Take the Ryan, Exit at 95th

Michele and I went to a St. Patrick’s Day party on the South Side in Morgan Park, which doesn’t sound out of the ordinary until you get a load of my last name and I tell you a few stories about my dad. Let’s just say he wasn’t a fan. But a good time was had by all. We took 95th Street west to Harlem on our way home, through the heart of White Sox country. The number of Sox signs and hats and jerseys on display would make you think we were a only few blocks from Guaranteed Ratre Whatever. And I got to wondering. When was the last time anyone from the Sox travelled 95th Street to gauge the mood of Sox fans? Who in the organization would even know how to get there? When the team vice president in charge of looking out the window let play-by-play announcer Jason Benetti walk, the message was loud and clear—people like him, a South Sider born and bred, don’t matter. The same goes for all those folks I saw wearing the colors. I have a feeling they’re going to be returning the disdain Jerry Reinsdorf on down has shown them since forever, and then some. Play ball.