Back Together Again

Am I Making a Familiar Mistake?

It’s nice welcoming old friends back into my life. Friends who once mattered a great deal to me, but whom I’d barely thought about for the past three years. I ignored them because they had become boring, with nothing left to offer me. And honestly, I had nothing for them either. That’s just the way it goes sometimes.

But this year I told some people that I was willing to give the estranged relationship another chance. Maybe something could be rekindled.

And at least for now, it seems I was right.

The White Sox are back in my life.

I was five years old, living in Rogers Park, when I shared my secret with my father: I was a White Sox fan. I had no idea then how many years of frustration awaited me, growing up surrounded by Cubbie blue. Still, I clung tightly to my heroes through the collapse of 1967, the swagger and fall of the 1978 South Side Hitmen, and the near-miss of the “Winning Ugly” team in 1983.

My reward finally came with the 2005 World Series Championship, which allowed White Sox fans eleven full years of superiority before the Cubs finally won one too. But the last twenty years of Sox fandom have mostly been drab, and the previous three have been a calamity, a parade of not-ready-for-prime-time players losing more than 100 games each season.

Then the White Sox ownership made a key offseason move, signing young Japanese slugger Munetaka Murakami. The buzz was loud enough that it reached even strayed fans like me. It was time to pay attention.

It’s not easy to follow the White Sox. Most of their television broadcasts require a premium sports package I choose not to pay for. Their radio broadcasts are blacked out on my digital devices, and somewhere along the line I stopped owning an actual radio capable of receiving AM1000. Still, I have been following the season in the Tribune and receive a daily White Sox Google alert to let me know the score.

So far, my efforts have been rewarded. The White Sox were off to their best start in years, leading into last weekend’s Cub-Sox series at Rate Field. Those three games were broadcast on a local television station, and Sunday gave me my first chance to actually watch the team play.

In one of the most exciting games I’ve seen in years, the Sox and Cubs battled back and forth into extra innings before the White Sox finally emerged with a 9-8 victory.

With that game, the Sox officially hooked me in for the rest of the season. Or at least until their first ten-game losing streak.

It’s always a joy to welcome an old friend home. Even when experience tells me I better not tget too attached.

Missing My Bric-a-Brac Brick!

My old laboratory staff did many nice things for me when I retired. One of the most thoughtful presents from those gifted laboratorians was a commemorative brick to be placed outside Guaranteed Rate Field, a brick with my name on it. For those of you not from The City of Broad shoulders, GFR is the current name of the home stadium of my beloved Chicago White Sox.

Though the Cubs get all the national media attention, the Sox are here too, and I have been a Sox fan since 1961. Since then we have won exactly as many World Series Titles (one) as our better-publicized crosstown rivals. Even though memories of that one title have blurred through the mists of the many disappointing seasons since the 2005 victory parade, I was still excited to have my name on a brick in the commemorative plaza.

Yesterday was a beautiful day, the Sox were playing a rare midweek day game, and my friend Ira and I had bought tickets weeks ago (midweek baseball, a retirement benefit.) So with Ira driving and me navigating, we fought Chicago’s insane construction traffic and made our way to the South Side.

We got to the ballpark a good 45 minutes before game time and found the spot where commemorative bricks were laid; a plaza just outside of the stadium. Ira and I scurried over the many bricks, looking for mine, but quickly realized we would never find it without a road map.

I flagged down a Customer Relations person, who directed me to an online app that would help me locate my personal brick. This proved to be one more stumbling block in my quest. For the app to tell me in which section of the plaza I could find my brick, it required that I enter not my name, but the name of the person who had ordered the brick.

When the lab told me about the gift, and presented me with a replica (see pic above), I didn’t think to say, “Hey, this is great! Who paid for it?” So I was stumped. I didn’t know who to enter into the locator app.

I spent the next ten minutes keying in the names of everyone from the lab–my pathology associates, the techs, the lab assistants, and the administrative team. With each name, the app replied that it had no record of a brick purchased by that person. Getting frustrated, and with the first pitch rapidly approaching, I gave the lab a call.

After a warm phone welcome, my question was passed around to a person or two. I got my answer when Marcella told me she was the person who placed the order.

“Hmm,” I said. “I know I tried your name in the app, but it still won’t find my brick.”

“Maybe that’s because when I bought it they said it could take a few months for it to be installed,” Marcella told me. “I am still waiting for an email to let me know it was laid.”

No brick yet! What a disappointment. And, oh yeah, the White Sox lost. But on a bright sunny day, you can’t beat fun at the old ballpark!

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Opening Day Isn’t The Only Sign of Spring Around Here!

March 30, 2023

The clouds are grey,
The wind is swift,
The mercury's not rising.
But Spring is here.
I know it's true
No winter's grip reprising.

You may have thought
That Opening Day
Had given me this feeling.
But that's not it
Even though it's true
Around the bases they're now wheeling

A surer clue 
Has told me that
The seasons are progressing
No more winter coats
And toss your boots!
It's for sunshine we'll be dressing

What is the hint
And how do I know
That springtime we're installing?
There on the pond
In their formal whites
Our swans have come-a-calling!

Late every March
They are sent here
Three ponds are their dominion.
In sets of two
They take command
With no anti-swan opinion.

They swim all day
On the water's top
Between their raft and their bird feeder.
If all goes well
By summer's end
Each pair will be a breeder.

They have a job
They know it well
They're not around for beauty.
The swans are here
To play the part
Of lawmen, it's their duty.

The bad guys are
The honking geese
Their droppings are unsightly
They make a mess
That soils our roads
We'd rinse clean our driveways nightly.

When battles come
Between the fowl.
It's for swans we'll be a-cheering.
When the geese do fly
Away from here
A nicer place will be appearing

So here's to spring
And swans and sun
And to the neighborhood's bright glory
The grass will green
The flowers bloom
And ahead is summer's story.

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