An Outsider's Salute In Triplet Paragraphs

There are times when baseball is metaphysical and mythical, as forces greater than mere physics propel teams to victory against all odds when their back is against the wall. There are also times when a team simply stampedes its way to victory after victory by playing superior baseball. This was one of the latter.

In November of 2002, Dusty asked, “Why not us?” and the Cubs did their best to make it their rallying cry that next season. The Red Sox picked up the cry in 2004, and saw it all the way through. This year, the White Sox answered, “Why do we have to ask?”

Having to ask the question is part of the problem. Don’t ask. Just win.

I’ll say this: the White Sox players and fans never had that when-is-it-going-to-fall-apart air of doubt about them. The Red Sox players and fans did, and yet they still managed to (finally) win. The Cubs players and fans for the most part did not doubt, but they also lost, so now, next time, who knows?

In 2003, there were three longsuffering teams. Two seasons later there is one, and when we strip away everything else, that is what remains. All of us in Cubs nation must now face the reality that it’s going to be lonely at the bottom of the pit of suffering for at least one season, heaven forbid longer.

Such a long season, feeling longer than most, ending so abruptly. Tomorrow I will wake up and go for a run, and then return to my apartment to write, but the pageant that always sits in the back of my mind is ended for now, and the Southsiders are queen. I, for one, tip my cap in admiration as I prepare myself stolidly for the offseason.

Joe Buck finally gave us a good call, listing the South Side neighborhoods, the ones that most North Siders wouldn’t recognize. I wonder if there were people above Madison Street listening, wondering if he was talking about their city as the unfamiliar names rolled past... Bridgeport, Beverly, McKinley Park, Armour Square, Kenwood... neighborhoods where my grandfather and his brothers and cousins lived in another era, which I will never know as they did. Then, as Uribe zipped one across the diamond to beat Palmeiro by a sixteenth of a step, Joe Buck said it: “Second Team in the Second City no longer.”

In an instant, Jerry Reinsdorf was forgiven. I had to work to remind myself why so many Sox fans used to hate him, during and after the strike of 1994. I have to say, in the trophy ceremony, he was downright sympathetic as the figurehead of a family.

Then there was Jimbo’s. There was Steve Lyons at the party, giving voice first to history and the bond of teammates this White Sox team exemplified, and then giving voice to the present: “I need a drink.” There are not nearly as many places to drink down there by 33rd and Wells as there are up north, but more power to them, as I hope they can receive my salute graciously.

So that, as they say, is that. It will be Halloween and then Thanksgiving and then Christmas, and before we know it pitchers and catchers will report and by that point our lives will all be different. It’s only 4 months, but that’s always more than enough.

It’s not how these things go, but it’s how they went. It’s not how these things have ever gone, but it’s how they went. And I must say, it’s a strange feeling as I finish this and step outside to take a deep breath and look out at the sky, where the crescent moon will not rise for a few more hours.