Let me preface this by saying I am not one of those White Sox fans that thrives on hating the Cubs more than actually being a White Sox fan. I don’t know what complex a certain segment of White Sox Nation has, but I’m not that guy. However, I did do something rather embarrassing prior to the 2016 season, something that was inspired by unconditional White Sox love. I betrayed my core fan values and for that I’ve said my 10 Hail Marys and moved on to putting my focus where it belongs-on my team.
In the offseason leading to the 2016 season, I was just sick and tired of the media holding the Cubs’ jock. It got tedious and obsequious and repetitive. All the Cubs young players seemed to gel at the same time, something I don’t ever recall seeing in 40 years of religiously watching baseball. And with that success, even despite the butt kicking the Mets gave them in the 2015 NLCS, the media fixated on the Cubs and their supposed future domination from 2016 to God knows when. Rizzo, Bryant, Russell, Fowler, Arrieta, et al. ad nauseam. They hadn’t won anything with this group yet, not even a Central Division title (that belonged to the Cardinals). You know where I’m going with this.
The Sox were the abandoned dirty mutt, again. Forgotten by the town scribes almost completely, like they didn’t exist. So for a brief, caffeine and rage induced moment, I became the Sox fan I didn’t think I was. I became a hater.
In 1781 adrenaline induced words, typing faster than the most accomplished courtroom stenographer, I detailed the 2016 Cubs demise in what I would subsequently title The 2016 Anti-Cubs Manifesto (copyright pending). Ted Kaczynski may have sounded a little saner in his manifesto, but that’s beside the point.
It was stream of consciousness vitriol mixed with data, mixed with intuition, mixed with bitterness, mixed with jealousy, mixed with history, mixed with sense that probably couldn’t be considered ‘common’. I went through a complete, albeit temporary, metamorphosis. In thought, yet not in actual deed, I was the goof that wears the I Hate The Cubs shirt to a White Sox game. That’s not me. I’m a devout White Sox fan, not the tool that wears the faded, hole pocked Corked shirt (demeaning former Cub Sammy Sosa) to a Sox-Indians game.
Ultimately, I pounded my chest and predicted in 2016 the Cubs would lose to the Mets in the National League wild card play in game 5 to nothing.
So, that’s it. Never again will I so fervently and feverishly worry about the successes, accolades, and non-existent deficits of another team. I’ve learned my lesson. My attention is best spent on my abandoned dirty mutt on the south side. He’s mangy and tough to look at now, but he’s going to clean up well. By 2020, he’ll be king.
Interested in The 2016 Anti-Cubs Manifesto? Send me 75 cents and I’ll mail you a copy. A great stocking stuffer for the Cubs hater in your life…also works as kindling.
Next: The rebuild road map, from trading Zack Duke for Charlie Tilson to trading international bonus pool money for Thyago Vieira.