The Second Horseman has Ridden

EVENT

As you can see...

The following is excerpted from today's Chicago Sun-Times, October 27th, 2005, Richard Roeper:

Shoeless Joe has left the corn field. There's no need for him to linger in baseball purgatory any longer.

Let the South Side ghosts sleep in peace, for the White Sox have won the World Series -- I'll say that again, because it really hasn't sunk in: THE WHITE SOX HAVE WON THE WORLD SERIES -- and all the sins and failures and miserable seasons of the past are forgiven.

Today, the 1919 Black Sox are paroled.

Today, Buck Weaver's good name is reinstated.

Today, the cup of beer misses Al Smith's head.

Today, the Dybber doesn't make that base-running blunder against the Orioles.

Today, the 1967 Pale Hose and the 1977 South Side Hit Men are winners, not also-rans.

Today, the playoff teams of 1983 and 1993 and 2000 are given a fond farewell and invited to move to the back of the scrapbook, so we can make room for the 2005 World Series champions.

From JD's first-inning, first game homer to Joe Crede's Graig Nettles imitation to Konerko's grand slam to sPod's walk-off homer in the freezing drizzle to the unlikely heroics of Geoff Blum, the Sox owned this Series.

They are the Road Warriors. They clinched in Detroit, they clinched in Boston, they clinched in Anaheim and they clinched in Houston. They've knocked 'em dead in more cities than U2 on a whirlwind tour.

In the postseason, the Sox dominated their foes like the Michael Jordan Bulls of the 1990s. Yes, luck was on their side. From Graffanino's Gaffe to the A-J-K dropped third strike to the phantom hit by pitch that struck Jermaine Dye's bat, the Sox were extremely fortunate throughout this playoff run -- but they were also the best team, by far. They had great starting pitching, clutch hitting, stellar defensive play -- and a crazy-genius manager who became the most beloved sideline figure in Chicago this side of Da Coach.

Put it on the board -- forever

This is a city of deeply divided loyalties, where many die-hard fans of the Sox and the Cubs can tell you more about their baseball lineage than their family's history. They might not know the name of the town in Ireland or Germany or Poland or Mexico where their great-grandfather came from -- but they can tell you who was pitching when their grandfather or their father took them to their very first game in 1956 or 1968 or 1985.

This is why it matters. When we root-root-root for the home team, we're rooting for our home as much as the team. We know the players aren't from Chicago -- and we know many won't be back in a White Sox uniform for the 2006 season. (It's possible Paulie Konerko will be wearing an Angels uniform the next time he steps up to the plate at the Cell.)

The players come and go. We're the ones who stay -- not so much out of loyalty to the owner or the manager or the players, but because we're loyal to our own family history. If your Dad was a Sox fan, and his Dad was a Sox fan, and HIS Dad was a Sox fan, and members of your family have been going to games on the South Side since Herbert Hoover was president, how can you not be a Sox fan? In that context, it's not irrational at all to get so swept up in the sporting fortunes of a bunch of millionaires (and future millionaires) who have the privilege of playing a game for a living.

It's all about sharing a common interest across generational lines.

If you're a Sox fan, you're in heaven today. If you're a Cubs fan, either you don't really care, or you're seething and simmering like the guy who gets left at the altar in a romantic comedy. Curses!

But even if you bleed Cubbie blue and you were rooting hard for the Astros to win this thing just so you wouldn't have to put up with all the gloating from your Sox fan friends, aren't you feeling just a little bit of Chicago pride today? Isn't it pretty cool that A-Rod and Manny and Vlad and Albert and the Rocket and all the other glamour kings ended up on the sidelines, watching the blue-collar Chicago guys doing the World Series Victory Scrum?

Neighborhood rivalries aside, they're not the South Side White Sox -- they're the CHICAGO White Sox, and there's nothing wrong with everyone in the city feeling a touch of pride today. In Houston and St. Louis, in San Diego and Atlanta, in Boston and New York and Los Angeles, they're saying, "Wait til next year."

In Chicago, this year is here.

As the Sox celebrated their first World Series championship in 88 years, hundreds of thousands of Sox fans -- here in Chicago and around the world -- shouted themselves hoarse and hugged each other until they were out of breath. We also took time to think about that long-gone loved one. It's the oldest cliche in the scorebook -- the teary-eyed toast to the dad or the brother or the mom or the grandma who passed away before the White Sox won the World Series -- but so what. Go ahead and embrace all the cliches, and celebrate this victory with every ounce of your heart and soul.

White Sox.

World Series.

Champions.

Amen.