Fandom

Yes, I was one of those kids who’d lay in bed at night with a transistor radio smashed against my ear, listening to the White Sox and Senators; that Bob Elson didn’t put me to sleep should have been a warning of the insomnia to come.  The transistor was especially busy the summer of 1967, when the all-pitch, no-hit Sox made a run for the pennant that fell short the last five days of the season.

I’ve gotten better since then.  I try not to watch West Coast games that will only interfere with my sleep, and I no longer curse God for not letting the White Sox win (see 1967, above).  But I did catch myself this morning thinking, Two out of three is all I ask, against the Cubs at Wrigley this weekend.

Clare picked up her fandom from me, down to its rabid dimensions; the girl could get into a fight over who has the better shortstop, I swear.  Part of it is my fault, yes, but I also think some of this craziness is in the water.  Chicago is a town nuts about sports.  Other cities may live and die with a team or two, but not for so many the way Chicagoans do.

Part of it is our shared blue-collar roots; we had ancestors who dreamed of playing on a field instead toiling in a factory.  The dream if not the jobs were passed on.  You can especially see this with White Sox fans.  Outside the Cell, we’re so many professionals in a workday world, but, buy a ticket to a ballgame, and it’s a convention of union pipefitters, Local 5.  The same is probably true of the Bears and Blackhawks.  The Bull used to be a blue-collar team in the days of Sloan and Van Lier, but they’re the one team in Chicago now that’s all state-of-the-art marketing.  The Cubs I’ll give a pass to.

And what of New York fans?  Never have so many grown so entitled over the success of so few, viz., the Yankees.  I get a particular kick out of Knicks fans, who think the game was invented by coach Red Holzman in the early ’70s.  Wow, two NBA titles.  Red, meet Michael.