It's an ominous sign when, only three games into the 2006 campaign, newly appointed Team Captain Paul Konerko tries to distance this year's team from the World beating White Sox of 2005.

He is quoted in the Chicago Sun-Times saying don't expect us to be them.

We might lose every one-run game, was his declaration, after division rival Cleveland nicked the Sox in extra innings the other day.

We might get blown out, he also said, still qualifying for the show of shows, the 2006 World Series.

I don't know about you, but these words aren't very comforting. If Konerko is saying he'd like to be left alone, not be badgered by reporters who are, of course, going to compare last to this year's team, he has to be kidding.

He's in the kitchen, all right, yet the pilot light has hardly been lit this year, and he's saying the scrutiny is already getting too hot.

All Paulie wants to do, it seems, is be left alone to play the game. He's not a communicator—that's clear—he's a ballplayer.

But the second he demanded the big, multi-year contract, and then allowed that "C” to be sewn onto his uniform, he became a reporter's piñata, and they're the ones swinging the bats.

Maybe "C” doesn't stand for Captain or Communicator, but for Chum

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