally steadfast Mark Buehrle gave up four runs in five innings. And myself, along with all Sox fans, felt the doubt seeping in.

In the bottom of the seventh inning, the White Sox — still facing a two-run deficit — rallied and found themselves with the bases loaded with a chance to break the game wide open.

With two outs and the bases packed, the signature sounds of Jason Newsted’s low bass strum came booming across the stadium’s loudspeakers, as Metallica’s “Harvester of Sorrow” began to play.

And every White Sox fan knew what that meant: here comes “Paulie.”

Konerko was the living embodiment of the cool uncle. He was balding at 29, he loved Metallica, and he had old-man strength for days — something the first baseman was destined to display on this particular night.

(AP) On the very first pitch Konerko saw from Houston reliever Chad Qualls, a fastball — a pitch he was known to enjoy over his career — was launched over the left field wall for a grand slam. And just like that, Chicago came unglued.

I’m not just talking about people inside the stadium or lifelong White Sox fans at Rocky’s on 31st and Wells. I’m talking the whole city lost its collective mind.

I even spotted a few fans in Cubs hats running wildly around the bar with their hands above their heads.

(Oh, it happened, Cubs fans, it happened.)

As Konerko trotted ever so gracefully — in a way only an ex-catcher turned first baseman with a graying horseshoe head could — it became blissfully clear to even the most sweaty-palmed doubter: this World Series was a wrap.

Of course it was just one hit, one home run, one moment. But that home run, that hit, and that moment was so much more significant than we ever could have realized.

It set the tone for the remainder of the series. The Chicago White Sox were no longer a team of duds; they were a team of destiny. They would go on to sweep the Astros just a few days later and Konerko’s grand slam would be the first, and only, in White Sox playoff history.

To this day, if you look out to section 159 in left field, you’ll see the exact spot where Konerko’s home run landed. A stand-alone blue seat, left over from a 2007 stadium renovation, commemorates it.

Perhaps Scott Podsednik’s home run was more memorable but Konerko’s was the dinger that set it all in motion. It was an unquestionable moment in White Sox history, where every Sox fan knew this was unlike any team they’d seen before.

And it was true, we hadn’t.

[Elsewhere: Fan wins Texas Rangers Swing for your Seats contest]

But I got to see Game 1, the Game 2 grand slam, and that great player and team, all with my mom. And for me, that was better than watching Chicago end an almost century-long championship drought.

It was once said to me that, “Baseball only exists because dads take their sons to games, fill out box sheets, sit, talk, bond and eat peanuts. Nobody ever willingly goes to a baseball game. It’s the most boring sport ever invented. You’re brainwashed into liking it.”

The person who said that was right. Baseball is boring. It does take patience. And it does start with a parent taking their kid to the stadium and teaching them the true appreciation of sport’s most intricate – dare I say perfect — game.

That person just got one part wrong: sometimes Mom does the brainwashing.

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