Don Cooper’s White Sox tenure was measured in more than pitching meetings, mound visits and October trophies. The longtime pitching coach, who died at 70, left behind a clubhouse full of former players who remembered a direct voice, a quick joke and a coach who treated their lives beyond the foul lines as seriously as their fastballs.
| Cooper’s White Sox record | Figure |
|---|---|
| First day as pitching coach | July 22, 2002 |
| Final season with Chicago | 2020 |
| Age at death | 70 |
| 2005 ALCS result | White Sox won, 4-1 |
| Consecutive complete games in that series | 4 |
| 2005 World Series | White Sox swept Astros |
Jose Contreras was still getting acquainted with the White Sox when the Yankees dealt him to Chicago at the 2004 Trade Deadline. He knew manager Ozzie Guillen, but he had no idea what awaited him with Cooper.
The uncertainty did not last long. Contreras recalled Cooper greeting him with a hug and speaking some Spanish, an immediate sign that the new pitching coach wanted to connect. For the Cuban right-hander, it was exactly the welcome he needed.
Contreras said the news of Cooper’s death Wednesday landed like the loss of someone in his own family. Baseball, he said, often makes outsiders think every conversation centers on the game. Cooper was different. He helped Contreras away from the park and took an interest in his family as well.
A coach who made pitchers believe
Cooper built an unmistakable identity over nearly two decades on the Chicago staff. His methods could be old-school, but they were strictly his own, delivered in a rapid-fire Northeast manner that players and staff came to know well.
Paul Konerko remembered Cooper as a man who could lift a player’s confidence simply by making him believe in himself. That, Konerko said, was one of his greatest gifts: he could talk a pitcher into seeing his own ability.
Steve Stone, a longtime friend of Cooper’s during their overlapping White Sox years, said Cooper communicated in a style nobody else could duplicate. It may not always have looked conventional, Stone said, but Cooper made sure his message got through.
His protectiveness was just as memorable. Cooper could praise a pitcher, challenge him or get on him when necessary, but his pitchers belonged to his circle. Outside criticism was another matter.
That edge surfaced in media sessions, too. When asked once about John Danks’ recovery from shoulder surgery, Cooper answered with a blunt, colorful assessment that the left-hander was doing remarkably well considering the hardware placed in his shoulder. The cleaned-up version hardly captured the full Cooper delivery.
The October standard
Cooper’s most enduring baseball accomplishment came in 2005, when Chicago’s pitching powered a championship run. The White Sox threw four consecutive complete games against the Angels during a five-game American League Championship Series victory, then swept Houston in the World Series.
But the people around him did not limit his legacy to that October. White Sox general manager Chris Getz had known Cooper as both a player and a front-office executive. Getz said Cooper cared deeply for players as people, improved countless pitchers and fit the hard-nosed personality of the organization and its fans.
Getz recalled making a costly error in a loss to the Cubs and finding Cooper among the first people to approach him afterward. The message was simple: let it go, return the next day and keep working.
Contreras continued talking with Cooper long after his White Sox days, including conversations about his son Joseph, a pitcher at Vanderbilt. Cooper’s advice was to let the young pitcher work, use his entire arsenal and not dwell on a rough result.
Contreras tried to imitate Cooper’s distinctive voice while recalling those talks, then laughed before the weight of the moment returned. His final thought was short: it was unbelievable, and deeply sad.
Genuine in every setting
John Ely only spent time with Cooper during Spring Training call-up work, yet the impression stayed with him. Ely said Cooper’s larger-than-life presence never felt manufactured. He was the same character in conversation as he was on the field: sincere, demanding, entertaining and never interested in nonsense.
Konerko remembered the give-and-take. Cooper could dish out plenty, but he could absorb it, too, and enjoyed the back-and-forth as much as anyone in the room.
That was the Cooper people carried with them Wednesday: the pitching coach who helped make White Sox history, the loyal defender of his staff, and the man who could make a player feel better after a bad inning, a bad game or a difficult day.
