HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!

You did it. You fucking did it.

In one of the most memorable Sox games of my lifetime. The drama and tension were unprecendented. Every pitch, every swing had me on the edge of my seat. This even topped Game 4 of the '05 Series. At least then there was a Game 5 if needed. This was it. No tomorrow.

I will never, ever forget this night. Danks pitching with the heart of a lion. Thome's moon shot. Griff nailing Cuddyer at the plate. AJ showing Cuddyer he hung on just in case he wasn't sure. Jenks waking up the ghosts of October '05 and shutting them down in the 9th. Anderson laying out for the last out.

I am so fucking proud of you guys.

My letter to the Chicago White Sox

Dear Chicago White Sox,

It's now just under H-Hour-2. For some of you, the biggest game of your lives. I'd like to think most of you are sitting in the clubhouse right now, shaving your heads, doing shots of Jack Daniel's to kill the butterflies, and listening to Metallica's "Seek and Destroy." But I know that you all have your own ways of getting ready for this most important game.

You probably don't know me very well. I've been a fan for most of my life, having defected when I was really young. I was raised a Cub fan because all my friends were, and my grandfather tried his hardest to make me follow them. For a 4 year stretch, I went to one Cubs game a year. It was always the big field trip at the end of summer camp. And every year, the Cubs lost.

There was a kid who lived on my block, and his father worked for WFLD in Chicago. That was the station you guys were on in the '80's. One summer day his father took us to a game in the company skybox. Free hot dogs, sodas, and ice cream. Fireworks. A fired-up crowd. The Sox won, blowing out the Angels. I was hooked. I sadly lost the ticket stub over the years, but the memories will always last.

My defection was tested over the next several years. You guys weren't good until '93, and the loss to Toronto in the ALCS hurt. The following year saw a great start by you guys. But the strike killed the season.

Then the dark years entered. The Kids Can Play. The White-Flag trade. Albert Belle. Terry Bevington. Finishing every season sucking the exhaust from Cleveland's tailpipe.

It brightened in 2000. A young, scrappy team getting into a memorable dust-up with the Tigers. Making the playoffs for the first time since '93. A heartbreaking sweep by the Mariners in the ALDS put a disappointing finish on the year.

2003, entering the final two weeks tied with Minnesota, only to get swept in the Metrodome and never recover.

Ozzie got hired, and then 2005. Nothing needs to be said there.

I've stuck with you guys for the better part of 20 years of my life, and I never second-guessed my decision. I know I've been a little flaky over the years. Calling you guys out. Telling you how much you embarrass me after a tough loss or series. I gave you a five-year grace period after '05. But by mid-season in '06, I was getting angry. Swearing I'd burn my Sox jerseys or never wear your hats again. But we both know that could never be the case. I could be a better fan, and I know this. And after these last few days, I've turned over a new leaf.

I'll admit, I didn't have high hopes entering this season. Not much had been done to improve a team that lost 90 games the year before. The rotation was led by a solid but not stellar Mark Buehrle. Inconsistent Javy Vazquez and Jose Contreras. Two unknowns in Gavin Pink Floyd and John Danks.

The bullpen was a question mark. MacDougal. Logan. Dotel has a history of arm trouble. The experts were saying you grossly overpaid for a washed-up Scott Linebrink. It looked like Bobby was the only safe bet.

I liked the trades for OC and Swish. But there was still no leadoff hitter, no centerfielder. Who were these chumps named Alexei Ramirez and Carlos Quentin? Is Crede healthy? Uribe at second?

The bats were inconsistent and slow early in the year. But the pitching carried you guys to an early division lead. Then when the hitters came around, the pitching faltered. Alexei and Carlos busted out. JD and AJ were solid. Swish was struggling with his average but supplied the needed power. The Indians and Tigers, the two favorites to win the division, were having down years. The Twins, as always, lurked in second.

Then Crede, Contreras, and Quentin saw their seasons end. The hitting and pitching went south at the same time. The only thing that kept you in first heading into the stretch drive was the Twins struggling as well.

Then the final two weeks. You guys traded wins and losses with Minnesota. The huge, painful sweep by the Twins in the season's final week. It looked over. And even though the Royals helped immensely against the Twins, back-to-back losses to Cleveland set up an unlikely scenario.

A mandatory three game winning streak. No ifs, ands, or buts. You had to win three. Beat Cleveland. Beat Detroit. Beat Minnesota.

Done and done. Two-thirds of the way there. In the biggest fight for your October lives, you stood tall when needed most. Looking past Ozzie and OC calling you guys out. Looking past the ugly exchange between Javy and AJ. You rallied. You fought. You got knocked down many times in the month of September. But you always picked yourself up and fought again.

That's what makes me so proud. When the chips are stacked against you, when everyone doubts you, when everyone, like me, says you can't do it. After those two losses to Cleveland, when fans like me were horrified, disgusted, and angry, you banded together and fought. The last game of the Indians series, Buehrle and the bats were heroes. The Detroit game, Pink and Alexei were the heroes. Everyone stepped it up a notch when things were looking most dire.

I'm going to have fun tonight. A lot of fun. Did you know that since 1978, there have only been 8 one-game playoffs, counting this one? 8 in 30 years. You don't see one-game playoffs very often. And you guys, my team, are in one. I may never see this again for the rest of my life.

One game. All 162 games before, gone. Nothing matters. The slate is wiped clean. Winner take all. This is the only way the AL Central title should be decided.

This is your chance. Your moment. Your opportunity.

To shut the critics up. To silence the doubters. To make the haters second guess. This is your time, to make everyone remember you for the rest of your lives.

Now go and kick the shit out of Minnesota.

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in...

This has without a doubt been the most up and down, most conflicting 7 days of my life. I've been in the gutter. I've had my head in the clouds. And everything in between.

I drank a lot. Ratty hat got tossed around a lot, only to get dusted off and put back on. I sang Don't Stop Believin' with my best friends and a pretty girl. I felt anger. I felt happiness. I felt depression. I felt proud.

Last Tuesday, the Sox went into the Metrodome with a 2.5 game lead. I knew they could win at least once. But I wanted two out of three. I wanted to see them clinch the division in person this past weekend. But they were swept in one of the most painful series in Sox history. Beatdown in the opener. Silenced in the second game. Took a 6-1 lead in the finale, only to gag it away on a walk-off hit.

Thursday was not a proud night for me. I got turned down for a job I really wanted. It affected my thinking on a day I had two tests. I knew I didn't do well on one.

Then the Sox completed getting swept. I drank a lot that night. Drank until I vomited. Passed out. And somehow made it to my morning classes.

Had tix for the Friday and Saturday Sox/Indians games. I didn't want to go. The Sox were in second place, and the Twins were looking at a clinching party against the Royals while the Sox had to face the Indians and Cliff Lee on Sunday. I was heartbroken, mad, and hungover.

But I was convinced to go. I sucked it up and went. Got to the game, and the night was off to a promising start. The Royals jumped out to a big lead on the Twins, and after a shaky start the Sox took an early lead on the Indians. The crowd was electric. But Danks fell apart. The bullpen couldn't stop the bleeding. We stayed until the bitter end, and they rallied, but fell short.

Saturday was more of the same. Got to the park and saw the Twins were losing late. Vazquez was looking sharp early. With every pitch I glanced back to check on the Twins score. And when they officially lost, the crowd erupted. This was their chance. Surely they would flip the switch. Or not. Javy imploded. A crushing six-run inning for Cleveland. We didn't even stay for the rally. By the time I watched the end on tv, I was already half in the bag.

The night on the city improved my mood. Three old friends acting like fools. Drank too much, spent too much, and somehow lost a baseball hat along the way? Couldn't see the dart board. Somehow got numbers from three girls.

Sunday was painful. The hangover hurt. I didn't even care what the Sox did that day. Win or lose, whatever. They Royals had given them the division and they didn't want it. But of course I got sucked in. Like always. They held off the Indians, getting an incredible pitching performance from Buehrle. Got the clutch hitting they've been missing for days, forcing the Monday make-up with Detroit.

I was nervous all day today. Pink Floyd borrowed Buehrle's balls and pitched his heart out. But Freddy Garcia was awesome. Kept the Sox bats quiet all day. And when Pink tossed a slow roller into the outfield, giving the Tigers a 2-1 lead, my heart sank.

But in true Sox fashion, they tie it without getting a hit. And then Alexei came through at the most clutch moment, crushing a grand slam to give them a 6-2 lead. And the bullpen came through at the end. They live another day.

My emotions went from the gutter to the clouds over the span of seven days. The day of days is tomorrow. 6:30p.m. And I'll be in front of the tv, Ratty Sox hat and Ozzie throwback on. Even though I'll be a nervous wreck all day, I can't wait.

Wake up morons, your season is ending

Not like I really had hope for this one. I had a feeling they'd lose. Call me crazy, but there was something about that beatdown last night that just didn't inspire a whole lot of confidence for the rest of the series.

Buehrle pitched his ass off. Did all he could. But the bats shriveled up like they have all series. They got more hits this time, and had more chances. But as expected, they shrunk when they needed that one clutch hit. Everyone kept swinging for the damn fences. Don't believe me? Watch how most of the outs are pulled to their respective field.

They're done. Stick a fork in them. This pains me to say, but I hope they lose tomorrow. I hope they get swept.

I want them to come back to Chicago with their tails between their legs, so humiliated by the Twins. And then when the Twins clinch this weekend against the Royals, I want Kenny to set dynamite to this team and blow it up.

This team is old, slow, predictable, one-dimensional, and un-clutch. Just plain not fun to watch. They don't deserve to go to the playoffs. Big boys who step up in pressure situations get to go. Minnesota deserves it. But not these clowns.

I'm done. Just emotionally spent. I don't want to go to the Cleveland series anymore. Just a waste of time and money. They've given up, so I have too.

Go to hell, White Sox.

Important Twins series starts; Sox do not notice

I had hope.

I really did. I really, truly, honestly believed the Sox would open this series on a good, strong footing. The Twins were lacking punch lately, and while the Sox weren't faring that much better, they were still in the driver's seat. Oz called out Javy Vazquez, telling him to man up and pitch lights out. The players sounded relaxed and ready. I even penned a letter to the Sox, showing my loyalty and support, and how I'd be behind them no matter what happened over these next three days.

But then I realized how stupid that sounded, and how the Sox would most likely just get swept and piss me off in the process.

And they got off to a great start with that whole getting swept thing. They didn't just back into it. They didn't pussyfoot around the issue. They didn't even tease us with a good start and blow it. No sir, they flat out grabbed the whole "let's embarrass ourselves" thing from the start, gouged out it's eyes, and skullfucked it.

Wow. I don't even know where to begin. I could start by ripping on Javy Vazquez, how he chose the worst possible game of the season to do his usual suck job. How he didn't make it past the 4th inning. How he made Jason Fucking Kubel look like Josh Hamilton. How he seemed so unmoved after the game.

I could rip the offense as a whole, for generating 6 fucking hits in the entire game with ONE coming after the fifth inning.

I could rip AJ, how he flat-out sullied the catcher position by getting abused on the basepaths. How he killed a bases-loaded situation by grounding out with the score a somewhat managable 5-1.

I could rip Junior for his clutch 2nd inning double play. Or is clutch 9th inning homer that put window dressing on this god-awful train wreck. Next time Griff, you might want to hit your second homer as a White Sox before your 37th game.

I could rip the sorry bullpen. How Clayton Kerosene took all those good vibes from his Yankee Stadium start last week and threw it out the window. Or maybe I could rip Boone Logan for doing his best Boone Logan impression. On second thought, I won't rip on poor Boone. He's special.

This was just a flat-out ass kicking. A beatdown. A bloodletting. The most important game of the season so far, and this is what we get. A bed-wetting, tuck-your-sack-back choke job. All this talk of being ready, of knowing the importance of this series, of telling everyone how great it would be to sweep the Twins and clinch in Minnesota. Nice try, ass clowns.

As much as I am tearing into these chumps, I must give credit where it is due. The Twins were awesome tonight. Scott Baker pitched like a big boy is supposed to in September. Javy should be forced to trade contracts with him after tonight. Somebody earned big money tonight and it wasn't some guy named Vazquez. The Twins offense did their best White Sox impression, hitting 3 big homers. They played great defense, ran the Sox ragged on the basepaths, outhit, outpitched, and outeverythinged the White Sox. They simply wanted it more.

Which just makes the rest of the series even more frightful. All the swagger and momentum are on the Twins side. And the Sox? They're like a nervous lap dog that just shakes and pees all over itself. Beat that dog enough, and he'll cower in the corner and won't fight back. In a nutshell, that's the team I root for. That's the team I'm going to follow instead of playing with my pet cougar. Because I am a fucking idiot.

I see the bad moon arisin'... I see trouble on the way

The calm before the storm...

Sox head out of KC, taking two of three and increasing their lead to 2.5 games, while the magic number gets cut to 5. I have to thank the Rays for all their help this weekend, but now, it's time for the Sox to take care of themselves.

And starting this weekend, they did. I nice opener on Friday, with the sticks busting out and Buehrle pitching a solid game. Saturday wasn't nearly as good, as the Sox were shut down by Kyle Freaking Davies and lost 5-2. A six-pack was marinating inside me, and I was ready to hop on here and scorch some earth. But I held back, waiting to see how they'd respond. And they rebounded very nicely today, got clutch hitting, smart baserunning, and John Danks doing his usual badass pitching.

So now the off day for all of us to catch our breaths. Because now the real fun starts. The Metrodome series is here, and I don't know how much of it I can watch. By Thursday we'll know who the AL Central top dog is. The Twins at home just... frighten the shit out of me.

The biggest series of the season: White Sox at Royals

Here it is. The final stretch. After a horrible series in New York, the Sox head to Kansas City for three, clinging to the division lead by 1.5 games. And then the dreaded Metrodome series.

The Sox aren't winning that Metrodome series. It ain't happening. Something supernatural takes over when the Sox play there. With the way the Twins play there, with the way the Sox collapse there, and with a hostile crowd screaming in their ears, they'll be lucky to take 1 of those 3 games.

So this is it. The series in Kansas City that the Sox MUST win. Anything less than 2 out 3 will be unacceptable. They have to distance themselves now. The Twins have three left in Tampa. I have to imagine the Rays will play them hard, and possibly beat them twice this weekend. Then the Twins are home for the rest of the season. Three against the Sox and three against the Royals. They won't lose more than once in that homestand.

The Sox have to play as hard as they ever have this whole season. They can't let up for a second. The Royals are bad, and the Sox have played them well this season. But this series petrifies me. The reasons:

1.) The Sox have had a terrible September
2.) They're on the road
3.) They Royals have nothing to play for
4.) Buehrle and Floyd are going on short rest Friday and Saturday

Then there's the slight detail about that fight between the two clubs earlier in the season. I have to think the Royals would love nothing more than to get revenge by ruining the Sox's season. They'll be balls to the wall all weekend.

This is why I love and hate baseball at the same time.

A promising omen? Nah, just wishful thinking

I'm sitting in the library this morning, taking advantage of the one hour break to do some homework for my noon class. I pull out my iPod to listen to some music, when a horrible thing happens. My iPod dies. Not as in the battery dies, but the iPod itself does. The screen won't load, and all it shows me is the familiar black screen and apple icon before fading from view forever. On top of that, when I try to reset it, a horrific clicking sound takes over, and then just stops. A tear rolled down my cheek.

This isn't just my mp3 player. This is my constant companion. My road trip warrior, my friend at work that makes time fly by while in the stock room. Just about everywhere I go, the iPod comes with me.

I'm heartbroken. In addition to being broke, and therefore not able to buy another one, this iPod has special meaning to me. I bought it in '05, and the first playlist I ever made was a 68-song collection of the greatest year of my life. And covering it's scratched surface is my White Sox iPod case.

There it is. The sign that the White Sox season is dying.

So I sadly packed it up, resigned to the fact that it was dead. Just like my team. My noon class ended, I went home, and in a last resort, plugged it in to my computer, figuring if the mother ship couldn't save it, nothing could. After about two minutes of the familiar black screen, a miracle happened. It came back from the dead. It was revived. It was breathing again. All 6800+ songs still there.

And then it hit me. It is a sign. The Sox aren't dead. They're alive. They may have been knocked down earlier this week, but they will stand up and fight again.

Could it be? Probably not. I'm on four hours of sleep, loaded on caffeine, and prone to talk to walls at times. So I see omens in the dumbest of places.

Game #11 - Bobby Abreu 6, Ozzie's Master Plan 2

Orlando Cabrera thinks something is missing. He isn't sure what it is. But whatever it is, he hopes the Sox can get it back.

This brilliant comment was uttered after the Sox's latest attempt to play the sport of baseball. An inspired, goose-bump inducing attempt. The type of attempt you would expect from a team deep into September, clinging to a slim division lead, with dreams of October dancing in it's head.

Orlando, I'm not a smart man. I won't even begin to try and prove otherwise. But my impressive baseball knowledge aside, I think I can take a stab at what the Sox are missing.

- A bullpen
- A reliable, consistent starting pitcher (let alone five)
- Someone that can bunt
- Someone that can steal a base
- Someone that can hit more than solo homers
- Someone that can hit with runners in scoring position (with or without 2 outs)
- The ability to win a road game
- The ability to string two victories in a row
- A ballsack

I think I may have it covered. If the Sox can aquire all this before next Tuesday's Minnesota series (a.k.a. The series that officially crowns the Twins division champs), I think we may be able to hang onto this pathetic division, Orlando!

I was in class tonight, so I missed pretty much the entire game. And that's a good thing, because chances are I might have destroyed my TV or seriously injured myself. I checked the score during one of the class breaks, and it was 2-1 Yankees. An hour later, and the Sox had managed to keep it close, 7-1. Because I was out in public, and because I didn't want to scare a pretty girl in my class, I decided snapping the neck of my professor would be a bad idea. But on the inside, I was a mess. I was enraged. I was sobbing. I wanted to curl into a ball in my shower while lighting all my White Sox stuff on fire. I hate this team.

And thinking about the way they went about their latest loss just enrages me more. Ozzie has instituted a "beating Minnesota plan." In order to have his three "best" pitchers going for that Twins division clinching series, he moved Cy Vazquez to tonight, to pitch on three days rest. Nevermind the fact that Vazquez really sucks on short rest (as opposed to just plain sucking on normal rest), but Bobby Abreu OWNS Javy. Just absolutely kills him. Genius plan, Oz.

Shockingly, the master plan failed. After the Sox announced their presence early with a solo homer (stunning!), it all fell apart. Vazquez was hammered tonight, almost as badly as the Sox are driving me to get hammered in the month of September. And Mr. Abreu? Two homers and six rbi's. By the time the 6th inning rolled around, Ozzie pulled most of his starters, lest someone else get injured. And in the end, the bench scrubs played with more heart and ballsack than the starting scrubs did.

I'm not in a very good state of mind. In fact, I'm hurting. Emotionally and physically. And to really make tonight a fun-filled party, the Twins rallied in the 9th against the Rays and won. Like big boys are supposed to. So the lead has been trimmed to 1.5, and the magic number for the Sox to get swept in the ALDS remains 9.

They keep cheating on me, they keep coming home well past the time they say they will, and they often reek of whiskey and stripper perfume. They don't pay their bills, they don't pull their weight around the house, and they never take me out anymore. But like the dumbass I am, I will head to class tomorrow with the same ratty, old Sox hat on. Because as Pat Benatar once told me, love is a battlefield. We are young. Heartache to heartache we stand. No promises, no demands.

Game #12 - Yankees 5, White Sox 1

Tonight was not a good night. Due to the Sox's victory last night coupled with Minnesota's current slide, the Sox entered tonight with a 2.5 game lead, with 12 to play. While I was excited with the increased lead, I was apprehensive. The Sox were facing Phil Hughes, a "phenom" with an 0-4 record and 9.00 ERA, which usually translates into the Sox getting schooled. On top of that, Clayton Kerosene was pitching for the Sox, which usually translates into the game being over in the 2nd inning.

Much to my surprise, Clayton held his own. In fact, his balls officially dropped tonight. In facter, I will no longer call him Clayton Kerosene. He officially earned his surname back tonight. He pitched out of his freaking mind tonight, holding the Yankees to no runs and one hit through six innings.

Alas, the White Sox bats went limper than an old man caught in a snowstorm, generating one run in the entire game off the unhittable Phil Hughes and a host of other bullpen scrubs. Clayton held his own until falling apart in the 7th inning, and left with the game tied 1-1. With runners on 2nd and 3rd, the trustworthy Mike MacDougal was summoned to do his usual gag job, and he did so with flying colors. One wild pitch later, Yankees up 2-1, ballgame. Joba shut the Sox down in the 8th, and to add a dump truck full of salt into the festering wound, Scott Linebrink continued his shocking downfall, allowing two home runs and effectively putting the game out of reach 5-1. Sox manned up in the ninth, going down 1-2-3.

Is ANYONE trustworthy in that joke of a bullpen? Anyone? I don't want to even answer that one lest I injure myself in the process. Just rest assured that if a game comes down to the Sox holding a lead or keeping a deficit close with their bullpen, just save yourself the trouble and turn the game off.

The lone bright spot, Minnesota lost, keeping the lead at 2.5 with the Twins "only" having 10 games left. I swear to God, that series in the Metrodome next week is shaping up to be a nuclear fallout for Sox fans.

I have a blog!

Some of you may be wondering what this is or why I am doing this. The truth is, I'm not sure myself. I also know that my Mom's dog will probably read this more than any human being. Blogs are pointless. Blogs are stupid. Blogs are selfish. Really, does anyone want to hear me whine and complain about things? Probably not. Do I really have anything profound or special to say? No, I don't. At least nothing that someone more qualified on an established site could say. Is my blog going to be special? Absolutley not. I am neither clever nor witty nor connected to people that can give me juicy stuff, which successful blogs have. But I guess that isn't the point. One of the reasons I am doing this (or at least attempting) is to keep in touch with some people that I don't see or talk to very often. People I really miss and wish I could talk to more. With school and work, I don't really have a lot of time for this, so my posts will probably be few and far between. And that's probably a good thing because Dexter doesn't know how to read yet.

But the main reason I am doing this is for myself. Sort of a sounding board for my own frustrations and venting purposes. I don't like whining to people about things that bother me, because it serves no purpose. I'm not correcting the problem, and I'm simply sounding like a child when things don't go my way. So if nothing else, I'm whining to myself, putting my thoughts on paper and absolving anyone I know of listening to me complain. So you can read my posts, laugh at me (or simply ignore me) and then move onto something far more important.

But the last reason I am doing this is for my emotional status. That's right. My favorite baseball team, the White Sox. They are having a dream season and limping to the finish line, causing Sox fans angst and depression. I'm not going to lie. I don't know why this is, but the Sox cause me more excitement and more depression than any other sports team I so passionately follow. The Bears in the Super Bowl two years ago didn't do to me what the Sox do. And I've never understood why. They're not enjoyable to watch. They lose when they should win, and they lose when they should lose. They play the game the wrong way, they're frustrating, and they're entirely predictable.

But maybe that's why I love them as much as I do. Because when they prove me wrong, its one of the greatest feelings in the world. Like in October '05. Even though they won 99 games, I expected them to fall short in the playoffs. But they proved me wrong, and each series they won felt more and more incredible. I'm still convinced it was an immense fluke. The rest of the league sucked that year, and the Sox had way too many balls bounce their way; way too many calls go their way. October '05 was the greatest month of my life. That entire month revolved around them. Waking up in the morning was a great feeling. Food tasted better. Getting drunk was more fun. It was a month I'll never forget. That's why I'm so invested in them right now. I want them to prove to me that '05 wasn't that fluke I think it is. I want them to at least make a run in October with a lot of the guys from that '05 team.

But this season has been an emotional roller coaster. A lot of highs. A lot of lows. They're hanging on by a knuckle hair. My emotional state is not healthy right now. The wins make me anxious. The losses make me catatonic. And right now, as they limp to the finish line with a slim lead, I don't know if I'll make it. I live and die with this team. And I know it's not healthy. So that's what this blog is. A way for me to doubt the wins and cry over the losses, like any Chicago fan does. With each of the final 12 games of this season, this is where I'll whine and complain, to save certain people from me either calling or texting them. Because I know they don't want to hear it. I can yell to myself here until my heart's content. This will be my sounding board for all my vents, all my complaints, and all my joyus exclamations, should there be any. If you want to read it, cool. If not, that's cool too.

So this is temporary. Probably will run through the end of the season. So that way, should the Sox blow this, you'll know what building I jump off of. And should they somehow hang on, you'll know how much booze to pump out of my stomach.