There is something so refreshing about going into something with little to no expectations and walking away with incredible memories. For me, that was the 2026 White Sox.
I had them winning 70-something games, but not winning the division, and not making the playoffs. The team was so young and inexperienced, and sometimes the pitching felt like it was composed of three toddlers in a trenchcoat. Yet this team swept the Astros in the Wild Card, and got so close to winning the ALDS. Is it the World Series?
No. Did it exceed my expectations? Wildly. Did I love every single moment? Absolutely.
I had a blast chatting with players at SoxFest in January. In March, I made a quick drive to Milwaukee to catch the second game of the season and saw the player I was most excited about, Munetaka Murakami, send a ball to the moon. They lost, but the team looked alive for the first time in years.
Watching a lot of bad baseball over the years made me feel like an expert on what to look for: the signs of life. I felt like I buried a piece of myself with that 2024 team, on the day I recapped the 121st loss. I was frustrated, and could feel my face flush with anger and sadness as I typed away a scathing recap. As a fan of the team, but someone who needs to stay a little unbiased and professional, I knew it was rock bottom. The next year wasn’t too great, either.
I went to at least a dozen games this season. I saw them get nearly no-hit by the Dodgers, only to win the series over one magical weekend. I saw Edgar Quero dazzle on his dual bobblehead night, while checking for updates on Kyle Teel. I met longtime internet friends and kept sacred traditions with the girlfriends I love more than anything:
I spent quality time with my son, and getting to be the cool mom after securing the Colson Montgomery bobblehead and a quick visit with his buddy Scott Merkin. I went to games with my husband, after he had mostly stopped watching, and watched him care about this team again. We agreed that we’d try to go to a World Series game this year, if this team made it — then secured ALCS tickets just in case they didn’t make it past the Rays.
The ladies of South Side Sox got the VIP treatment for Gameday for the Girls x Sportish, and a lot of the writers you read weekly met up again towards the end of the regular season.
It was special.
Win or lose, I was able to watch a team I cared deeply about with my favorite people.
I know tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, and maybe this team was lightning in a bottle. I know firsthand that there are tons of problems under the hood (please refer back to our pitching staff being toddlers in a trenchcoat). This team is still so young and inexperienced. Mune looked lost against Cleveland, the strikeout rate was inexcusable (back to Arizona for some hitting mechanics) and don’t get me started on the openers. There was no doubt that the pieces were not all there, and we were a few years away from a true, contending team.
But friends, I still loved every minute. This team was special. The scrappiness, and willingness every single night to go out and play hard while having fun, was special, as was the brotherhood in the clubhouse. The silly interviews on Friday Night All Access, and any big win? You guessed it – special.
I’ll always be so thankful for this season, even if it ended too soon. Onto the next, assuming there is a next season.
