BODY
GO SOX!!!
While I have always been, and will always be, a Tigers fan first and foremost, my eight years in Chicago and six years on the South Side give me a certain amount of cred here: the White Sox are more deserving than any other team in baseball of this title right now. Especially in a town where they share, and all too often cede, the limelight to another team that has consistantly elevated style over substance, whining over pitching and hitting. But my intention here isn’t to belittle the Cubs. They can have their smelly goat curse. The White Sox have done, over and over, a beautiful thing. The tailgate party, for example. Others have berated the setting of Comiskey (it is Comiskey, it will always be Comiskey) for its apparent sterility… after all, we have a big concrete ball park alongside a twelve-lane express way and some housing projects, and most importantly, what is possibly one of the largest parking lots in the world. What to do with all this “sterility”? Fill it with people and grills and Viennas and beer. I still remember when I got watched the Sox trounce another Texas game, then walked three miles home along 35th and then Archer. That’s a beautiful thing.
Moreover, I might find White Sox fans a little scary; they’re almost a little too intense with their fists and glares and surly exhortations… they certainly can’t be accused of a sense-of-humor. But they’ve taught me a lot about devotion… it doesn’t have to be noisy. You can sit in Lawrence Fishery chewing on fried fish and sipping coffee and thinking of baseball all night if you want to.
Last night, Reinhardt, a friend from the program, and I went to a bar in the Village and we watched the game, beginning to end. I didn’t get home until four. It was worth it. Tonight, I’m going to be missing class. I’m going to be watching the White Sox win the World Series.