The Saddest White Sox Fan
75-year-old Tyrone Williamsburg is the saddest man in Chicago tonight: you see the White Sox won the World Series.
Decked out in a retro White Sox gear that was top-of-the-line design when he bought it, he's crying in his beer at Mickey's, a bar two blocks from his house. While the rest of the city is in an uproar and fireworks are going off around the city and the Cubs and their fans feel like the biggest chodes in the world, Williamsburg takes big sighs, cracks his peanuts slowly and pats the tears away with shamrock drink napkins.
You may be asking why a Chicago citizen who's loved the Sox since he could remember would be sad tonight, easily the greatest night in White Sox history.
"My whole life has been rooting for the cursed White Sox. I've wrapped my whole life around them losing," he says while staring outside the window at the near riot. The curse he's referring to goes back to 1918 when the 1917 world champions threw the game for some bookies.
"At some point, I realized I was actually rooting for them to lose. Not to say I wanted them to lose, but they always did. And, you know, I had to be happy somehow."
The turning point, he says, came in 1959 when they made it to the Series and lost.
"I was just turning 29 and the world was going to hell and I realized I putting a lot of effort into something that wasn't working out. But I had all this shit," he tugged at the vintage jersey, "I had to make it work, you know." He added that at the time the engagement to the love of his life fell apart, although that had nothing at all to do with it.
"Maybe I'll become a Cubs fan. But the way things are going, they'll win next year. Actually, if the Cubs win next year I'm sending all my money to the Pope and I'm going to start going to confession again. If the Cubs win next year, I wouldn't be suprised to see the four horsemen play inner field and be managed by the Anti-Christ."
Decked out in a retro White Sox gear that was top-of-the-line design when he bought it, he's crying in his beer at Mickey's, a bar two blocks from his house. While the rest of the city is in an uproar and fireworks are going off around the city and the Cubs and their fans feel like the biggest chodes in the world, Williamsburg takes big sighs, cracks his peanuts slowly and pats the tears away with shamrock drink napkins.
You may be asking why a Chicago citizen who's loved the Sox since he could remember would be sad tonight, easily the greatest night in White Sox history.
"My whole life has been rooting for the cursed White Sox. I've wrapped my whole life around them losing," he says while staring outside the window at the near riot. The curse he's referring to goes back to 1918 when the 1917 world champions threw the game for some bookies.
"At some point, I realized I was actually rooting for them to lose. Not to say I wanted them to lose, but they always did. And, you know, I had to be happy somehow."
The turning point, he says, came in 1959 when they made it to the Series and lost.
"I was just turning 29 and the world was going to hell and I realized I putting a lot of effort into something that wasn't working out. But I had all this shit," he tugged at the vintage jersey, "I had to make it work, you know." He added that at the time the engagement to the love of his life fell apart, although that had nothing at all to do with it.
"Maybe I'll become a Cubs fan. But the way things are going, they'll win next year. Actually, if the Cubs win next year I'm sending all my money to the Pope and I'm going to start going to confession again. If the Cubs win next year, I wouldn't be suprised to see the four horsemen play inner field and be managed by the Anti-Christ."
posted by Turn The Heaton at 9:54 p.m.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home