White Sox collapse finally forces front office to consider its own mortality

My first sports editor had a rule about keeping quotes out of ledes unless we had Jesus announcing His return. There's nothing wrong with the device in the right hands, but college students were unlikely to have those hands. He had similar restrictions on sports slang and jargon, and the constraints were intended to direct our attention to how we delivered the relevant information. Any kind of literary, stylistic flourishes could be added during the editing process once the structure was deemed sound.

I'm tempted to not transcribe any Rick Hahn quote that doesn't involve his dismissal, because they're more likely to obscure than serve. When he isn't restating the premise of a question to avoid giving an answer, he's repackaging quotes that he previously used in a different setting.

Problem is, Hahn's (dis)comfort is really the only story right now. The White Sox are not only 7-19, but a horrendous, soul-shattering 7-19. The anger and anguish in The Berto Rant even caught the attention of the non-partisan, we're-just-here-to-have-fun baseball accounts ...

… and a sports radio caller's diatribe may mark the organization's peak relevancy this season.

This was supposed to be the cresting of contention for the original (second) rebuild, yet the team looks worse than the editions of the White Sox that were built to lose on purpose. Even more damning? It makes perfect sense how they got here. This isn't an on-paper juggernaut experiencing stunning, collective failure. FanGraphs and Baseball Prospectus projected losing records and third-place finishes.

Sure, the players have performed pathetically and Pedro Grifol has provided zero reasons to invest emotion in him, but the triumvirate of Hahn, Kenny Williams and Jerry Reinsdorf built the flimsiest of houses, and mild hardships have rendered it a second-division club in a second-division division. The record surprises, but it doesn't shock. With each passing day, it numbs.

There is no defense whatsoever for retaining Hahn and Williams, not when James Click is working below his pay grade and wearing a World Series ring Jim Crane took for granted. I would say this has been true for years, but it's so abundantly clear now that Hahn must be asked about it, and while the answers don't exactly satisfy, the acknowledgment of the dynamic is newsworthy enough for now.

“I think that makes it clear that my job is potentially on the line,” he said. “But I want to make something abundantly clear: I’m not a king. I don’t sit in this chair by divine birthright. It’s an absolute privilege to be general manager of the White Sox, one that I need to continue to earn. It’s pro sports. These things eventually come to an end.”

You can tear into the answers if you want. Hahn assumes facts not in evidence when he uses the phrase "continue to earn," and he undermined his point about "divine birthright" by acknowledging that the White Sox have maintained their front-office hierarchy for 20-odd years, with success a secondary concern.

But to engage Hahn or Williams on the merits of their arguments risks giving the impression that they have the standing to present the argument in the first place. They don't. There's nothing here anymore. Their biggest victory of the season is a dismissed lawsuit.

As much as Hahn has liked to comfort himself by pretending that fans want to be unhappy, there's no joy here. This has the feelings of an intervention because Reinsdorf refuses to respect the natural life cycle of a general manager.

A new GM is usually brought in to solve a task at hand. Maybe they're executing a rebuild, maybe they're trying to jump-start a stalled franchise, or, in the luckiest of scenarios, they're brought in to continue the success established by a predecessor. They usually get four or five years to accomplish the initial vision, and if they succeed, they're further tested by whether they can evolve to meet demands they weren't specifically prepared and hired for.

Most struggle with the second part, even the good ones. Theo Epstein hit walls with Boston and the Cubs. Dave Dombrowski was fired by both the Tigers and Red Sox. They're both future Hall of Famers, and their dismissals didn't tarnish their reputations one bit. A 10-year run in one place is a triumph, and one that is likely be remembered fondly once scars heal.

Williams succeeded in the original task at hand when he was hired in 2001. The White Sox won the World Series in 2005, and regardless of how lucky it seems now, it's an accomplishment that can't be taken away. It earned him another term, and that's when the cracks started to show.

At that point, many teams would've let Williams go, and maybe Williams did kinda do that when he handed the day-to-day operations over to Hahn, who by all accounts had earned a shot to run a team. Alas, Hahn failed in fulfilling what he set out to construct with his initial blueprints, and he should've been replaced when his first attempt at rebuilding imploded in 2016, like the Phillies did with Matt Klentak in 2020 after his five-year plan foundered. This is how normal, ambitious teams operate, filing it under "It Was Worth A Shot" and moving on.

Instead, Hahn remained, and so did Williams for that matter, speaking whenever he feels like it. They're now those 20-odd years into a partnership with no postseason series wins in their last 17, and only one winning 162-game season since 2012. They shouldn't be around anymore, in this front office, in this order. Any order.

It feels mean to say it, but it also feels mean to not say it. The whole environment is downright morbid, because we're basically discussing how quality of life has deteriorated and staring at the plug. It's ironic, isn't it? An organization that's lousy with lawyers, but nobody has power of attorney.