There was a point during last night’s broadcast in the fourth inning where our friend Hawk started into a speech about how certain veteran players need to cinch ‘er up and all that, since there’s still lots of baseball left to be played and let’s not forget about those crucial six games against Detroit.

And, briefly, I cringed.

Not because the Sox are out of it (because they are) and not because they’re headed for the basement (because they’re not), but because this Saturday against Kansas City no longer means win a game; this Saturday against Kansas City will mean the arrival of Jake Peavy, Hawk Harrelson Superhero.

Now, bear in mind that Peavy’s past performance in Games That Count hasn’t been the best, and bear in mind also that the White Sox need nothing less than 1991 Game Seven Jack Morris to do the rest of the work for them.

Jake Peavy is not 1991 Game Seven Jack Morris.

Peavy is good, indeed, and Peavy’s sheer force of will brings at least some glimmer of hope to the next few years, and while he may pitch some fine games he will not put the team over the top; no one man does that when a team is down by 5.5 with 17 games to go.

But what I fear is not third (or second!) place, or even an agitated injury. I fear Hawkeroo, hopping about the booth in between screeds against umpires about how the cavalry is here and the rest of the league might as well pack it in and call it a season. Who knows what wacky name Peavy will have bestowed upon himself? Peaverooney? Peaverino? Leave it to Peaver? How many sliders will inspire great speeches on the lost art of not unpitching your way around the guys who can’t un-outhit you? How many times will we hear about Peavy’s laundry list of great, clutch performances that don’t exist?

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If he would either get shelled each time out or dazzle us with that wondrous forkball of his, life with Jose Contreras would be so much easier to take. Sure, one of those situations means we’d have to sit idly by and root for a lousy pitcher, but at least we’d be looking at something more absolute than what life with No. 52 has shaped up to be.

Consider his 2009 run, as reduced to lone-adjective descriptions:

• April 10 vs Twins: Bad.
• April 15 at Tigers: Shellacky.
• April 21 at Orioles: Gross.
• April 26 vs Blue Jays: Commendable.
• May 2 at Rangers: Disastrous.
• May 8 vs Rangers: Identical.
• June 8 vs Tigers: Dominant.
• June 13 at Brewers: Murderous.
• June 19 at Reds: Indifferent.
• June 26 vs Cubs: Inadequate.
• July 1 at Indians: Shaming.
• July 8 vs Indians: Crushing.
• July 19 vs Orioles: Serviceable.
• July 24 at Tigers: Close.
• July 29 at Twins: Short.
• August 4 vs Angels: Abysmal.

You can see he’s capable of greatness. Of course he is, and we knew that. What he’s also capable of are massive reversals of fortunes, most teams really only needing one start anymore until they extract their revenge and the rest of us reduced to helplessly sitting back and asking ourselves every time Contreras’ turn comes up in the rotation that most dreaded question of all: Which One Is Gonna Show Up Tonight?

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