For the starting pitcher, there is always the opportunity for a win. For the closer, there is the save. For the pitcher in the middle, the so-called long man, there is anonymity.
They now have a “hold,” Donn Pall said.
And what is a hold?
“It’s when you come into a game in a save situation and when you leave the game the save situation is still there.”
How many holds do you have?
“I don’t know. There isn’t much publicity about it.”
That helps explain why Pall, a Chicago native in his fourth full season with the White Sox, has been the forgotten man, an unsung hero who is summoned in midgame, or earlier, but seldom gets top billing. He has been in 28 games this season and has the lowest earned-run average on the Sox staff, but he only has two victories and one save.
“I’m not a numbers man,” Pall insisted. “To me, a lot of stats are misleading.”
Nonetheless, there is a set of numbers that is an accurate index of a pitcher’s effectiveness. Branch Rickey, a widely heralded diamond pioneer, always insisted his primary criteria was baserunners allowed against innings pitched. Only one baserunner per inning, Rickey said, was superior.
Very few pitchers, including most Cy Young award winners, have been equal to Rickey’s test.
Pall is remarkably close: 55 baserunners in 50 innings.
“Now, that’s impressive,” Sox manager Gene Lamont said.
Pall is aware that middle relief is not a glamor role.
“The only time a middle reliever makes the ESPN highlights,” Pall acknowledged, “is when he gives up a blast.”
Pall laughed.
“My family and friends don’t like to see me on TV. They cringe when they hear my name.”
It is the opposite with his teammates.
“We know how important he is for us,” shortstop Ozzie Guillen said. “He doesn’t say much, but we all know he’s very valuable to our club.”
According to pitching coach Jackie Brown, Pall is baseball’s Gary Cooper.
“Once in a great while he might give you a `Yup,’ ” Brown said. “He’s very quiet. When he comes into a game, he knows what he has to do. He has to throw strikes.”
Control is Pall’s forte, which is somewhat surprising because his two principal pitches are breaking balls: the split-finger and the forkball.
“I’ve caught a lot of guys who throw the split,” catcher Mike Lavalliere said. “But he’s different. He’ll throw it with the bases loaded and a 2-0 count.”
Pall seldom gets behind on the count. He tries to get the batters to swing at his first or second pitch. He understands what all good pitchers know: The danger always increases deep in the count because the batter, having seen five or six pitches, is better able to adjust his timing.
On the mound, Pall is unflappable, all business.
“I’m not thinking about who’s at bat, what the inning is or what the score is,” he said. “None of that really matters. I throw the same if we’re winning 10-0 or winning 2-0. I don’t want to relax because we’ve got a big lead.”
But before the game Pall is all smiles, the friendliest of fellows. He usually spends a half hour, sometimes longer, signing autographs.
“Some of the guys in the bullpen kid me about it,” Pall said. “They call me the mayor. They tell me I sign a lot of autographs because someday I’m going to be running for public office.”
Not true, Pall insisted.
“This is my hometown, and I know a lot of people here. I grew up on the South Side, in Evergreen Park. A lot of my boyhood pals come to the ballpark and bring their kids. I know a lot of fans. I used to be one myself.”
Most professional ballplayers don’t like playing in their hometown. There are obvious disadvantages: ticket requests, an inordinate amount of public appearances, annoyances from so-called friends when the team is doing poorly.
Pall has an opposite view. “I love it here,” he said. “To me, there could be no bigger thrill than pitching in a World Series for your hometown team.”
