Sights and Sounds in the Life of a Soxsider

Da Bears, da Bulls, Giordano’s pizza, and Navy Pier. All essential staples to the identity of the great American city that is Chicago. But to gain a real sense and experience of the people and culture of Chicago, you have to witness a Major League baseball game. If you’re one of those fans that says, “You’re from this city. You should root for each team to succeed for it’s your hometown,” try stating that to a true Chicago baseball fanatic. Wrigleyville and the Southside are two very different worlds. Get a passport before you cross the border.

I chose to start this endeavor by being a part of the South Sider Nation. My first trip to U.S. Cellular Field came in the summer of 2008, a long-awaited trip to see Josh Hamilton and the Rangers. This was not only my first American League ballpark, but also my first outside of Cincinnati. The stadium appeals to the eye from the outside, and the structure reminds me quite a bit of Great American, although it seats a few thousand more. As for the name, I still heard whispers of “New Comiskey Park” rather than anything U.S. Cellular.

I arrived far too early for the gates to be open, so I wandered around the Southside to catch some of its ambiance. A few blocks south of the park is a Chicago sports store called “The Grandstand.” Walking in there with opposing team apparel on isn’t a great conversation starter, but it was interesting to see what the employees of this family-owned business had to say. The biggest piece of conversation that can be discussed in Chicago White Sox history always comes back to Shoeless Joe Jackson. This specific man, and for whatever reason I can’t recall his name, praises Shoeless Joe. He is Chicago’s Pete Rose. When we notified him that we were Cincinnati natives, the comparison of Rose and Joe was inevitable. The people of Chicago believe that Pete Rose should never be in the Hall of Fame as long as Shoeless Joe is not admitted either. He reigns as baseball royalty in the Southside.

I have since this visit been to U.S. Cellular again, this time in miserably cold weather, to once again see the Rangers. The stadium itself holds much charm both as a welcoming venue for any fan, and as a sanctuary for “Soxsiders.” Across the street is a parking lot where Comiskey once stood, and a plaque remains where home plate was placed. Just outside the main entrance is the White Sox Champions Brick Plaza with a tribute memorial to the 2005 World Series. Inside the park there are various murals, and on the outfield plaza stand sculptures of ChiSox greats such as Carlton Fisk, Nellie Fox, and Luis Aparicio. Part of the old-world baseball charm can be experienced as they play, “Let’s go, Go-Go White Sox,” a fight song that originated in the late 1950s. You can’t help but either sing along, or be amazed at the masses of people that love this song.

White Sox fans are diehard, and in my opinion some of the most underrated fans in Major League baseball. As compared to the number of people that show up in the Queen City in forty degree weather, I was amazed. The pride in their team as they cheer on every single one of their players is astounding. Memories of the 2005 World Series hold strong, everyone still wearing jackets and hats that bear the word “champs” just as the banner in center field does. As far as hospitality measures, the self-proclaimed Soxsiders are far more welcoming than their northern counterparts. We’ll leave that be until I write about my trip to Wrigleyville.

U.S. Cellular Field may be a newer venue, but it is still home to a legion of fans loyal to, and the legacy of the Chicago White Stockings. It is definitely worth a stop on anyone’s ballpark tour.

The Start of It All, Riverfront

It’s such a shame and I honestly wish that I could remember more about the times that I spent at Riverfront Stadium. I always had admired it as a crucial part of my city’s skyline, a beautiful piece of architecture. I have vague memories back when an aerial shot of Ft. Washington Way was a tangled, webbed mess of tar, and Riverfront was home to not one, but two of Cincinnati’s teams. At this age, baseball was just another sign of summer, another thing that just happened with the changing of the seasons.

I was the kind of kid who wanted to go to the games because of an obsession with ballpark food, and of course being smitten the players. I could understand what was happening around me, but it wasn’t that I had an interest in following and appreciating the game the way I do now.

A specific game I can remember going to was before the construction of Great American Ballpark started. This was during the era in which price ranges for seats at the park were designated by their color, and we had garden seats. Seeing as they were tables in centerfield, closest to the designated spot for GABP, they were the first to go. I had all the food I could eat, and I remember getting the biggest thrills from the announcer, with his elongated and over-pronounced style of introducing Barry Larkin and Aaron Boone. I think it was then that I fell in love with baseball. Not yet the game, as that would take many more years, but the ambiance, the feeling it gave me to have a group of people all coming together for one single purpose.

In 1996 I got my first taste of sponsorship in baseball in my hometown, when Riverfront Stadium was renamed Cinergy Field. That’s also when I started to realize I had become pretty nostalgic at the age of eight. I could never bring myself to call it Cinergy, and I still can’t. Something about the corporations being involved in every aspect of the game anymore kills a bit of the old-world charm, don’t you think?

As a fifth grader, I had the privilege of taking a field trip downtown, and being given a tour of the stadium. I saw the Reds clubhouse, I sat in the dugout and the announcer’s booth, I saw marks on the stadium where the flood lines in 1997 reached, and finally I got to roam around the field wherever I wanted. Ran, cartwheeled, typical of an 11-year-old girl. The field was set up for the Bengals’ season, as this was before the creation of Paul Brown Stadium, and I stood in one end zone and stared to the top row of seats. I felt tiny, and enormous all at the same time. I thought to myself, “Is this what they feel like?” It was the biggest adrenaline rush. It was one of those days that you’ll always remember what you were wearing, how everything smelled.

In the final moments of a Riverfront stadium that still stood, I think I had realized something about this pastime had caught hold of me. I woke up early on December 29, 2002 to see the institution that held my first and only memories of baseball crumble to the ground. I wanted so badly to be there, but it may have been good that I wasn’t. I still have the recording of the implosion, and even to this day, it brings a tear to my eye just the same as it did that morning. I was 14. Riverfront fell at a ripe young age of 35, still a mystery to this day why they felt the need to build a new stadium. Maybe I should research it.

As much as I love Great American Ballpark, and as much as it has become my summer home and I know the park inside and out, I do miss Riverfront Stadium. I loved the way it looked coming around the bend on I-75 through Kentucky, and I thought the stadium’s construction was just stunning. It is ingrained in my head, and in many of other Cincinnatians. Memories of World Series passed, and a Super Bowl-worthy NFL team still exists, and can’t be forgotten with the falling of bricks.