I feel ya. Twitter is the worst. The whole thing is just a repository for pettiness, nastiness, negativity, racism, misogyny, and every other unsavory human characteristic we’ve shown during our existence — plus a few new ones.
I only hop on for the good jokes and cute dog pictures. Sometimes some White Sox commentary. And you know what? I get tired of all the bitching and complaining, too.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a Pollyanna about the White Sox or this rebuild (see here, here, here, and to a lesser extent, here). I get cynical and dour with the best of them. But sometimes, it’s just too much. I don’t want to worry that Alex Colome’s peripherals and advanced metrics point to a regression, I just want to enjoy the save and the win. Waiting for regression (even if it is inevitable) is a sad way to spend one’s fandom.
If you’d been around here before, Rick, you’d know that I invoke my late father quite often. He loved the White Sox, he hated bad baseball, and he really hated bad baseball when the White Sox were the ones playing it. Nothing put him in a bad mood more quickly than an fielding error or bad baserunning. He often wondered why he was spending money on this team. I once compared White Sox fandom to prison, and he did not disagree.
But wins were precious, so he enjoyed every single last one of them. And I try and do that, too. Sure, I will say, “Well, it was only the Tigers,” but hey, it still beats losing to the Tigers. I get worked up into a good “WTF, White Sox” rant on occasion, but mostly, I am not going to go looking for reasons to be unhappy. Life gives us plenty of those on its own.
So, most of the time, I avoid the giant negative cesspool that is Twitter. I feel empathy for anybody in a public position whose work and life get judged so mercilessly.
(You had to know this was coming, right?)
Here’s the thing, Rick: We White Sox fans are tired of losing.
We. Are. Tired. Of. Losing!
In Spanish: Estamos cansados de perder.
French: On en a assez de perdre.
Polish: Jesteśmy straty.
Hungarian, just for fun: Veszítést meguntuk.
Yoda: Tired of losing, we are.
I wouldn’t give up my lifetime of Sox fandom for anything. Really. And I enjoy each and every win, however infrequently they come. But I have watched a whole bunch of losses, and they get tiresome. You can read the entire article (and enjoy the accompanying illustrative chart), but I’ll sum it up for you: in my lifetime, the Sox have a 0.497 winning percentage. The number gets uglier if we narrow it to post-2009, but I’m sure you’re aware of that, so I’ll skip it.
On the top of this lack of winning, White Sox fans have to put up with: constant attendance shaming (from Cubs fans, media, Kenny Williams, non-Sox fan family members, and random strangers we meet while on vacation); ESPN forgetting that the White Sox even exist, let alone that they won the World Series in this century (I could link to the numerous instances, but I refuse to give them any search hits, even in the service of proving my point); the 1994 strike; and now my head hurts, and I need to drink some bourbon.
Oh, and just this week, there’s this piece of garbage.
We watch Oakland A’s hitters chew our pitchers up with tough at-bat after tough at-bat and wonder why, at the same time, the Sox strike out so damned much. And while I may not care about Colome’s peripherals or advanced metrics, I sure as hell hope you do. And that you and your staff have a plan that involves more than crossing your fingers. We watch our vaunted “outfield depth” grind to a screeching halt in Double-A. We wonder if the White Sox are getting a “buy 10, get 1 free” special on Tommy John surgeries.
And now here you are, calling us out in public? For real?? How about instead of throwing us under the bus*, you cut us some freakin’ slack?
And, just my humble opinion, but between this and the Joc Pederson fiasco, maybe just lay off Twitter. Go read a book or something (I hear The MVP Machine is all the rage). Otherwise, we will ship you off to Philadelphia, where their fans will have you crying for mercy and crawling back to Chicago on your hands and knees within a week, tops.
*Seriously, dude, not cool.