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At least we’re halfway home

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Cleveland Indians v Chicago White Sox
Alone in his tarnished kingdom, Jerry Reinsdorf sits, thinking of what washed veteran player he can pluck from the recycling plant. | Nuccio DiNuzzo/Getty Images

That A+ in creative writing seems useless when it comes to talking about the White Sox right now

If you’re reading this, you’re probably like me. Frustrated is not a strong enough adjective for my feelings, but I still love this team. I still watch games or tap my phone screen to check my widget with the current score. Then I tweet something mocking them, but deep down, I know I won’t stop watching them, even if writing for South Side Sox wasn’t my job.

I can’t quit baseball, even if it’s dreadful. As Taylor Swift sings, “I love you, it’s ruining my life.”

After last season I took some time to sit with the idea of continuing to cover the White Sox. Sure, the extra income on the side is nice, but is it worth my peace of mind? I knew walking into this season that it wouldn’t be a great one. Between bringing in Chris Getz, signing a certain pitcher I’m not particularly eager to name, and keeping Pedro Grifol on, everything seemed doomed from the start. I don’t even need the DSM-5 to assume this, but adding an owner with Machiavellianism and no desire to dole out money for any star players suddenly makes being a fan seem untenable.

But, whew. I didn’t think they’d be parked at 21-61 in June. That was a new level of bad, and I again questioned my decision to stay on this beat. I could walk off into the sunset and reclaim my evenings.

Yet, here I am, still writing about the White Sox.

This season has taken a toll on a lot of fans. I know a few people who didn’t renew their season tickets after decades. Others have stopped watching completely. One who has been a lifelong White Sox fan who started watching Tigers games just to listen to Jason Benetti on the call.

As I sit here typing this column, curious as to what direction to take with it, I realize it’s tough to write about a bad team. I admittedly haven’t followed any trade deadline discourse because I know it’ll just be a fire sale. I won’t attach myself to any players because if they’re any good, they’ll probably be in Dodger Blue by the end of July.

No one wants to read a manifesto of everything that went wrong over the last several years. Most of us agree that the root of the problem starts from the top.

I’ve watched some of my favorite pitchers move on to greener pastures and dominate. It’s almost as if Katz couldn’t fix ’em after all. I choose to celebrate Reynaldo López, who is now the only qualified pitcher in MLB with an ERA below 2.00.

I check on Dylan Cease's starts despite the massive time difference.

Hell, I even wonder what it would’ve been like to still have Marcus Semien when I see his stats. Oh, and hey, do you all remember when Bryce Harper was supposed to be a done deal?

The what-ifs will only get you so far, though. And spoiler, it only makes you feel more despair.

So what does one write about when the team is miserable and no one is having fun anymore? I guess it’s this: Keep your heads up, folks — only 80 games left in this trainwreck season.


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