Loyalty, history and $5 beers: Why fans still come out to see the Chicago White Sox

CHICAGO — Seventy times a year, Barry Antoniazzi tosses on his black No. 27 jersey with “Bagodonuts” stitched onto the back, dons a firefighter helmet covered in Chicago White Sox pins and walks a block and a half to his baseball sanctuary.

Antoniazzi grew tired of paying for parking at Guaranteed Rate Field, so 11 years ago, he moved to W. 35th Street and S. Parnell Avenue where, in a normal year, he can hear celebratory postgame fireworks from his residence.

This is, of course, no normal year, and the skies over the ballpark are quiet nearly every night. The White Sox haven’t won a home game in more than a month, and stand on the doorstep of undesirable history as they limp toward the 1962 New York Mets’ record of 120 losses.

And yet, Antoniazzi’s faith in the franchise hasn’t wavered, even though his house of worship has become a house of horrors that has hosted one defeat after another. On Tuesday, Antoniazzi, a paramedic for the Chicago Fire Department, watched his beloved, beleaguered club drop its 26th game in 27 attempts at home. Just as no two snowflakes are exactly alike, the White Sox have repeatedly found new and increasingly painful ways to lose in a season that has felt like one long, extraordinary blizzard on the South Side.

On Monday, Cleveland Guardians rookie spot starter Joey Cantillo retired the first 20 hitters he faced. On Tuesday, a line drive to the thigh knocked out Guardians starter Ben Lively after two innings, but the team’s bullpen covered the last seven frames to seal a shutout. On Wednesday, Lane Thomas delivered a pair of two-run infield singles to fuel a Cleveland sweep.

Antoniazzi traveled to San Francisco last month to complete his mission of watching the White Sox in all 30 ballparks. He’s drawn to Guaranteed Rate Field for the chance at seeing something new — he’s never witnessed a no-hitter in person, for instance — and to support a team he insists can only go up from here.

“We’re not going to be this bad forever,” he said. “We’re going to get better. So when we do get good, I can say, ‘I stuck with them through thick and thin.’ That’s what keeps me coming back.”

Antoniazzi is not alone in his loyalty; some of the few thousand fans in attendance each night are true diehards, willing to stick with their team even as it careens towards the worst season in baseball history. But what inspires others to pass through the turnstiles? Why do they choose to devote several hours to watching a predictable ending unfold on the diamond instead of, say, cruising along the Chicago River on an architectural boat tour, or riding the Centennial Wheel at Navy Pier, or watching pennant races play out on the TVs at Timothy O’Toole’s Pub, or shopping on Michigan Avenue, or even just lounging on the living room sofa?

The White Sox sold 11,429 tickets for Monday’s game, though the true attendance count appeared to be less than half of that. There was a slight uptick Tuesday, maybe because of a $5 beer promotion or because fans wanted to snatch up some of the last Campfire Milkshakes of the season. Or there’s another reason, one that has grown in importance as this impressively bad season has worn on: witnessing the train wreck, one loss at a time.

“We’re here to see them make history,” as one fan put it.

For others, the wins and losses don’t particularly matter. Many attendees were in town for business, and had a night to spare and a couple beers to guzzle. Brent Poole, from near Winnipeg, said he consumed the best hot dog of his life at Tuesday’s game. As they weaved through the concourse in center field, Poole and Russ Palm studied the statues of Charles A. Comiskey, Luis Aparicio and Nellie Fox. Poole hadn’t visited the stadium in 25 years; it was Palm’s first visit.

“Even though people aren’t here,” Palm said, “it’s still fun to come see this. Every park is different.”

The Campfire Milkshake has been one of the few bright spots in the 2024 White Sox season. (Matt Dirksen / Getty Images)

Dan Murby traveled to Chicago from Boston this week for work, and since he’s already attended a Bulls game and a Blackhawks game — and since the Cubs were on the road — he spent Tuesday night leaning against a right-field drink rail as the White Sox sputtered toward their 113th loss. Dylan Jones and Gavin Orr, in town for the International Manufacturing Technology Show, hail from upstate New York, where, Jones said, “There’s nothing near us.” Jones visits Chicago every other year, and he tries to attend a White Sox game on each trip, no matter the team’s standing.

“I’m not even a baseball fan,” Jones said. “I just like some entertainment.”

One couple, with their wedding scheduled for Sept. 26, opted to treat Monday’s contest — their first baseball game — as a “first of firsts to start off our life together.”

If their union can survive the 2024 White Sox, it can persevere through anything.

The small crowds make the scene almost eerie at times. As a concessionaire pushed an ice cream cart around the concourse on Monday, he sounded a bell that echoed throughout the venue. After a harmless Guardians groundout or a first-pitch strike by a Chicago pitcher, one could identify a fan’s individual claps from several sections away.

On Monday, one fan, staring out at a sea of empty forest-green seats, texted a buddy that he’s seen “livelier wakes on a Monday night.” That morbid feeling can take its toll. Out in center field, a middle-aged man stood behind a thigh-high railing, watching loss No. 112 because a friend gifted him four tickets, and so he took his son and his son’s two friends. When asked how long he has been a White Sox fan, the pain in his voice was palpable as he lamented, “My whole life.”

At least on this night, in this place, he had company in that.

“We’re at rock bottom right now,” said Nate Lutzow, who spent his 24th birthday at the ballpark on Tuesday. “I wish the team was better. That’d push me to be here more.”

Still, there are silver linings. Some parents capitalized on the small crowds to take their children to their first game without having to navigate a chaotic scene with a toddler. Some took the opportunity to check the ballpark off their list in their bid to experience all 30 venues. A Philadelphian used his daughter’s relocation to Chicago as an excuse to see his 27th ballpark. A trio of New Yorkers spent last weekend taking in the Yankees-Cubs series at Wrigley Field and stuck around an extra day to catch the other team in town. One Clevelander donned a white Steven Kwan jersey and a black White Sox hat at Monday’s game, since he purchases a cap at every ballpark he visits.

Plenty of Guardians fans either made the 55-minute flight or the five-hour drive west past windmills and RV company billboards or happen to reside in the Windy City. Visiting fan takeovers have become the norm as the season has progressed.

Chris Ramos walks with his brother, Pat, and their friend, Jacob Swartley, to Guaranteed Rate Field for every game. They were running late for an Aug. 31 affair against the Mets, and as they approached the entrance, they heard an eruption of cheers from the crowd.

“We’re like, ‘Oh, what happened?’” Ramos said. “Look at the phone. Pete Alonso home run.”

The 1899 Cleveland Spiders lost 134 games, but most still consider the 1962 Mets and their 120 losses to be the record the White Sox are chasing. (Quinn Harris / Getty Images)

The diehards have certainly been tested this season. Randy Johnson attended games at Comiskey Park with his grandparents. He has bricks and seats from the old building, baseballs autographed by Frank Thomas and battle scars from decades as a White Sox fan. He made his friend, who has a Cubs tattoo on his right forearm, wear a White Sox jersey to Tuesday’s game.

“You get to see the Sox play,” Johnson said. “We’re South Siders. Win or lose, it’s the place to be.”

Swartley and the Ramos brothers have occupied seats in the right-field corner at nearly every game for more than a decade. They launched a blog, “From The 108,” in 2016 and a podcast two years later. They’re as invested in the club as anyone.

“Other years, when the expectations were actually there,” Swartley said, “were much sadder than this year.”

Still, there have been games this year in which the team’s pitifulness has threatened their motivation. Pat lives three blocks from the ballpark, but he couldn’t convince himself to ditch his couch Monday night.

“It’s tough to get out of the house on a Monday night,” Chris said, “and then to see these guys? Even us, who try to come to so many games, we’re like, ‘Ehh, not tonight.’ I could totally understand why someone who has to make even a 15-minute drive here would go, ‘Nah, not until they show me something.’”

The three friends debated the worst-case scenario for the White Sox over the final few weeks of this wretched regular season. The club figures to soar past that record mark of 120 losses.

“At this point, why not?” Pat said. “We came this far.”

“I think it would be more brutal to lose 119,” his brother countered.

“They’d need to get on a heater for that to happen,” Pat said, “so it’d be fun for a little bit.”

“They’d have to rip off 10 wins in a row,” Chris added.

Pat pointed out that their season-long winning streak is four games.

“But they’ve had many 10-game losing streaks,” Pat said.

“As much as we enjoy coming to the ballpark,” Chris said, “I think the three of us are pretty much ready for this year to be over.”

It has been a season like few fanbases have ever endured, challenging the level of commitment of anyone who frequents Guaranteed Rate Field.

“I know we’re terrible this year,” Antoniazzi said, “but it doesn’t change the fact that I love baseball. I love the White Sox.”

(Illustration: Meech Robinson / The Athletic. Photos: Quinn Harris/Getty Images; Joseph Weiser/Icon Sportswire)