On the Saturday after the White Sox dusted the Boston Red Sox in the ALDS, I was in Logan Airport killing time in the Fox Sports Bar before a flight I was taking to watch that evening’s Bruins-Penguins hockey game in Pittsburgh. A grizzled, lightly bearded man of above average height with broad shoulders walked into the bar with a large duffle bag. He had a White Sox turtle neck on, and a White Sox Division Series Champs hat on. College football was on all over the bar but since I had been so taken aback by the stunning efficiency with which the Pale Hose dispensed the Red Sox, baseball was still fresh in my mind. So I decided I would tell the genlteman just how impressed I was with his guys.

I told him “congrats.” “Thanks,” he said. “I pitch batting practice for the White Sox.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” I said. “Yesterday must have been a real thrill.”

He opened his duffle bag and pulled out a baseball and told me that it was the baseball from the final out of the White Sox’ first post-season series victory since 1917.

He held it in the air and told me, “I can’t wait to bring this ball to Mr. Reinsdorf. He might have won 6 titles with the Bulls but baseball is his love.” I told him I imagined that would be a special moment both for Mr. Reinsdorf and him.

Sensing my interest in baseball history and memorabilia, he pulled something else out of his bag. It was the lineup card from Game 3 of the ALDS, another item that will probably be worth quite a bit someday.

“I’d never sell it. I’ll give it to one of my kids.”

“Good for you.”

He also showed me his ticket to the post-game celebration at the Sheraton near Copley Square that Reinsdorf hosted. The ticket read “Wicked Sweet Celebration”, a creative name for a party given its setting and a tasteful dig at Boston vernacular. Hey, the White Sox had earned that right. They would fly back to Chicago on Saturday but for one night, Boston was theirs. He explained that Reinsdorf deserved credit for putting on the caliber of party he did.

“Magnificent spread, more food than you could ever eat and a full open bar.”

He then said to me, “you want to hear something neat?”

“Sure,” I said, as if I hadn’t been completely engaged by all of the fascinating tidbits he had already shared.

“After yesterday’s game, Mark Buehrle came up to me in the clubhouse and let me know that the guys voted me a full share of the post-season winnings. I won over $100,000 yesterday, so let me buy you a beer.”

“Sure thing,” I told him.

He went on to explain, “See I only do this part time. I only make a few road-trips a year and help out around the clubhouse at home and pitch batting practice from time to time, but I work for the City of Chicago and have a wife, four kids, a mortgage and bills to pay, you know? This $100,000 means a lot to me, and if they win the Series, shit…”

He stopped himself, as if the thought of the $300,000+ he would stand to make was more than he could fathom.

“Well the White Sox just picked up another fan. I’ll be pulling like hell for you,” I told him.

“Thanks.”

Just after he bought me a beer, it was announced that his flight would begin boarding. He settled up his tab, grabbed his duffle bag of White Sox dreams and made his way over to the gate.

Less than two weeks later, a lifelong White Sox fan that grew up on the South Side of Chicago would win that unfathomable sum. I never got his name, but after recounting my story, I toasted him Thursday night while out with a dear friend and fellow baseball enthusiast.

“He bought me a beer at Logan the day after the White Sox beat the Red Sox, and to repay him, I’ll buy you one.”

We ordered, and then I said, “To my airport pal that bleeds Pale-Hose black, may he enjoy the World Series victory in a way he never thought imaginable.”