How can you not be romantic about baseball?

“This field, this game – it’s a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again.”

I can’t believe it’s already March.

To me, March is a huge month. It marks the beginning of St. Patrick’s Month, which is another great landmark celebration during the year (especially following my last blog about my experience with Dry January).

The upcoming Chicago St. Patrick’s Day Parade and the South Side Irish Parade that follows it are two of my favorite days of the year. While I’m proud of my Irish heritage every day, getting to celebrate during an entire weekend in the greatest city in the world makes it extra special.

So, you’d bet your ass I will be using this entire month to make up for the month I lost earlier this year. But, this blog isn’t about St. Patrick’s Day, it’s about another pastime that I and many others hold near and dear.


Every March, I take at least two days off of work: the Monday following the two aforementioned parades and Opening Day.

This month grants us the return of baseball. Our national pastime and a game that can only so eloquently be put into words by the late, great James Earl Jones in Field of Dreams:

Baseball has always been such a special game to me. Our national pastime is there for me and everyone else every spring. Year in and year out, we relish in time spent at the ballpark eating hot dogs, watching fireworks, and celebrating the embodiment of the American dream come to life on the diamond. For me, baseball is more than just a game; it’s a lifestyle. I’m a 162-guy through and through and I can’t wait to get back into the swing(s) of it.


As excited as I am for baseball’s return, I will have to come to grips soon that I am also a Chicago White Sox fan. A loyal-to-death season ticket holder that keeps a passion for the team and the game they play. A passion that has passed down like an infectious disease from my South Side grandfather that saw the 1959 White Sox arrive at Midway Airport after clinching the American League Pennant, to my mother who accompanies me on Opening Day and whose earliest memories are at Comiskey Park reading the lineups, all the way to my future kids who will be stricken with this disease as well.

I’m thankful that I got to see the 2005 World Series Champion White Sox play because following the worst season in baseball history for the team last year, my hope and the hopes of South Siders everywhere can only go so high.

Because of a stupid TV deal, I can’t even watch the games at home this year without jumping through several flaming hoops. So, I got season tickets because I just love this game too much.

The team that doesn’t deserve my money after a historically awful run earned it despite being unwatchable, both in talent and on an actual broadcast. But if that ’05 team taught me anything, it’s Don’t Stop Believin’.

Because that’s the beauty of the game. Every year in late March, every team begins with zero wins and zero losses. Opening Day is the best day of the year because hope reigns supreme.


Going to baseball games is just part of what makes life fun during the spring and summer. From the time I was a kid until now, if you had a couple extra bucks in your pocket and needed something to do, you went to White Sox games.

It’s one of those things that I just loved as a kid and that love has remained until now. The peanuts, the hot dogs, the pattern on the outfield grass, the diamond, hearing people swear, seeing fireworks after White Sox home runs. All of it had such a profound effect on me.

Now, as a beer-drinking and hot dog-consuming adult, the only thing that has changed about all of those sights and sounds is my ability to buy the beer and the gut that has formed from enjoying all the beer and hot dogs.

Just a few of my hot dogs and beer from over the years

The best part about the ballgame and ballpark to me was always the time spent there. There was no clock. There was a first pitch time and there are at least 9 frames to play. Whoever has more runs and can get to 27 outs first, wins. It’s a beautiful game.

I’m not a fan of the pitch clock. I think it’s had some negative effects on the health of players that people are overlooking in replacement of shorter games. I always felt the length of the game was part of the atmosphere. That long afternoon at the ballpark socializing with friends, family, and other fans is what makes the game special.

You can stop worrying about the life that exists outside of the ballpark for 3-4 hours and just enjoy the beautiful afternoon or evening you’ve been given to watch a simple game that can be played by kids in a backyard, but at the highest level by athletes that were all once those kids in the backyard.

If you pause from watching the game to turn to your friends and catch up, you’re not missing any insane action. You might miss a pitch or two, but all the while, you’re enjoying the company you’re with. Because regardless of that conversation you’re locked into, it will pause at the crack of a bat.

My friends and I even turn the pitch speed into a drinking game if we can. Whoever guesses the correct pitch speed is “Safe” and the last one standing after a round of guesses buys the next round. All of that is possible because of baseball.

Here’s a gallery of just a few photos from over the last few years of friends and family accompanying me to the ol’ ballyard:


There’s a reason you saw some mix-in photos from above at Boston Red Sox games. My dad is from Boston and I’ve always been a dual-Sox fan because of him. My dad was my first baseball coach and I was raised to hate the Cubs and Yankees. Also, all part of the fun.

I touched on some of my Boston baseball experiences on the blog a few years ago when the Red Sox won the World Series in 2018.

My great grandfather on that Boston side, Bill Stewart, was also a National League Umpire for over 20 years after briefly playing for the Chicago White Sox and coaching the 1938 Chicago Black Hawks to a Stanley Cup as the first American-born coach to win a Stanley Cup. He’s in the Hall of Fame for both Baseball and Hockey.

Baseball Hall of Famer and N.L. Umpire Bill Stewart
1938 Stanley Cup Champion Bill Stewart

Just like my great grandfather, I got to work in baseball. I was lucky enough and still blessed to have worked for both of the organizations I grew up a fan of. To this day, one of my best memories in life is getting to watch the Red Sox and White Sox from the owner’s seats at Fenway Park.

I had the opportunity to meet and work under the late Larry Lucchino during my time with the Triple-A Pawtucket Red Sox. He knew I was a White Sox fan and gave me and a few other interns his tickets to Fenway that night.

I didn’t wear any White Sox stuff to avoid any Elaine from Seinfeld situations, but being eye-level with then-White Sox Manager Ricky Renteria and one of my All-Time favorite White Sox, Jose Abreu, was just special.

Larry was a chairman of the Jimmy Fund and he helped the fight against cancer through baseball to his final day.

In 2019, I lost my friend Gabby to cancer and I don’t think the world’s seen a bigger White Sox fan than her.

When I got the opportunity to work for the White Sox in 2020 and the season was shortened due to COVID, I got to help bring fans into the ballpark in a unique way that season. We were one of the first organizations in the world that brought cardboard fan cutouts into the fan-less 2020 season as part of the FANtastic Faces initiative.

Gabby was one of those FANtastic Faces. She got to see one of two White Sox playoff teams before their untimely fall from grace and relevancy in 2022.


Baseball is a lot of things to a lot of people. As I explained above, it’s the hot dogs, the beer, the environment, the family and friends, and the fireworks.

It’s also a job for many people. It’s a way to remember friends who are no longer with us. It’s a window in time to America’s roots and sometimes, even your own family’s roots.

Every baseball season is a special one. Every moment spent in a ballpark with your loved ones is a moment well spent. Every win and loss is a memory.

So whether you love your team or hate them, whether your team picks up and moves cities or plays in a century-old ballpark, whether you can even watch your team on TV or not, baseball will always be there.

I leave you with two home runs from my two favorite players to ever play the game to help get you in the mood:

I’ll see you at the ballpark.

~DS

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