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.