They say there’s no crying in baseball, but today, for the first time in my life, I couldn’t contain the tears after watching the White Sox suffer another brutal defeat at the hands of the Guardians. As a kid in the Chicago area, baseball, and the White Sox, were my life. From a young age, I was infatuated with the game. When I wasn’t playing it in the backyard with my brother and our friends, I was watching it on TV or playing MVP Baseball 2005 on my GameCube. I studied baseball statistics in my free time, and even simulated full baseball games using a wiffle ball and a small, collectible, wooden bat in the backyard by myself on occasion. I have my dad to thank for my obsession with America’s Pasttime and my die hard White Sox fandom, which I quickly learned was a curse more often than it was a blessing. I saw my share of bad White Sox teams growing up, but as I graduated high school and got into college, it seemed like things might finally be at a turning point. I finished college just as the country shut down for COVID, and got my first taste of postseason baseball in a long time in 2020. With no fans in the stands and the White Sox' poor showing, it wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind, but it felt like just the beginning of the golden era.
In 2021, the White Sox ran away with the AL Central title, and my brother and my dad got to go to ALDS game 3 at home and experience the electric atmosphere of Rate Field. I wanted to go to so badly, but I’d just moved across the country and started a new job, and couldn’t get the time off to make the trip. I said it was okay and promised I’d make sure I could go the following year. Obviously, White Sox fans know what happened. It’s been five years and they haven’t been back.
Coming into the 2026 season, I had very few expectations, but the team just kept winning. Despite their youth and the roster's obvious shortcomings, something about this group seemed different, and the division was wide open for the taking. In the back of my mind, part of me always expected them to fizzle out, but by the time late-August rolled around, I was completely in on the idea that they could actually do this. I started watching flights to Chicago for October. I started putting money aside to buy playoff tickets. I did not anticipate that a team that has found a way to win all year would suddenly forget how to hit a baseball and struggle when it mattered most.
Last weekend, one of my good friends lost his dad suddenly at 61. He was totally fine when we visited town last Sunday and less than a week later, he was gone. My dad also turned 61 this year, and it’s had me reflecting a lot over the past few days. For the last five years, I’ve wanted nothing more than to experience going to a White Sox playoff game with my dad and watching the team that he raised me to love compete on the biggest stage. Each year that passes makes it harder to think I’m ever going to get that chance. To come this close and blow it in a year where it was never expect and blow it would be nothing short of heartbreaking.
There’s a lot of uncertainty about the 2027 season with the lockout coming, and as White Sox fans learned first-hand in 2022, there’s no guarantee that the White Sox will be back here if games are even played. Injuries happen. Underperformance happens. Teams that you expect to be good are sometimes just not. Ask this year’s New York Mets.
Next year isn’t guaranteed for the White Sox, or to any of us, for that matter. And that’s why a collapse in 2026 hurts a little extra for me. The opportunity to experience a lifetime goal of mine and go to a playoff game with my dad was right there. All the White Sox needed to do was continue playing .500 baseball like they’ve done for most of the season, and they’d have a shot. Instead, they’ve faltered when it mattered most.
The White Sox will leave Cleveland in second place, but there’s still time to right the ship. With ten games to play and a favorable schedule, they control their own destiny, but things are moving quickly in the wrong direction. Some of you may call me dramatic, or tell me I’m “not built for 162” or whatever other silly mantra you’ve developed to convince yourself that losing as much as the White Sox have in recent years is normal, and that’s okay. For you, it may be just baseball. But for me, it’s more.
In two weeks, I hope to be on a flight to Chicago and preparing to head to Rate Field to watch a playoff game with the man who taught me how to know and love this beautiful, weird, stupid game. It’s an opportunity that I never expected to have in 2026, but one that would be devastating to lose. I can only hope and pray that I’ll get that opportunity again. Thanks to the White Sox, for me this year, there most certainly is crying in baseball.
Add us as a preferred source on Google