The anger is different now — we all see things for what they really are
I’ve been a Sox fan for nearly 40 years. I have vague memories of people being happy in 1983. I remember the 1990 season feeling important after five years of absolute garbage baseball, baseball that I loved nevertheless. I cried at the last game in the old park, because it felt like part of my life, and I didn’t have the perspective that comes with age, I didn’t know I’d have so much more aging to do.
In short, I’ve been thinking about the White Sox for a long time.