fic: the beautiful game (bingo prompt "choosing sides")
title: the beautiful game
prompt: choosing sides
summary: it's all about baseball, really.
notes: a new bingo card, a new set of bingo fics. :D evie, the narrator, and her grandma, mom, and girlfriend all made their first appearances in discovery, my picfor1000 fic. her grandpa is gabriel godwin, who made his first appearance in last year's nanonovel. and everything i know about ted williams, jackie robinson, and the white sox i learned from wikipedia and the movie eight men out.
My grandpa loved baseball. He cheered for the White Sox until they threw the World Series in 1919, and he felt so disappointed and betrayed that if he'd had box seats at Comiskey Park, he would have sold them. After that he followed the Red Sox for a while, even though he thought they were stupid for selling Babe Ruth to the Yankees, and then the Cincinnati Reds, and he tried to root for the Cubs, because at least they were a home town team, but that didn't stick.
And then he met my grandma, who had grown up on a ranch in Wyoming and only knew baseball from the newspapers and radio and amateur games until she came to Chicago. She loved the game for itself, without any particular team loyalty, and she would cheer for both sides on any given day. This drove my grandpa crazy - he was a baseball loyalist and even though he couldn't find a ball club to stay with, he felt that if you couldn't pick one team over the other for at least the length of a season, you couldn't call yourself a true fan.
I think in his heart he was a White Sox fan his whole life, even during the years when he said he'd cheer for them again only when everyone involved in the World Series scandal was dead. That scandal was not enough to drive him from the game. And in fact when my mom was a year old, and all the disbarred 1919 White Sox were still alive, one of the birthday presents he gave her was a tiny white-and-black-striped jersey.
Because it was my grandma, the cheer-for-everyone fan, who brought him back to his team. I think my grandpa was worn down by her repeated suggestion that they get box seats in Comiskey Park, and offended by her refusal to pick a team and stick with it, and her purely emotional reasons for supporting the teams she did - she was a Red Sox fan for years because she liked Ted Williams because he was a pilot in World War II like her brother, and she cheered for the Dodgers as long as Jackie Robinson played for them, because she had to support the man who broke the color barrier and the team that fielded him.
"The Black Sox might have been dishonest men and greedy," she would say, "but baseball is still a beautiful game."
Neither of my parents is a real baseball fan. They'll go to games and cheer for the home team, but it doesn't mean nearly the same thing to them as it meant to my grandpa. I think it skipped a generation, to be honest. I was lucky enough to find a fellow fan - my girlfriend discovered pro ball in college and learned to cheer for the Oakland A's. But I'm a Chicago girl born and raised, and like my grandpa I've been a White Sox fan my entire life.
My grandpa had been dead for years when the old Comiskey Park was demolished, which was good because it would have just pissed him off. He made a pilgrimage to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, but he never got to see his heartbreaking team win another World Series. But I was lucky enough to score tickets to the final game of the Series in 2005, and when we won I felt vindicated on his behalf.
My grandma told me once that my grandpa's biggest regret was that he never tried to buy the White Sox. It's a pity he never did. I think it's easier to be a fan than an owner, but all the same, he would have taken good care of them and their ballpark and tried to make them the best ball club that money could buy, because they were his team and even though they broke his heart, he loved them and he loved the game they played.
I don't think that in his heart he really needed to be told, but he listened to my grandma's words about the 1919 White Sox anyway, and because I am my grandfather's granddaughter, I believe them too - sometimes the players can be dicks, but baseball is still a beautiful game.
(spn fen may or may not recognize the source for grandma's line about the black sox.)
oh my god i posted this without a summary.
prompt: choosing sides
summary: it's all about baseball, really.
notes: a new bingo card, a new set of bingo fics. :D evie, the narrator, and her grandma, mom, and girlfriend all made their first appearances in discovery, my picfor1000 fic. her grandpa is gabriel godwin, who made his first appearance in last year's nanonovel. and everything i know about ted williams, jackie robinson, and the white sox i learned from wikipedia and the movie eight men out.
My grandpa loved baseball. He cheered for the White Sox until they threw the World Series in 1919, and he felt so disappointed and betrayed that if he'd had box seats at Comiskey Park, he would have sold them. After that he followed the Red Sox for a while, even though he thought they were stupid for selling Babe Ruth to the Yankees, and then the Cincinnati Reds, and he tried to root for the Cubs, because at least they were a home town team, but that didn't stick.
And then he met my grandma, who had grown up on a ranch in Wyoming and only knew baseball from the newspapers and radio and amateur games until she came to Chicago. She loved the game for itself, without any particular team loyalty, and she would cheer for both sides on any given day. This drove my grandpa crazy - he was a baseball loyalist and even though he couldn't find a ball club to stay with, he felt that if you couldn't pick one team over the other for at least the length of a season, you couldn't call yourself a true fan.
I think in his heart he was a White Sox fan his whole life, even during the years when he said he'd cheer for them again only when everyone involved in the World Series scandal was dead. That scandal was not enough to drive him from the game. And in fact when my mom was a year old, and all the disbarred 1919 White Sox were still alive, one of the birthday presents he gave her was a tiny white-and-black-striped jersey.
Because it was my grandma, the cheer-for-everyone fan, who brought him back to his team. I think my grandpa was worn down by her repeated suggestion that they get box seats in Comiskey Park, and offended by her refusal to pick a team and stick with it, and her purely emotional reasons for supporting the teams she did - she was a Red Sox fan for years because she liked Ted Williams because he was a pilot in World War II like her brother, and she cheered for the Dodgers as long as Jackie Robinson played for them, because she had to support the man who broke the color barrier and the team that fielded him.
"The Black Sox might have been dishonest men and greedy," she would say, "but baseball is still a beautiful game."
Neither of my parents is a real baseball fan. They'll go to games and cheer for the home team, but it doesn't mean nearly the same thing to them as it meant to my grandpa. I think it skipped a generation, to be honest. I was lucky enough to find a fellow fan - my girlfriend discovered pro ball in college and learned to cheer for the Oakland A's. But I'm a Chicago girl born and raised, and like my grandpa I've been a White Sox fan my entire life.
My grandpa had been dead for years when the old Comiskey Park was demolished, which was good because it would have just pissed him off. He made a pilgrimage to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, but he never got to see his heartbreaking team win another World Series. But I was lucky enough to score tickets to the final game of the Series in 2005, and when we won I felt vindicated on his behalf.
My grandma told me once that my grandpa's biggest regret was that he never tried to buy the White Sox. It's a pity he never did. I think it's easier to be a fan than an owner, but all the same, he would have taken good care of them and their ballpark and tried to make them the best ball club that money could buy, because they were his team and even though they broke his heart, he loved them and he loved the game they played.
I don't think that in his heart he really needed to be told, but he listened to my grandma's words about the 1919 White Sox anyway, and because I am my grandfather's granddaughter, I believe them too - sometimes the players can be dicks, but baseball is still a beautiful game.
(spn fen may or may not recognize the source for grandma's line about the black sox.)
oh my god i posted this without a summary.