An open letter to baseball: South Side edition
An open letter to the Chicago White Sox from a fan in her second season with the team:
Thank you.
Thank you for welcoming me into your community, your Twitter feeds, events, ballpark and fanbase.
Back in 2018, I attended my final game as a Chicago Cubs fan. It was my wedding night, during the Crosstown Cup. I entered Sox Park in my wedding dress and Ryne Sandberg jersey. My husband had a red White Sox shirt under his black button-down shirt — exposing it upon arrival to annoy me. We're rivals with half of our sports teams.
The Cubs won, and Javier Baez hoisted the cup right in front of us because we splurged on good seats in lieu of a wedding reception. I had a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach as I sped down the ramp to join other Cubs fans in an off-key version of "Go Cubs Go." You see, I'm a staunch Democrat, semi-closeted member of the LGBTQ+ community, feminist and domestic violence survivor — all things the Cubs have proven to be against.
Our wedding day. Sept. 22, 2018.
The news about keeping Addison Russell on the team, and how much the owners give to Trump, continued to loom until the noise was deafening. I couldn't be the person I claim to be while supporting this team.
So just like that, I stopped. I collected nearly 30 years worth of shirts and collectibles with the exception of a handful of meaningful items and bagged everything up for a donation. Two bags, full of memories now packed up at the end of my hallway — ready to be dropped off at Goodwill.
I started following Andrew McCutchen to fill the void, and bought a few Phillies shirts while ignoring my husband's subtle attempts to lure me over to the South Side team: For example, all the pictures he took of my kids in Sox hats at their first MLB game.
My kids at their first MLB game back in July 2017. My daughter still enjoys ridiculous poses.
Fast forward to June, and Cutch tore his ACL and was out for the season. I was broken, and ready to quit baseball. I canceled our upcoming hotel reservation for birthday baseball in Pittsburgh against the Phillies, and spent the evening crying after someone bought the tickets.
My birthday rolled around, and our plans of driving out to Rosemont to catch a Chicago Dogs game fizzled because our friends didn't want to get caught in the pending rain. Birthday baseball has always been my thing — the perks of a summer birthday. I looked up tickets on StubHub, and alerted Billy of the good yet cheap seats for the White Sox game coming up within the hour. Our train ride is only three stops, but we managed to get tickets on the 10-minute ride over. I decided that night that the White Sox would be my team and celebrated by buying myself a hat.
After years of trying to sway me, even making a shirt for 26 Shirts that was a reference to our ongoing joke, I finally joined my husband. Our rivalry was down to one sport, basketball. Go Pacers!
Cold and rainy birthday baseball with my husband (and new hat).
Since that night, I've embraced the White Sox as my team. Once my mother-in-law found out, she excitedly rushed to get me a new White Sox shirt to open on my birthday. Her eyes lit up when I opened it and she welcomed me to the fanbase. I look better in black, anyway.
My transition was seamless. I picked my favorite players (José and Yolmer), learned about traditions, old favorites and rewatched the 2005 World Series through a new lens. I bought shirts, scarves, hats and whatever else I could to let the world know what team I claimed, and looked forward to a fun, full 2020 season with my new team.
Then, the world stopped. Baseball ended before it could even really start, and seemed off the table for the rest of the year. I, like most of you, was crushed. I have this team that I enjoyed last year, filled to the brim with young talent and old veterans — and now I can't enjoy them.
Once it was announced that there might be baseball after all, I jumped for joy. You can verify that with my husband, because I interrupted him multiple times, jumping around with my phone because if Jeff Passan tweeted it, it must be true.
As Opening Day approached, I wanted to embrace the feeling of being at Sox Park. I stayed up making pinwheels to tape to my walls, asked Billy to set up the projector and put out a spread of ballpark food including homemade, pan-fried churros. We lost that game, but I didn't care. I had baseball. I had White Sox baseball.
So thank you, Chicago White Sox — you've filled the hole in my heart. I'm glad my husband annoyed me enough throughout the last few years to finally break me down. Thank you, TA, Pito, Yolmer, La Pantera, Eloy, Giolito and McCann, all the new guys — whether you're just coming up to the majors, or veterans like Yasmani or Dallas. Maybe even Nomar. Thank you, Twitter family — your acceptance means the world to me. Thank you to all the podcasts that have turned into a morning routine as I drop my kids off at school (much to my daughter's disapproval). Thank you, Jason and Steve for being the best duo in baseball.
I can't wait to share Soxtober with everyone this year, and many years to come.