The Permanent Flag of Defeat

 During the Chicago White Sox's harrowing streak of 21 consecutive losses, echoing through the empty aisles of baseball history, one can't help but recall the spirit of Bill Veeck—a man whose legacy with Chicago baseball, both the White Sox and, incidentally, the Cubs, becomes ever relevant in such trying times for the team.

Veeck, once the colorful owner of the White Sox, found himself in the front row of Wrigley Field's center-field bleachers back in 1983, not out of allegiance to the Cubs but rather in protest against the new direction of the Sox under Eddie Einhorn and Jerry Reinsdorf, who sought to transform the club into a "high-class operation." Veeck's presence at Wrigley symbolized baseball's enduring appeal to the common man—a stark contrast to the White Sox's current, grim march into the record books.

This tale of Veeck's self-imposed exile from Comiskey Park to the bleachers of Wrigley, where he regaled fellow fans with stories, serves as a poignant reminder of the game's heart and soul. Veeck, with his flair for the theatrical, from introducing an exploding scoreboard to having the Sox wear shorts, understood that baseball was as much about the spectacle and the fans as it was about the game itself.

As the White Sox stand 61 games under .500, their struggle is not just a series of unfortunate losses but a drift away from the very essence of what made teams like Veeck's so beloved. It's about more than just winning or losing; it’s about connecting with the fans, making the game accessible, and fostering a sense of community and passion for baseball.

Years later, as both Chicago teams grapple with modern challenges—from the backlash against top-heavy management decisions to the alienation of long-time fans—it's crucial to remember Veeck's ethos. He boycotted not just the White Sox but eventually the Cubs too, making a final stand for the average fan against the corporatization of the ballpark experience. Today, fans are voicing similar frustrations, with some planning boycotts and others expressing disillusionment with the direction of their beloved teams.

It might be tempting to dwell on the White Sox's losses or the Cubs' struggles, but perhaps the more significant concern is how these teams can reconnect with the core values that Veeck so cherished—making baseball a game for everyone. It means prioritizing the fans, preserving the traditions that matter, and ensuring that a day at the ballpark remains an inclusive, enjoyable, and memorable experience.

So, as the Chicago baseball scene navigates these turbulent waters, maybe it's time to look back to figures like Veeck for guidance. His legacy reminds us that, beyond the records and stats, baseball's true magic lies in its ability to bring people together, spark joy, and celebrate the human spirit in all its quirky, unpredictable glory. While the Cubs literally fly a flag denoting a win or a loss after each home game at Wrigley Field, Reinsdorf’s stained mark as an MLB owner hangs like a permanent flag of defeat over “insert random corporate interest” ballpark.