It's a new season in so many ways. Robin Ventura's arrival will one day be told as an epic tale, but until that happens, here's an abbreviated Song of South Side Spring.

Profound apologies in advance to H. W. Longfellow, though I'm confident that both he and his Hiawatha would have an appreciation for the rhythmic drama we've all endured.


On the shores of Mishigami,
By the shining big-bean sculpture,
Stood the city of Chicago,
City of the wind,...

It’s 2:15 Friday afternoon and we’re in line. That’s what one does at SoxFest. We stand for a while in the cattle-chute railings that are set up in the Empire Room after waiting for a time like scattered leaves in the Palmer House lobby. That time spent standing becomes too much time and we sit on the floor.

I look around from my seat on the carpet and take in the Empire Room. For decades this was a night club where nattily-dressed men and diamond-bedecked women enjoyed steak, bourbon,...

We're going to SoxFest. There -- I said it.

I'd been waffling all winter because I was frustrated with the 2011 season and with the ragged way the season ended. But then it snowed.

I was shoveling the snow and thinking how much I wasn't looking forward to the work week. Then I thought about SoxFest coming up in a couple of weeks. Then I learned that son-of-tebman, my faithful baseball companion, didn't have to work that weekend. Then I remembered I have vacation days...

Jerry Owens found a job in the Seattle Mariners organization. I'm glad he did. After his shoulder injury and whatever other afflictions, he couldn't regain the flash of promise he showed in AA ball in 2005. When the White Sox released him on May 2nd he was only hitting .083 and was let go to make room for another on the conveyor belt of players who show promise.

I was thinking about Owens and the many players gone before who've been released. I thought of the scene in "Bull...

Six shutouts in 33 games. I put those words right out front to remind me why, in answer to a question last night, I told a friend that I didn't know when the next Sox game was scheduled.

But that was the malaise talking. Of course I knew when the next game was and who the Sox were playing. It's just that I find myself drifting in an arid stupor somewhere between anger and resignation after watching my team look like pigeons out there. And all I can do is feed the birds and hope they...