ChiSox Success Kills Old Woman

Unless you're brand new around here, you're well aware that I'm a lifelong fan of the New York Yankees. Though I'd like nothing more than to walk into the Yankee offices and have a Falling Down moment with an uzi, I love my team, absolutely and without equivocation. So it goes without saying that I won't be rooting on the Chicago White Sox, nor will I cheer for the Houston Astros. I'm hoping for a great series - no more, no less. If Houston wins, I'll be happy because Andy Pettitte was my favorite Yankee and Brad Lidge is a Domer. If the Sox pull it off, I'll smile, still beaming with pride for scooping Jon Garland out of fantasy free agency when he had 3 wins under his belt. I just want to see seven games of great baseball. But I'd like to know why more people can't do the same. Why must we be forced to deal with bandwagon wankers? It's one thing to watch a final series and like one side well enough to hope they win or to have a player you like and pull for his team. That's perfectly understandable. But what about the poseurs that didn't know the team existed until the post-season hype began and try to convince others that they've loved the team all along? I hate those people. They're simply unacceptable and they've got to go.

The worst bandwaggoners, of late, are the new Pale Hose supporters. These strokers are working on a gold medal performance in douchebaggery. Their nauseating existence almost forces me to actively cheer on the Astros, a likeable but bland team that irritates me largely because its fans are Texans. 80% of these Sox poseurs live within 200 miles of Chicago but when visiting the Second City, how many opted to hit Wrigley for a Chicago Scrubs game rather than venture to Comiskular to watch the best team in the American League? That ballpark was more than half empty from April to September and now there are millions having World Series parties and "living for this" in their brand new Joe Crede jerseys. They're the same millions that were all over Dusty Baker's Cubs in 2003. The only difference is that instead of fellating Kerry Wood, they're foaming at the mouth for Scott Podsednik, blissfully unaware that until 10 days ago, he was nothing more than a weak-hitting base stealer with no regular season homeruns.

But those things aside, the thing that's most pathetic about the ChiSox bandwagon is the inclusion of ship-jumping Cubs fans. Could you imagine the A's faithful pulling for the Giants to bring one home to the Bay? Even for a city so accustomed to losing as Chicago, I fail to make heads or tails of this phenomenon. At least there's one Cubs fan who chose to die rather than disgrace herself: 68-year-old Irene Egan. She went to her grave despising the South Siders.

Two weeks ago, Egan conceded to her son that she knew the Sox were doing well. "She's like, 'If them damn Sox go to the World Series, it will be the death of me,'" Allen Grove said. One week later, the Sox did, indeed, seal their first trip to baseball's Fall classic in 46 years. Two days after that, 68-year-old lifelong Cub fan Egan died. "The White Sox gave her a heart attack," her granddaughter said with a chuckle. "The White Sox killed my grandma. She was everything Irish, red, white and blue for patriotic and 'Go Cubs.'" Apparently, Ms. Egan was a hard-living, outspoken woman, and while she may be gone, her family says she may not be done with the Sox yet.

"She's probably having bar fights" in heaven, her grandaughter said. "She would want me to tell the Sox fans, 'Don't underestimate the power of the Irish lady in heaven.'"

Ms. Egan passed away on October 16, 2005, one day too late to swoop into Notre Dame Stadium and keep Matt Leinart's fumble in bounds.