My brief fascination with the '77 "South Side Hitmen" aside, I didn't follow the White Sox much in the 1970s. Much as I appreciate the whole Bill Veeck circus now for what it was, it all seemed a little too absurd to wrap my extremely literal adolescent mind around at the time. The old-timey "tunic" uniforms? The shorts? Minnie Minoso coming out of retirement to pinch hit? I just didn't get it.
However, the brief emergence of Harry Chappas as a potential White Sox starting shortstop filled me with more joy than I can even express. You see, Chappas was billed as standing only five feet, three inches tall; he'd later claim that he was closer to 5'7", but that Veeck made him knock a few inches off to make him seem even shorter than the Royals' Freddie Patek, who was the majors' shortest player at 5'4". But in any case, as a diehard baseball fan who came from fairly diminutive folks on both sides of my family, guys like Chappas and Patek gave me hope that I still had a shot at making the bigs. (Of course, not being blessed with anything approaching Patek's speed, I barely made it out of little league, despite eventually growing to a towering 5'8". But that's another tale for another time...)
Unlike Patek, Chappas never tasted post-season glory, nor even saw that much playing time — he was out of the majors by 1981, having hit .245 in 209 plate appearances across three seasons. But let's give a Big Hair tip of the Monsanto Toupeé to Harry, just the same,
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