The last week of October 2005 was a pretty significant week in my life. Not only did my favorite baseball team win the World Series, but a few days later, I became friends with the woman who would become my wife and mother to my children.

After attending the White Sox’s championship parade in Chicago that Friday, I hustled back to the University of Wisconsin for Halloween weekend in Madison – a time-honored tradition that couldn’t be missed.

Naturally, being the 19-year-old loser I was, I dressed head-to-toe as a White Sox player for Halloween, as if I had actually won the World Series. 

What Krista saw in me that weekend remains an international mystery. 

I must have been pretty fun to be around that weekend, though. After all, I was in the midst of a World Series celebration, and the truth is, it did feel like I had actually won the World Series. I imagine it felt like that for all White Sox fans, because in our lives, not only had we never seen our team win it all, but it never even occurred to us that it was possible until they actually did it.

I still look back at those days with some shred of doubt they really happened. I bargained with God while Chad Qualls ran in from the bullpen in Game 2, only to see Paul Konerko hit the first pitch over the wall for a grand slam. Two decades later, I learned the future Pope was in the building, somewhere within a hundred feet of me. Safe to say those prayers were answered.

That’s just how that week in 2005 started. It ended with me starting a friendly relationship with Krista, which eventually blossomed into a marriage and our two wonderful children. I’m not sure that’s the fairy tale she would have written up, but it definitely works for me.

And yet, nearly 21 years have passed, and I don’t feel like my wife has ever witnessed anything close to the White Sox experience I had before I knew her. 

My parents took me to Old Comiskey Park when I was eight days old. I grew up taking the Red Line to games with my dad. In high school, my friends and I went to virtually every half-priced Monday game, in addition to the 10-15 games my parents had every season. I somehow had a neighborhood parking pass near the stadium even though I didn’t live in Bridgeport. I scheduled work shifts around games. I literally suffered a collapsed lung due to stress when the Sox nearly blew the division in Sept. 2005. I’m not proud of it, but that’s 100 percent true. 

My wife has witnessed almost none of that behavior, and it’s probably for the best. In 2008, she didn’t attend the Blackout game with me because she was still in school in Milwaukee.

Then 12 years went by before the White Sox made the playoffs again. In that time, we got married and bought a house in the suburbs. My dad gave up his tickets. We had full-time jobs and kids. 

Part of my job was covering games – including the White Sox. I helped produce Sox games at 670 The Score, screening calls for Chris Rongey. I eventually hosted White Sox pre- and post-game shows at WGN Radio during the darkest years of the previous rebuild.

I was grateful for those opportunities, but it also made it difficult to spend any time at the ballpark with my family. Plus – let’s be honest – the White Sox were mostly bad. 

I’m still mad about the James Shields trade. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive Jerry Reinsdorf for hiring Tony La Russa – again. And allowing Jason Benetti to go to Detroit was my breaking point. My dad’s, too. He claims he didn’t watch a single game in 2024 and I believe him. It was grim. For the most part, it’s been that way since 2005. 

That’s the era of White Sox baseball my wife and kids know. 

My son is 12 now and has never been able to experience a truly electric baseball atmosphere. I was in Las Vegas covering the Bears during Game 3 of the 2021 ALDS, and while I was able to take him to Game 4, the White Sox whimpered to a 10-1 loss. My daughter is five and she’s probably only been to two Sox games in her life. And my wife has a running bit where she laughs at me every time I get my hopes up. As usual, she’s been right.

Until now. 

Today, I get to take all three of them to a game in which the White Sox can clinch a playoff series at home. It’s such a rare opportunity that the chance hasn’t even presented itself since they won the 1906 World Series. Literally every person inside the stadium Wednesday afternoon will be witnessing a possibility they’ve never seen before. 

It almost makes the result feel secondary. Instead, I am just so incredibly excited to show my family the real White Sox experience. When it’s time to show up, we bring it. And I keep telling my wife and kids they have no idea what they are in for today – not just with the atmosphere, but with me too. 

I’m not exactly sure how I’ll handle it, but it feels like a can’t-lose situation. Today’s game matters to a lot of people for a lot of reasons, and for me, sharing this experience with my family will matter a lot more than the final score. 

Of course, a win wouldn’t hurt.