From the Editor
The past is what it is: In the past. But I can't help thinking?#34;more like daydreaming?#34;about sitting in a luxury box suite sipping on a free beverage and eating a free hotdog at U.S. Cellular Field while the White Sox play whomever in the 2005 World Series. I, of course, would be clandestinely rooting for rain (possibly snow), therefore I could eat and drink for free longer and my Cubs affiliation would not be compromised.
It would've been plush: Stretch limo to and from the ballpark, dessert cart in the suite, instant access to after-game parties upstairs at Gibson's Steakhouse on Rush. Yes, it would have been good.
I most certainly could have set aside my differences with the White Sox. But it would be better than having the Cubs in the World Series and being at the games, for I could take a bathroom break even at the most crucial moments and not give one iota of the outcome. I could be too busy stuffing myself with chocolate soufflé to see Joe Crede hit a walk-off homer to win Game 1 of the series. Hey, as long as the freebies keep coming after the game, I'd be good to go.
Yes, it could come down to the final inning of Game 7 with the game tied and I'd probably be switching the channel on the plasma T.V. in the suite to a rerun of "Urkel." But so what! I wouldn't tell my benefactor about my lack of interest, or that I find him and his team less fascinating than Urkel.
About 14 years ago, he was a wee-little punky freshman at my high school in Scottsdale, Ariz.?#34;my connection to the Sox not Urkel. I say punky only because he's now a multi-millionaire playing professional baseball on a World Series team.
It's not my style to drop names, so I'll just write that this person plays first base for the White Sox and led his team past the Angels to win the ALCS with timely power hitting. He has a goatee, and his jersey number is 14, but that's all the hints I'm giving out. I don't want you to think of me as pompous. I'm no fair-weather fan either (in this instance I would certainly be a fair-weather friend). I don't care if the Sox win the World Series or not. To tell you the truth, I feel nauseous when I write the words White Sox and World Series in the same sentence. I even get peeved when Chicago sports columnists attempt to persuade Cubs fans to "embrace" the Sox' success. Embracing the Sox in my mind ranks right up there with embracing a fat smelly sumo wrestler.
But had circumstances been different and I hadn't ignored a certain fleeb in high school, then perhaps I would have had the chance to attend the 2005 World Series in Chicago, of course only in defiance. My connection, his initials PTK, would insist on my attendance, saying "I need the guy there who didn't ignore me in high school. I need the guy who as a senior acted as a mentor and helped guide me through my high school years."
I'd get all teary eyed and say, "Sure I'll be there. Send the limo to this address, make sure there's plenty of seven-layer cake in the suite, and do you mind if I wear my lucky Cubs cap?"
He'd balk but then embrace me. "You're the greatest."
Kinda wish I had gotten to know Paul Konerko now. Oops. . .