FORT MILL When Shane Lindsay is moved, impressed or excited, he yells, "So sick!" He often is moved, impressed and excited.

Lindsay is from Melbourne, Australia. The phrase, however, is not Melbourne's. It's his.

What's so sick is the season he's having.

A relief pitcher for the Charlotte Knights, Lindsay was, going into Wednesday's game against Norfolk, 2-1 with an ERA of 1.51. He pitched 35.2 innings and struck out 41 hitters. He threw 18 straight scoreless innings. Most impressive: Opponents scratched out an average of .107.

As Lindsay ran onto the field last weekend, Charlotte manager Joe McEwing stopped him. You've been picked to play in the Class AAA All-Star Game in Salt Lake City, he said.

"I was pretty happy," says Lindsay, who has never played in an all-star game. "It took a minute to sink in."

Lindsay, 26, came to the United States in 2004. He's seen America. He's pitched for Dust Devils, Tourists and Nuts, played in Pasco, Wash., Modesto, Calif., and Akron, Ohio.

He was always the pitcher with potential. He's 6-foot-1, 205 pounds and linebacker strong. He throws a fastball almost 100 mph and has a sweet knuckle curve.

But he gets hurt. And, occasionally, so do batters who get too close to the plate. If he doesn't know where his fastball is going, imagine how hitters feel.

He played in the minors for three organizations last season - Colorado, the New York Yankees and Cleveland. The White Sox signed him in January, and Charlotte pitching coach Richard Dotson saw that when Lindsay played catch, his motion was fluid and relaxed. But when he threw off the mound, his motion was high and stiff. Dotson asked him if he played cricket.

Lindsay can't stand cricket. He thinks it's boring.

Dotson, once an all-star pitcher with the White Sox, worked on the motion. Throw as if you're playing catch. And Lindsay has, often with his catcher after the batter whiffs.

"It's as effortless a motion as you'll see," Dotson says.

Because Lindsay didn't grow up with baseball, do things get lost in translation? Are there cultural differences?

Dotson spits chewing tobacco onto the grass at Knights Field on Wednesday before the Knights play Norfolk.

"He's got a baseball mentality," Dotson says.

He has an NFL mentality, too. Before Lindsay runs to the mound, he asks a teammate to slap him so hard his eyes water. The designated slapper was Brian Bruney.

Despite this, the White Sox called Bruney up. So Josh Kinney replaced him. Kinney is just as effective, sources say.

Yet there are cultural differences. Back in Melbourne, Lindsay played with and against the same players all the time because there weren't enough to go around. So they knew what to say to get to each other, and they did.

Lindsay talks the same way in Charlotte. Teammates will ask: Did he really say that?

I ask for an example. Lindsay leans against a wall beneath the ballpark and tries to come up with one. Then it occurs to him.

"You won't be able to print it anyway."

True.

Nobody in Australia grows up planning to play baseball. They swim, play soccer, Australian Rules Football, rugby, tennis and, except for Lindsay, cricket. Baseball is a club sport.

Lindsay, however, was introduced to T-ball as part of a program that exposes kids to other cultures. He was 9 or 10, and he fell hard. He slid hard, too. He loved to put on his gear and get dirty.

He also had the arm. They play a game called brandy, tag with a tennis ball. And even when he played with adults he rarely was it for long.

Seven Aussies play in the Major Leagues, and Lindsay wants to make it eight.

The dream doesn't change no matter what part of the world you're from.

Wouldn't it be - altogether now - so sick if he makes it?

"So SICK!" outfield Jordan Danks yells Wednesday.

Danks is trying to sound Aussie. He sounds as if he's from Texas. He's from Texas.

How Australian do your teammates sound?

"Terrible, I reckon," Lindsay says.

The Knights have made the phrase theirs, and they all give it an allegedly Aussie twist. Somebody must be able to pull it off.

I ask for a volunteer.

Thank you, Deunte Heath. I feel good about this. Heath is a pitcher. Pitchers hang together. They listen. They learn.

Heath, who is from Atlanta, stands near the dugout, facing me.

Ready?

Ready.

Go.

"So sick!" Heath yells.

Nice. But could you try it in Australian?

"I did," Heath says.