In this summer of our content, let me share this, a run-on ode of joy:
It is a rare delight to enjoy this
team. The result of a full and successful renovation over the past three years, from stadium, now nicely done up and most surprisingly pretty and hospitable; to manager - Ozzie how do we love thee, you raw, rude, blunt and non-PC piece of s**t, as Ozzie would say, "homo and child abuser" (to paraphrase Ozzie's unfortunate, affectionate greeting before the NY press - would this have gotten him fired if the team were not 30 games above .500? Who knows, but one can only hope he learned something), and abuser of baseball's and statistics' most common wisdom; to on-field team which traded in an awesome offensive lineup for leg-men like Pods, and Cuban pitching castoffs, honored by the SABRmetrics gurus as "Baseball's luckiest team," with good reason - look at the numbers, our growing latinate lovefest, honoring and respecting the diversity that is our country in a happy way; to the marketing of the team which has reveled in its working class desperation and brought back a recognition of its history. We apologize for the swipes at the Cubs, tho we will maintain that chip on our shoulders.
Admirable, quiet and humble stars, such as Buehrle, Garcia, Garland, neither searching for or basking in the light, just responding as needed, and going out to play.
Perhaps it is kizmet, given the choice to honor the history of the team in the in-stadium marketing, that this team most closely resembles those go-gos of '59, the last Chicago team to make it to the series. The historic montage, the films of '59, and the sweet, quaint reprise of that team jingle from way back then ring so right - the ebullient history of our Venezuelan infielders, Minnie Minoso, the joy and showmanship of Bill Veeck, the sad parable of Shoeless Joe - so many stories to honor and recall (note to Bears: bringing back the Super Bowl shuffle for the 20th anniversary will not work the same magic, though it is inevitable and will, sadly, somehow cheapen the memories - still we will love and cherish Sweetness, Buddy and his boys. Note to Hawks: please do bring back the pitiful 60's jingle "Here come the Hawks" - trust me, it can only help. And if you could redecorate the UC to somehow look and feel more like the Stadium, even better. Also, see below, make peace and honor Bobby Hull, really.).
And I have seen Carlton Fisk return to the Park, throw out a ball, honored with a statue, and almost cry- the stony, perfectionist New England immigrant so badly treated he swore he was done with the team for good, finally given his due, forgiving and rejoining the team. This more surprising and certainly more touching than the success of the team.
Success is sweeter, in that it was surely not anticipated, still is not truly acknowledged, and so becomes a savored and surprising treat each day. Bridgeport hums, the park rocks, and if it creates more excuses to visit that Chicago melting pot of a neighborhood, including the high-falutin' architecture of IIT both new and old, so much the better.
How will this story end? The odds are against it ending the amazingly long string of failure for this city and its baseball teams, of course, much as they are against any one team winning three series in a row against other very good teams (to be a statistician for a moment - the odds in any game are never much better, or worse, than 55 to 45, and in the playoffs it is probably more like 52 to 48, a razor-thin difference). But does that matter?
Thank you, White Sox for a delightful season of success, unexpected, executed with grace, and the hope you have delivered. The fact that it has been done without the brute force of the strikeout, the brutishness of what passes for offense, the binary simplicity of the game as it is most often played today, and with all the subplots of reconciliation, recognition, and celebration of history make it sweeter. Whatever comes from here, I promise not to forget this gift.
d
Feeling (south) loopy