"Win or Die Trying"
For a kid who was born and raised on the south side of Chicago, this is as good as an original Gino's East deep dish pizza or a Chicago hot dog with double sport peppers.
Sorry, Houston fans, but this romance goes back a long way, to the days when the White Sox gave out free tickets to grade school kids for perfect attendance or straight As. (I rarely had perfect attendance, but always got some tickets.)
I grew up in the Bill Veeck (as in "wreck") era: yellow baseballs at night, disco record destruction night (resulting in a riot and a forfeit), baseball players in shorts (not a pretty sight!). The Sox never won much of anything, but there was no better place for a kid to hang out than old Comisky Park where Dad let you have a swig of his beer or a puff on his cigar.
Comisky Park was one of the manmade wonders of the world - seats that put splinters in your hindquarters, posts that obstructed nearly every view, except from the box seats, sticky floors, cheap beer, horrid bathrooms. The bleachers even had a shower on a pull chain, not to mention hordes of guys with pot bellies and no shirts. The whole place smelled like a subway - an odiferous combination of beer, cigar smoke, and urine. Sorry, I'm getting a little nostalgic. Please forgive me; it happens in middle age.
I never thought I'd see the day when the White Sox would bring World Series gold to Chicago.
I can die in peace.