Normally, I don’t wear White Sox apparel around my neighborhood because I worry it’s not safe. It’s unlikely my dorky ass will be mistaken for a member of the gang that uses the Sox logo, but I figure safe > sorry. Now, in addition to not wanting to accidentally represent as a gangster, I don’t want to wear White Sox gear because it’s fucking embarrassing.
What’s the proper course of action when your team sucks ass?
In the early days of this season’s suckitude, I’d tune into each game with an inexplicably renewed sense of hope. I’d feel pretty good about things and the White Sox would end up ahead until their bullpen completely tanked and lost the game. After that, I’d tune into games with a guarded prognosis, feeling like there was some chance of things maybe, possibly turning out okay until the Sox scored zero runs and the other team scored one or more and I realized this was futile because we needed at least a 97-run lead before turning things over to the bullpen. We (I apologize for being one of those assholes who sometimes refers to my team as “we.” I know this drives people nuts and I understand that but I kind of have to do it anyway, at least once in a while. Cut me some slack. We’re 11-21. The fact that I’m willing to associate myself with 11-21 by referring to “we” should count for something.) never had a 97-run lead.
Eventually I tuned in sporadically, which included watching and listening to (I tend to listen to the radio broadcast at the gym, because the video always craps out on me) us win the first two games of a four-game series with the Yankees. Do you know what I love more than beating (I know, as if I have anything to do with that) the Yankees? My kid. Beer. Not much else. Then we lost two to the Yankees and even though we split the series, losing the last two goes a long way toward killing off the buzz we got from winning the first two.
After that, my memory is hazy, but I think we never won another game. (No wait, we won one, against the Orioles.) We were no-hit by a guy with a 9+ ERA who had never even pitched a complete game in his life even in little league when he played against kids half his age. The next day, we were no-hit by Jose Mesa. Okay, that part is a joke, but still. I had to read tweets about how Francisco Liriano isn’t really a keeper in fantasy leagues because, well, he’s not that good and it was the White Sox.
Any time anyone and it wases your team, you know you’re fucked.
So what do you do? You still wear your hat and shirt, maybe, but only to the gym. It’s not like we’re going to break up over this shit. I mean, if we were married, this level of sheer crappy behavior and your complete and utter disregard of my feelings and desires might warrant divorce or at the very least tedious counseling or a formal separation agreement, but we’re not married. You’re just my team. You’ve technically never made any promises to me. I mean, I could stop being your fan right now and you’d never even notice. Fuck, that’s depressing. You’d notice, wouldn’t you?
Then you have shit like this tweet from Brent Lillibridge. Look. I’m not going to hate on Brent Lillibridge. He kind of has more cojones than the rest of the guys put together this year. He made two batshit crazy catches that helped the Sox beat the Yankees. Twitter blew up with Yankees fans talking about how Lillibridge just fucked the tri-state area. It was glorious. Although he’s a dorky, teapot-looking kid, you kind of love Brent Lillibridge.
Then he tweeted this:
That was a test to all #whitesox fans. Most of you passed. Great positivity, love it, we feel the same way. Back at it 15 hours 9:26 PM May 3rd
Wait, what? That shit just pisses me right off. You completely sucking ass is not a test to me or anyone else unfortunate enough to like your sorry-ass team. And if it were a test, I’d gladly fail. What would my punishment be? Liking a shitty team? Oh wait.
Listen. There is no positivity. If you feel the same way your fans do, you’re spending the night gripped in the clutches of insomnia to the point where no matter how many times you move you can’t get comfortable and the sheets and pillow are all hot and stale feeling, staring at your ceiling, wondering what Nietzsche would say about the existential dilemma as reflected in your displaced love of someone incapable of bringing a shred of joy into your life. What would Nietzsche say about the 2011 White Sox? I think he would say this:
The White Sox are dead.
You suck. You don’t get to piss me off right now. So shut up. If you’re feeling positive about anything more sophisticated than your ability to use a toilet more often than not, you need to put down the crack pipe and get with the real world, bucko. The fact that I just used the word “bucko” indicates the dire seriousness of this thankless situation.
There were good and bad aspects of wearing a White Sox shirt to the gym tonight. On the positive side, I think its human-repelling properties protected me from the salesy people roaming the floor talking to people. (It was either that or the fact that I, as always, cut my bangs too short, which makes me look like someone who does roller derby and wants to kill you.) On the negative side, while I was doing lat pulldowns, I looked at the tv, which was on ESPN, and saw something like “Should the White Sox make a change at manager?” while showing Ozzie Guillen. I shit you not, I almost wanted to cry.