Most fans are aware of both the legend and the reality of Chicago White Sox pitching coach Don Cooper. And we as White Sox fans have committed so much of him to memory, most prominently “Coop’ll fix ’em” and the four straight complete games that polished off the 2005 ALCS.
So recounting his resumé is not the objective here, although I’d be remiss not to at least mention that the dominant 2005 rotation was largely of his making, from tutoring Mark Buehrle on his way up to the majors to creating the force
that was Jon Garland to looking under the hood and tweaking the engines of Orlando Hernández, Freddy García and José Contreras to unleash their bewildering stretch of greatness on baseball’s biggest stage.
During my relatively brief time writing for and covering the White Sox — nearly Cooper’s entire, uncommonly-long 18-year tenure as pitching coach — I rubbed elbows with him, and get to know him a bit. So this is not an obituary, but a remembrance.
Three snapshots really stand out to me when remembering the man, and the first is not a pleasant one.
In Toronto in late May, anticipating soon having six starters to fit into five rotation spots, I’d written that Mark Buehrle could be the White Sox starter to take a short shift in the pen. Not should, but based on a slow start to the season, Buehrle’s consummately-amenable nature, and the fact that any “demotion” to the pen would last a turn or two before inevitable injury struck down one of the six starters, could.
When Coop saw me in the clubhouse, he was mad. Clutching a copy of my feature, he undercut me with defense after defense of Mark, All-Star this and Opening Day starter that. Was Don wrong? Of course not. Was he taking a spec piece probably intended to provide off-day copy by a writer interested in throwing ideas out there to see what stuck and perhaps blinded enough by a 5.12 ERA to miss a 3.88 FIP a bit too seriously? I … think so?
Honestly in the moment I felt both pride that Don was reading me, given that part of the them vs. us nature that pervades a clubhouse is the team pantomime that writers covering the team are not part of the White Sox “us,” nor can they pay enough attention to any one of us as to influence any decision-making. But also, there was bemusement that my feature had gotten him so riled. From there, with the knowledge that the White Sox were acknowledging me as a voice to reckon with, I could be a little more mindful of corralling my wildest ideas — but also take advantage of the existence of a wider communication pipeline that had opened, not just with players but Ozzie Guillén and his staff.
Rewind to 2010, and a trading deadline that saw the White Sox nab Edwin Jackson from the Arizona Diamondbacks, a pitcher everyone and his uncle knew was a key chip to flip to Washington to acquire GM Ken Williams’ most desired target for the second half, Adam Dunn. While the drama surrounding Nats GM Mike Rizzo upping his demands at the last minute and Williams’ colorful disgust over Rizzo’s unprofessionalism, Cooper steered us to another scoop.
The dugout was white-hot with front office disgust and true limbo for Jackson, by then already an MLB journeyman on his way to residence on a record 14 different teams, when Don tapped me and ESPN’s Doug Padilla out from the dugout and onto the infield for an impromptu hype session. With rapture in his eyes, Cooper explained how he knew he could “solve” mechanical issues that were keeping Edwin down in his career (earlier that very summer, EJax had thrown a very wild no-hitter, epitomizing his incredible potential and aggravating reality all in one start). Knowing Coop had already worked his magic with several pitchers on the South Side, both Doug and I came away convinced that the best days of Edwin Jackson were ahead. (And real talk, Jackson’s 30 starts in Chicago from trading deadline 2010 to deadline 2011 were worth 4.2 WAR, by far the best stretch of his 17-year career in the majors.)
But truly, my core memory of Don Cooper was sitting in the visitor’s dugout at Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City, water lapping at our ankles during one of those infamous torrents tearing through the middle of our country. Our conversation had started on the dugout steps, the game already delayed by drizzle, and as the drops pelted more aggressively we chose not to tear off and into the clubhouse or press box, but shift to the bench, and continue talking. I am not certain why that happened; perhaps as I was a relative newcomer to the White Sox beat Don was curious to get to know me, but I don’t think that was the case. It was two guys, just interested in talking for a while.
Recorder off, notepad mostly unscribbled, we had a casual conversation that likely started with me trying to mine Don for “all” of his pitching guru secrets but mostly spun into talk of family (inside the clubhouse and out) and distant career aspirations. Knowing of many pitchers/pitching coaches who successfully managed, as well as his impeccable reputation at the time, I brought up the topic of managing in the majors. Truly, my feeling was that it was only a matter of time, if Don wanted it, before he left Chicago to move into managing at Triple-A or straight into the majors; I was resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be a White Sox coaching lifer. And Don did confirm, in a modest way, that he had considered it, and remained curious to see whether his leadership of arms could extend to stewardship of a full roster.
How interesting it turned out to be that by the end of 2011, his first (and as it turned out, only) managerial opportunity was with the White Sox, after Ozzie Guillén abandoned the team for Miami and right-hand man Joey Cora was then instructed to pack his bags as well. Not once thinking I was going to help spur Don into raising his hand for the interim gig by texting him “now’s your chance” and encouraging him to make sure the White Sox knew he wanted to be considered for the top job in 2012, that was in fact what happened.
Of course, Don’s response to that text, well remembering the encouragement I’d given him to aim higher during our damp dugout discussion months earlier: “Who is this?”
Always joking, always keeping it loyal, always keeping those outside of the 25 in the clubhouse on their toes.
Baseball, and especially those who were lucky enough to experience the sport through your eyes and words, will miss you, Don.
