Brooke and I started it all with our decision to get the Ozzie Plan. We'd always meet up at Gate 5. Since she lived and worked in the city, she was always waiting for me to stroll in from the Green Line. We'd dig out tickets from purses and get in the much shorter Gate 5 lines. This particular gate seemed like the best kept secret of Comiskey, even though it was adjacent to parking lots and closest to the Red and Green Lines.

It was the clear meeting place for any game thereafter, whether I went with Brooke or a handful of other Sox fan friends.

I don't remember who officially declared us to be the Gate Five Gang but it stuck. Brooke, Mark, Jill, Todd, and me. We were super fans. Nay, we were the Best White Sox Fans Ever.

We even made t-shirts to prove it.

We've gone to many a game in varying combinations but the whole gang has probably only attended one or two games together.  Which makes it all the more funny to call ourselves a gang.

Whatevs. We make up our own rules on the Southside.

(They no longer blog but it's worth reading Mark and Todd's different takes on a game we all went to in 2006, featuring the return of Frank Thomas, a rogue squirrel, and an unexpected win.)

Brooke, Jill, and Todd have all since married and started their families. It's a little more complicated for us to all be free to attend a game. Especially since I moved out of state. But I dream of a day when we'll all reunite at The Cell and cheer on our team.

With the presence of our collective fandom, the White Sox can't help but win.

The Gate 5 Gang has been on my mind with the start of another season.

Spring Training imbues baseball fans with hope. We are all optimists at the start. We look at the team and the trades, the strengths and the weaknesses. We look at player performance and figure out gaps but it's all hypothesis at this point. No matter what, we think, "this could be the year."

So it is with the White Sox. Paul Konerko is the only vestige from the 2005 World Champion team. I need to spend time familiarizing myself with the new names on the roster. I may not be able to watch many games from here in Nashville but there's nothing like baseball season.

Baseball brings people together. We are united in our victories and losses. We prepare for the worst but hope for the best. We keep coming back year after year after year.

Because this could be The Year, after all.

This is what I love about baseball and life. The sense of possibility. This could be my team's year. It could also be my year.

I need to do my part. I often know what I need to do. It's my turn to step up to the plate. The rest might be out of my control but I'll never know if I hang back and procrastinate or distract myself with other stuff.

The Gate 5 Gang teases me about my relentless optimism when it comes to the White Sox. I have an unfailing belief in my team. And yet I so often struggle to apply this sunny disposition to my own prospects.

No longer.

This is my year. This is my chance. I'm taking the first step. I'm taking another leap of faith.

No matter the outcome, it will all work for good.

Why wouldn't it?

Are you excited about baseball season? Are you as optimistic about your prospects as you are for others?

I scheduled this post for today well before Monday night's announcement that, after 8 years as manager, Ozzie Guillen has been released from the White Sox. I will greatly miss Ozzie and I will forever be one of his Angels.

The story, of course, starts in my dorm room freshman year. This particular spring week I'd decided to create a canopy over my bed, thanks to the tall bedposts. Given that this was college, no one found it strange.

In fact, all week friends gathered under the hovering sheet for heart to hearts or to do homework.

One night as Brooke and I chatted away, the subject turned to baseball.

She was a White Sox fan, born and raised. Her dad had never missed a Home Opener.

I told her I started rooting for the Sox when I was a kid, just to annoy my Cubs-fan cousins and because I love the underdog. I hadn't taken it seriously though.

She seemed to sit up a little straighter, looked me dead in the eye and said, "you should."

I considered it. I liked this idea, this taking baseball seriously. Why not?

I started checking the score in the paper and keeping tabs on my team. I learned player names. I brushed up on my baseball knowledge.

The next spring, friends and I saw Brooke through the death of her father from cancer. The Sox Home Opener was about a month after he died. Brooke invited me and another friend to join their regular Home Opener group that year. We toasted her dad during the 7th inning stretch.

My life hasn't been the same since.

First Sox game with Trisha, Brooke, and Laura on April 14, 2000

I went to every Home Opener with Brooke's family from 1999 until 2010, only missing this year's game due to now living in the South.

From 2005 to 2009, Brooke and I bought partial season tickets, 13 games under the Ozzie Plan. If you're a baseball fan, you will remember that 2005 was the Greatest Year for my boys.  It was a beautiful thing to be a part of that season from the beginning.

We christened ourselves Ozzie's Angels and made 4 different shirts over the years commemorating our fandom. When the World Series memorial was built, we purchased a legacy brick. We decided we wouldn't buy presents for each other for a few years to rationalize the cost.  Our names forever associated with the Chicago White Sox? Priceless.

And then there were the cheers. "Oh-ee-oh, Maglio!" "I say Tada, you say Hito. Tada-hito! Tada-hito!" Certain "he's large and in charge" hand motions whenever big, bad Bobby Jenks walked out on the field.

It's funny to think I wasn't always this rabid and obsessed with a baseball team.

I loved sharing so many games with Brooke. Sure, we cheered our hearts out for our boys and lamented when things didn't go so well. (No one can break your heart quite like a baseball team, after all. But let's not talk about October baseball right now.) What I loved most was how the games strengthened our friendship through the years.

After all, we no longer lived in the same town. While a few of us met monthly for burgers at Palmer Place, 13 or more games over 6 months (seven if we were lucky) meant that Brooke and I kept up with the minutia of our daily lives. As Konerko, Dye, and Crede took the field, we worked through boy issues, job woes, friend drama, and so much more.

The years since graduating changed our circle of friends.  We're no longer the same tight-knit group. I'm certain if we landed in the same room, the conversation would continue as if we'd just watched Ally McBeal together the night before.

But Brooke and I retained something from our Augie days through the magic of baseball. Even though she's married and mothering now and my move effectively ended our partial season tickets, we still meet at Palmer Place when I'm in town. And we still commiserate about the White Sox by email or Facebook.

Some things don't change.

So, Brooke, thank you for telling me to take baseball seriously. I wouldn't trade the joy and heartbreak for anything. And I especially wouldn't trade the time we spent together.

As always, let's go go go White Sox!

Are you a baseball fan? Did a friend ever inspire you to begin a hobby?

It's not what you think.

Mark and I are firmly friends. We met in 2005, the year of our White Sox.

                                                    With Landon and Mark at my Going Away Party  

Mark is one of my funniest friends. He's also ridiculously smart and talented. I hope he doesn't ever realize I'm not quite as smart as he is. We've had many great conversations over the years so my smiling and nodding must not have tipped him off quite yet.

While we'll talk about many matters of life and faith, our conversations eventually veer toward the White Sox. Invariably I will mention my dream for Aaron Rowand and Jermaine Dye to return to the team. Then he smiles, nods, and pats me on the head.

Not really. We both know the chances are unlikely but he finds my enduring bitterness to be humorous.

For those of you who are unaware, Jermaine Dye is my favorite player. It doesn't matter that he hasn't been on the team since 2009 or that he officially retired this year. I mean, he was the freaking World Series MVP. Plus, one time while he was warming up, he waved at me.

One of the highlights of my White Sox-obsessed life.

I wasn't sure it could get any better than this. Oh me of little faith!

I was lucky to see Mark a couple of times while I was back in my hometown. Both visits occurred at Landon and Jill's home because I couldn't get enough of her sweet daughter.  The first visit, Mark mentioned that he had a treat for me and he'd bring it on Saturday. He refused to tell me what it was, except that it had to do with the White Sox.

I thought it would be a bobble head.

Saturday afternoon, Mark strolled in and dropped a pink gift bag in my lap. I pushed the tissue paper aside and peered in.

A baseball.

My heart stopped.

I picked up the ball and turned it over, finding Jermaine Dye's signature sprawled across.

My heart stopped again.

A smile stretched across my face as I started giggling. "Is this for real?"

Mark confirmed it was legit.  His friend had worked there and when she left, bequeathed many Sox-related items to him.

The next few moments are a blur. My laughter may or may not have turned hysterical. I may or may not have cried, I was so happy.

To have an autographed baseball from my favorite, albeit retired, player? Priceless.

But you know what made this gift even more precious? That Mark had received the baseball, thought of my love for JD, and passed it on to me.

I'm glad Mark puts up with my requests for prom-like pictures

That, my friends, is true friendship.  And that is why Mark shall henceforth be known as my Favorite Friend.

What is one of the best gifts you've ever received?  Are you a baseball fan?

Dear Ozzie Guillen and the Chicago White Sox organization,

I'm sorry.  I let you down this year.  I should have known better but I got caught up in the moment.  Like when you're watching a no-hitter in progress- you know you shouldn't say anything but you wonder, "what if?  what if I'm about to witness history?" and then when the streak is botched, you curse yourself for saying anything at all.

The home opener started the season off strong.  I was so happy to be there- my 11th consecutive home opener with the Bond clan.  Our group has changed over the years but we always have a good time.  With my move to Nashville just 6 weeks away, this would end up being my only game this year.  After 5 seasons as an Ozzie Plan ticket holder and a lifetime as a fan, 2010 would be my first season from afar.

Still, I had a quiet hope that maybe there would be baseball in October.  By then, I'd be well settled in my new job and able to take some time off to come back home and celebrate.



Just before I moved, my reign as the Eternal White Sox Optimist was dampened, I suppose, by reality.  My beloved team was not playing as well as they should.  Even though every other year I've believed that things would turn around, I couldn't muster up the optimism this time.  Perhaps I was trying to protect myself from the strangeness of no longer living in Illinois, no longer having access to all the games on TV, or heading down to The Cell.  I was frustrated with the players.  Part of me thought, this is what happens when you don't keep Jermaine Dye.  Or Aaron Rowand.  Sorry, I can't let that one go.

But then things started heating up again!  I was able to watch a game or two each week on TV, cheering my boys on.  Who could have imagined we'd be in first place by the end of the first half after an awful spring?  I found my optimism coming back in droves.  Which, I know, is the mark of a fickle fan but trust me when I say I'm not fickle.  I blame it on the fact that I've always been surrounded by Cubs fans- even in Nashville.

I came back to the Chicago suburbs the first weekend of August for Jill's wedding.  I may have been riding on the high of good baseball, my friend's wedded bliss, and a glass of wine.




When the Gate 5 Gang reunited at the wedding, I couldn't help but speak the words that no fan should ever speak in August.    


Post-season.

I know!  I think back now and wonder how I risked jinxing us.  I was just so happy!  When people asked about Nashville life and when I'd next be home, the standard answer was Christmas.  But...my boss had already given me future permission to take time off if the Sox made it to the playoffs.  She's a Red Sox fan so she understands all about not making plans in October...just in case.  So when people asked about my next visit, I risked it all and said, maybe, just maybe October if we were lucky.

OK, I can't take all the blame for why we're not in the playoffs right now.  Clearly, the actual players are at fault here.  They had the tools to win but didn't win enough.  We should have been playing against The Evil Empire this past week instead of the Twins.  So I implore you, players, step up to the plate- literally- next year.  I'll cheer my heart out but I won't jinx you, I promise.
 
I've learned my lesson.  No more post-season talk until we're actually in post-season.

Thanks for 2005.  Thanks for letting me be Ozzie's Angel. Thanks for winning game 3 of the 2008 ALDS while I was there.  Thanks for 88 wins this year, in spite of the ups and downs.  Thanks for always being "Back in Black."  Thanks for being the best team Chicago has had ever had.

Leigh