NO SHOULDER TO LEAN ON
Since having surgery in ’12, Danks has been long on effort, short on results
When Austin Jackson’s well-struck fly ball landed in outfielder Craig Gentry’s glove five feet short of the left-field fence in the ninth inning Thursday at U.S. Cellular Field, the Los Angeles Angels had a 3-2 victory, John Danks had an 0-3 record and skeptics had further reason to believe the No. 5 starter is what stands between the White Sox and substantial progress this season.
‘‘It’s getting there,’’ Danks said after Mike Trout’s 414-foot home run spoiled the most credible outing of his three this season. ‘‘I’ve got a long ways to go, but it’s getting there.’’
Starting pitching is such a prized commodity that some teams spend like oil sheiks to assemble a rotation. A No. 5 starter at $16 million would be a luxury even for the big-market elites, but a No. 5 starter isn’t what the Sox envisioned when they signed Danks to a five-year, $65 million extension in 2012.
He was 27, he had gone 40-31 from 2008 to 2010 and he had demonstrated Mark Buehrle-like durability, making every start and averaging 203 innings in those three seasons.
But Danks’ left shoulder was shot. It required a complete rebuild in 2012, and the 93 mph fastball he could turn to in times of trouble vanished during the procedure. Danks had a 57-60 record in the big leagues before his surgery; he’s 22-43 since. He’s learning to pitch on guts and guile, and it takes time.
‘‘Not everybody can be Chris Sale,’’ catcher Alex Avila said. ‘‘John battled his ass off. He’s 88, 89 [mph] instead of 92, 93. But if he can command the lower half of the strike zone, he’ll get people out.’’
Danks also is learning, as Mark Prior, Derrick Rose and other starcrossed Chicago athletes learned before him, that a big contract carries no assurance of good health, despite widespread belief among the fandom that it should.
While elbow reconstruction — Tommy John surgery — has become commonplace among pitchers, shoulder injuries remain problematic.
‘‘I didn’t know what to expect,’’ Danks said. ‘‘Johan Santana is the only other pitcher who had what I had.’’
Santana, a two-time Cy Young Award winner, hasn’t pitched in the big leagues since 2012.
Danks is the longest-tenured Sox player, acquired from the Texas Rangers for Brandon McCarthy in 2006. While a certain pocket of ethnic Chicago probably still believes Brandon Patrick McCarthy would have been a star on the South Side, Danks has outperformed the well-traveled, oft-injured journeyman.
But he’s not Buehrle, even if the Sox front office created the impression he would be by lavishing big money on Danks the same year it allowed Buehrle to depart as a free agent. Replacing a franchise fixture is hard enough. Doing so with a shot left shoulder is nearly impossible.
Danks loved being Buehrle’s teammate and learned from him. But he could no more will himself to be Buehrle than he could will himself to be Frank Thomas.
The 161 victories with the Sox, the perfect game, the Game 3 save in the 2005 World Series, the cool professionalism — Buehrle was beloved here.
That hasn’t been the case with Danks, though he had a moment to savor in 2008, pitching two-hit ball for eight scoreless innings as the Sox beat the Minnesota Twins 1-0 in the play-in game that sent them to the postseason. His 5-3 victory against Joe Maddon’s Tampa Bay Rays in Game 3 of the American League Division Series was their last in the playoffs.
That’s ancient, long-forgotten history, judging by the grousing that now greets each Danks start.
‘‘Baseball is what have you done for me lately, and I understand that,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ve been treated very well here. The times I’ve been booed, I deserved it. I’d probably boo myself.’’
He insists he’s not distracted by the lawsuit brought by a friend who suffered crippling injuries in a fall at Danks’ condo after a night of revelry in 2010.
‘‘I’m aware of it because I’m involved,’’ Danks said. ‘‘But once I walk through the clubhouse door, I’m here to work and it’s all business.’’
A lack of results isn’t synonymous with a lack of effort, as anyone who has watched Danks sweat buckets through a warmweather start might attest. But big money is synonymous with big expectations, rebuilt shoulders be damned.
‘‘Nobody wants to stink,’’ Danks said. ‘‘Nobody wants to embarrass himself. We’re all trying. If I don’t get the results I wanted, it’s not because I didn’t put the work in. I know I did that. I’ll always do that.’’