Sports in the Second City

Two polls today: The Best Bar in Wrigleyville | The Worst Bar in Wrigleyville



I've been thinking a bit lately about Chicago's culture since Saul Bellow died, because Bellow lived in the old Ukranian village, just a few blocks south from where I live. I added this to the fact that Nelson Algren also lived near me, in Bucktown, just a few blocks north. I walked home from dinner the other weekend, past the Algren fountain at the intersection of Milwaukee and Ashland and Division, and I wondered what the streets must have been like 80 or 60 years ago. I never read Bellow, but Algren has influenced me a bit and when you read him you can't help but be more aware of the history and context of Chicago.



(Really, this will be about baseball.)

For example, consider the opening of "How the Devil Came Down Division Street:"

Last Saturday evening there was a great argument in the Polonia Bar. All the biggest drunks on Division were there; trying to decide who the biggest drunk of them was. Symanski said he was, and Oljiec said he was, and Koncel said he was, and Czechowski said he was.

Then Roman Orlov came in and the argument was decided. For Poor Roman has been drunk so long, night and day, that when we remember living men we almost forget Poor Roman, as though he were no longer really among the living at all.

"The devil lives in a double-shot," Roman explains himself obscurely. "I got a great worm inside. Gnaws and gnaws. Every day I drown him and every day he gnaws. Help me drown the worm, fellas."

So I bought Poor Roman a double-shot and asked him frankly how, before he was thirty, he had become the biggest drunk on Division."

When you stop to think about it, there isn't too much to distinguish Chicago among the Great Cities. We do not excel with literature, or with magazines, or with newsprint. We are not known for fashion, or for cuisine, or for art. Our theatres are an afterthought. Our nightclubs are not famous. Our comedians hope to make it somewhere else. Our local music scene is comparably weak, and we do not make many movies. It's not to say that Chicago doesn't do alright with any or all of these cultral arenas at times, but rarely does the second city step into the national -- or international -- spotlight for culture.

Except with sports. The things that distinguish Chicago are its neighborhoods, its bars, and its sports. Many Chicagoans are more patriotic about their neighborhood than they are about the city itself. It's also very much a drinker's town. New York can have its posh lounges and LA can have its glitzy drugged out clubs; Chicagoans usually prefer a good neighborhood bar. Apparently we always have.

It's no accident that Saturday Night Live portrayed us with Bill Swerski's Super Fans. This is a large part of our identity. New York does alright with the Knicks sometimes, but gossips about the Yankees and spits on the Mets, while the Jets & Giants play in New Jersey. Los Angeles treats the Dodgers as the adopted son they are, enjoys the Lakers only when they win, and ignores the Clippers. (Don't even get me started on the Angels.)

Chicago, though, is not like this with sports. Sports is the closest we come to highbrow culture, and we follow it as something natural to us. Sports are ingrained in our culture. Pastors preach short sermons when the Bears kick-off at noon. Even when they are bad the Bulls draw crowds, and for that matter (along with a lot of other factors), I don't think it's a coincidence that the NBA enjoyed a resurgent year this year as the Bulls finally played well, despite the failure of the New York and the two Los Angeles teams to make the playoffs.

That's why the Cubs / White Sox series are so big, because professional sports are so important to us. Sports get our full attention. This is unique in America. Perhaps Boston comes close at times, and also Detroit to an extent, but neither of these cities have a crosstown series. We all come together for the Bears and the Bulls, and when there's hockey the Blackhawks fans are as devoted as they come, but we split for baseball. Add in the fact that loyalty to our baseball teams requires such blind hope due to a century of futility, and every season series takes on even more weight.

All of this is why I cannot understand why I'm supposed to hate the White Sox. I look at the culture of Chicago, and I feel fortunate to have such a rivalry. It's just that rivalries should contain a level of mutual respect. I cannot understand Cubs fans' collective ego and condescension towards the Sox, and I cannot understand the hatred of Sox fans for the Cubs. Or why the fans hate each other.

I grew up in a house that did not require allegiance to one team over another. My dad routinely kept score of both games at home, sometimes even at the same time with TV and the radio. We planned family vacations around ballpark visits, and who was playing was a bit of an afterthought. I have chosen to follow the Cubs, but I sympathize with the Sox.

The thing is, Sox fans have every right to feel a chip on their shoulder. The White Sox are still remembered for the Black Sox scandal, and that has to suck. They play in a neighborhood that has long since dissipated, in a park lacking personality. They have a cantankerous owner, and they struggle for equal media coverage. For them to maintain a loyal following is rather remarkable.

The Cubs, on the other hand, could sell out Wrigley for an outdoor ballet exhibition because Wrigley Field sells itself. The neighborhood has become vibrant again in the last ten years; even in the winter, people from the suburbs and out of town often go out drinking in Wrigleyville because its bars are now so well-known. Add in that the Tribune company owns them, and built up a national following the last few decades with WGN, and one can see that the deck is stacked.

Still, for the most part the White Sox are doing things the right way lately in this era of baseball: they scout and develop players, they sign free agents that fit their needs, and they play hard every day. I don't spend much time following other teams like many of you probably do, but in this I have the impression that the White Sox are similar to the Twins, the Tigers, the Orioles, and the Angels, for all of whom I'm pretty sympathetic. I'll remain sympathetic to these teams as long as they continue to do things the right way. For that matter, I can't understand why anyone wouldn't casually root for these teams if their team plays in the National League. I mean, would you rather cheer for the Yankees, or the Red Sox?

Except of course when they play the Cubs.

I am nothing more than a casual fan of the White Sox, and if they begin operating like the Red Sox or the Yankees I won't feel any loyalty. Still, there's a large measure of pride to sports in Chicago, and with it comes appreciation for other teams' fans if they display the appropriate levels of passion and knowledge. No team is larger than the game, and baseball is a brilliant game, a game in which it has become harder to succeed by doing it the right way. So, how about we enjoy it when the Cubs sweep the series and then wish the White Sox the best until the end of June when they reconvene down on the south side? Let's save our hatred for the Red Sox and Yankees.