SoxFest people, there's no need to dress for the occasion. We all know why we’re here.
Spring is coming. I've seen it on the horizon at SoxFest.
SoxFest is the annual gathering for fans of the summer game played on the South Side. North Siders have a similar event, Cubs Convention, that's just as silly as the Chicago White Sox event—three days in a hotel mostly standing in line. Think of it as Disney World, but without the thrill rides.
Like most rituals, the fan festivals signify something unseen. A fan convention starts a process in which a major league baseball team assembles its coaches and staff for spring training. Pitchers and catchers will report to Arizona on Feb. 12, but in the bleak midwinter, fans can get a read on spring before the groundhog (which by the way a minor-league mascot in the Braves system.)
So Brenda and I go. The couples we sit with in the ballpark go. We all meet each other in the halls and coffeeshops and bars at the Chicago Hilton, comparing notes on who's available to sign what and when. Collectively we’re trying to recreate the ballpark experience by killing time creatively.
If you remember getting an autograph before or after a game, you saw the end of an era. Autograph hounds now wait in lines of 200 or more. If a couple attends the fan convention, they're in cahoots, queueing up in separate lines, sometimes on opposite sides of the same hallway, waiting for wristbands. Once banded, another line forms as we wait for autographs. If wristbands for a particular player haven't arrived, we spontaneously form more lines.
This is mostly an excuse to strike up conversations with strangers about how we'd manage the ball club, a skill in which all fans are equally expert. We compare notes about Manny Machado, this year's Holy Grail of unsigned free agents, or when the hot minor league prospects will get called up. From there we can talk about our kids' little league records, or if we're childless, maybe what we're reading in line. I learned a bit about Terry Pratchett's "Discworld" novels and fine points about "Lord of the Rings." Baseball and reading habits form early.
But this is just pepper in the outfield, We're warming up to get on deck for small talk with players. A conversation isn’t guaranteed, though. Some players are more fluent in Spanish, some are more reserved, a few would rather be golfing. Fortunately the Sox have plenty of young players who still enjoy the novelty of the limelight. Fans bring everything to sign: balls, trading cards, photos, bats. A woman in front of me talked outfielder Daniel Palka into signing a card, then a ball. Then she pushed her luck, and asked him to sign her can of Coke. Which was just goofy enough to work.
When we’re not snagging autographs, we’re buying items to sign or growing our collection of Guaranteed Rate swag coffee mugs with the Sox logo. Or we're buying yet more Sox apparel. Everyone is decked out in Sox gear, which seems pointless. We all know about our rooting interest in one team. Anyone here wearing Cubs blue is just being a jerk.
The fan fest from you know from TV is something we watch when too tired to stand for autographs: panel discussions with ballplayers. Here's where Walter from Riverside checks on the progress of Zach Collins in Charlotte, and Jason from Wheeling pushes to move Nick Madrigal up from Winston-Salem. A few teens with disabilities seem to blossom asking questions at the mic, and kids get to ask, what’s it like being famous and stuff?
Hall of Fame players were were gathered at one panel to welcome Harold Baines, who’ll be inducted this year in Cooperstown. Baines is known as one of the reserved types, but he revealed himself as a quick wit. Jim Thome talked about the walk through the museum, seeing their idols represented at every turn. Thome says it was the most impactful two minute walk he’d ever taken. Baines just turns his head toward Thome and says, what about your wedding? Oops.
After awhile you need to bust out, and fortunately you’re downtown. We took in dinner and a play (sorry, I can’t recommend "Kinky Boots") and watched "Saturday Night Live." It wasn't a bad way to spend a cold and snowy weekend. And I got to hold a baseball in my hand and know that soon enough it will be spring again, and then summer. 🦄
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