A few hours after White Sox All-Star shortstop Tim Anderson hit a game-winning walk-off homer into the night sky during a Field of Dreams game in Iowa, I tried to engage a beefy guy at the swimming pool in some good-natured baseball banter.
“Hey, is that a Cubs hat you’re wearing?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he answered, seemingly offended that a half-naked stranger would talk to him.
“Well, I brought a White Sox cap if you want it,” I said.
“No thanks, I’m good,” he said as he quickly swam away.
The Cubs had just lost eight straight games, many by double digits. With management trading away all the team’s stars, the roster resembled a minor league team of overstrivers and underachievers. The first-place White Sox held an 11-game lead over the second-place Cleveland Indians, soon to be the Cleveland Guardians.
I live in downstate Illinois surrounded by rabid Cubs fans and those odd, red-hatted Cardinal faithful. White Sox fans are few and far between. I suspect that in this rural county, where in two consecutive presidential elections 64% of voters opted for Donald Trump, the White Sox are associated with the South Side of Chicago. Meaning all those stereotypes that downstaters associate with Chicago.
The Cubbies who represent the city’s North Side stand for, how shall I put it? Fans who fill Wrigley Field no matter what the Cubs’ record is, tend to be fun-loving, cargo shorts-wearing, beer-guzzling white folks from the burbs and heavenly Iowa. If you don’t believe me, just look at the stands next time the Cubs are on television. Then compare that with the diversity you see among the White Sox fandom at Guaranteed Rate Field.
So it was with great pleasure that I watched Tim Anderson strut after his game-ending home run in eastern Iowa. He waggled his hands around his neck while passing the Yankees dugout, signaling, I think, “It’s over, boys! Game over!” Then he skipped around the bases as the fireworks exploded over the cornfields.
Tim is hands down the most dynamic player in baseball at the moment. He represents a passion and a swagger that has always been lacking in America’s rather stuffy, conservative pastime, emphasis on the past. He’s an experienced bat flipper and trash talker extraordinaire. But he backs it up by being an All-Star, a batting champion, a magician in the field, and a leader in the clubhouse and in the community through Anderson’s League of Leaders Foundation. He is incredibly intelligent and handsome, and I am not ashamed as a happily married man to admit I have a man crush on Tim.
Those tired unwritten baseball rules, such as “Don’t you dare show up the other team by flipping your bat,” or “Don’t steal a base when you have a big lead,” need not apply anymore. Not to Tim or to any of the incredible exciting young players that the MLB now has, such as his teammate Eloy Jiménez, the Mets’ (and sadly former Cub) Javier Baez or San Diego Padre Fernando Tatis Jr. Note that on that historic night in Iowa, the opposing Yankees employed all kinds of showy theatrics following each of their four home runs. I loved it. Baseball is finally cool.
We do not get to choose where we are born, but looking back over my 60 years, I am increasingly thankful I grew up on the South Side of Chicago. I was, of course, stamped a White Sox fan from birth, but aside from my love of baseball, the South Side taught me my own brand of toughness. I learned to stand up for myself to the bullies in the alleys of Hyde Park, on the playground of Bret Harte Elementary School and on the roulette wheel also known as the “L.” My late mom raised me as a free-range kid, and I am forever thankful to her and to Chicago for letting me negotiate the ups and downs of urban living on my own.
But over the years I have lived away from Chicago, I lost that toughness, lost my grit and frankly became soft. People here in central Illinois often criticize Chicago by cloaking their “polite” bigotry when they overstate the crime and political corruption, while conveniently ignoring the tremendous contributions the city makes to the state. (I have also noticed how proud these same people are when their children land well-paying jobs in Chicago.)
Thankfully, all that South Side street swagger came back when Tim Anderson hit that home run into the Iowa cornstalks. Out came my White Sox hat at the city pool, along with my tough guy attitude, such as it is at the age of 65.
So thanks, Tim. Thanks for reminding me of my deep roots, and thanks for helping transform the greatest sport of all into what it should always be: pure, unadulterated joy.
Stephen J. Lyons is the author of five books of essays and journalism.
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