Obama And A Baseball Fan's Loyalties

At the Commander-In-Chief Ball following his inauguration, President Obama interviewed Chicago soldiers based in Afghanistan via satellite. He was clearly proud of these men and women serving their country and especially so that they were from Chicago.

My own interest was piqued when he began asking each of them about their favorite Chicago baseball team: "Cubs or Sox?" he asked them. He was caught off guard, however, when only one of the eight indicated she was a White Sox fan. His banter showed us how well he interacts with common folk, including the men and women in uniform. He also appeared, though, a bit disappointed in their baseball loyalties.

As a former White Sox fan, I've been following Obama's passion with considerable interest. I grew up in northern Indiana and during my childhood, each and every day, I followed my South Side heroes. It didn't matter that they regularly came up short every summer against the New York Yankees. I gave my loyalty to my team, the White Sox.

I remember driving the 100 miles to Chicago from Elkhart to attend my first baseball game at the age of seven. The radio announced the death of Marilyn Monroe as my father drove the Indiana Toll Road towards Comiskey Park. I had no idea who she was and didn't really care because we were going to see the White Sox play! Dad got off the Dan Ryan expressway at 35th Street and there we were, in front of the biggest stadium I'd ever imagined.

Dad bought two tickets from a hawker in front of the entrance and we went in and headed to our spots in the 300 section down the first base line. I could hardly contain my excitement as we slipped into our seats. If I could create a more boring, difficult first game for a child, though, it would be hard to do so.

The sight line was simply horrible. As a seven-year-old, I could barely see over the head of the guy in front of me. And, since it was the old Comiskey Park, I had this big steel beam between me and the pitcher's mound.

As was common back in the 60's, people were smoking throughout the stadium -- cigars and cigarettes seemed to be the smokes of choice. Right next to me there was a man who chained smoked through the entire game. The stench was horrible. I'd never seen anyone smoke so much! I didn't say anything to Dad, since he was so good to take me to the game in the first place.

For the seventh inning stretch, Dad took me to the restroom, where I stood along side hundreds of men at a trough urinal. They created streams of pee that flowed to the drains situated every four to six feet along the floor. As I watched this method of manly relief, a boy of about fifteen pushed through the crowd and immediately threw up into the stream of urine. It didn't splash me, but like the others standing in the vicinity, I ran away from the mess.

The game itself was, how shall I say, boring. It was a pitcher's duel. I wanted to see home runs and fireworks. Instead, I got Whitely Ford and Juan Pizarro, inning after inning, mowing down the hitters. The Yankees ended up winning 1-0. For a boy of seven, it was a real yawner.

I slept next to my dad in the front seat of the car all the way home, never waking up even when my he carried me up to bed. Through the rest of that summer and future baseball seasons, as well, we watched the White Sox on WGN TV and listened to them on WGN radio as often as possible. Of course, there was no cable back then. So, we had to suffer through the shadowy, snowy, static-filled night time broadcasts. I didn't care, though, since I could follow my heroes: lefties Pizarro and Gary Peters, first baseman Tommy McCraw and third baseman Pete Ward.

Each morning I'd read the Chicago Tribune sports section to re-read the play-by-play from two days before. Night games finished too late to be published in the Indiana edition. Nonetheless, I read each article, followed the standings and calculated each player's batting average.

Honestly, I knew the Cubs existed, but it wasn't until years later that I followed them the way I did the White Sox. However, once I visited Wrigley Field, it was hard to go back to the old Comiskey. The grass, the ivy and the wind blowing out gave a Chicago fan all he could ask for. I once attended a double header at Wrigley when there were twelve homers hit. The guys behind us bought themselves a round of beers with each Cub homer. Man were they sloshed by the time the games were over!

A lot has changed since my childhood baseball days. Back then, the American and National Leagues had ten teams, and the champion of each made it to the World Series. Now each has three divisions, plus a wildcard, and playoffs to make it to the Series. Of course, money drives this system. I support it, but it is one change that indicates how the bottom line drives the game.

The search for justice led Curt Flood to sacrifice his career in opposition to Major Leagues reserve clause. Free agency followed and players were free to sign contracts with whomever they wished. I am, also, a supporter of free agency, but I have found my concept of loyalty has changed from a player to a team focus. In my adulthood I have been forced to accept that the business, not the heart, is the controlling factor in baseball.

My own children are both out on their own now, developing their own adult, professional lives. Like my cozy memories of going to games with my dad, I hope they hold similar feelings for the times we went to games at our city's venue, Philadelphia's old Veterans Stadium.

I'm no longer a White Sox fan, nor a Cubs fan for that matter. Having lived in Philadelphia for almost thirty years, I'm completely, full-throatedly a Phillies fan. I wasn't able to go to any of the games at Citizens Bank Park this past October, but I was sure to ring the cowbells in the celebration when the Fightin' Phils finished off the Tampa Bay Rays. I cheered until hoarse, all the while standing alone in my living room.

Along with millions of other Philadelphians, I have been too often disappointed, but this past year, the Phillies turned my hurt into joy with their first World Series championship since 1980.

Go Phillies!!

Uh-humm. Sorry to disappoint, Mr. President.