Twenty years ago today, we were speeding up the interstate… Carolina to Chicago with World Series tickets waiting at Will Call. Maybe.
You didn’t know for sure you had tickets?
Nope.
Why not?
It was 2005 and we did not and could not live life via phone.
Oh. So… like some kind of paper pass or ticket… wow man. How did you make it with no phone?
Better than now.
What’s Will Call?
Let me tell you the story.
Just today, my wife again prophesied I will never have this experience again… a Chicago White Sox World Series… since middle age is in the rearview mirror and my team spending Ohtani money is a pipedream. But on that day, the Sox were the best grinding, dominating team of the MLB playoffs… true Southsiders. They swept Boston 3-0, rolled LA (Angels) 4-1 and would host Houston in the 2005 World Series.
Home in Houston
Of course, it had to be Houston. Many of our best years and friends were in H-Town where we enjoyed Astros baseball. But childhood baseball and memories with Dad at old Comiskey Park always bring me back to Chicago. You bet we’re going to Game One… if we can find tickets.
Will Call not We’ll Call
It turned out a Houston friend knew the Astros ticket manager, pleaded my case, and he took my call.
“Yeah, I remember you on TV,” he said recalling my many years covering Houston news. “Give me your credit card number.” I did. “Can’t promise you anything, but the tickets may be in Chicago at Will Call… if I can get this done,” said the ticket man. “Don’t call again though… it’s crazy busy here. Bye.”
And now we are back to the phone, which was not so smart in that day. No phone, computer, web site could confirm when or whether the ticket man could or would come through. It was not a fully digital world yet. It was manual… and cross your fingers. What should we do?
We did what the better half knew I would do when Sox and Series were in the same sentence. Drive to Chicago on a day’s notice to see if the paper tickets were at Will Call. What’s seven hundred and something miles, right? At some point, we had the brilliant idea of calling a phone number on the back of the credit card. A kind man with a thick accent in a land far away seemed to see a charge that sounded something like our destination city. Sort of.
Please Park it Honey – Don’t Care Where
With renewed confidence, we drove directly to the ballpark. Cars and crowds circling, I hopped out in the middle of 35th Street and asked/told my wife to slide over and park our new car… somewhere… something I would never do. One of Chicago’s finest blew an angry whistle at me. I ran to the Box Office and a window that said Will Call.
“What’s your last name again?” My heart sank. The box office had no tickets in our name. “How did you reserve tickets?” she asked as a last resort. The line behind me was anxious and eager… it’s Chicago. “Oh… you bought tickets from the Astros? Their batch is two windows down and opens in thirty minutes.”
Golden Tickets
Hope renewed, that window opened, two tickets magically appeared, and we celebrated the insanely blessed good fortune of the moment. We were going to Game One of the World Series. In true Chicago accounting, 41,206 had tickets that night. Later, half of the city says they were there.
The Chicago White Sox would win that game, sweep Houston and revel in their first championship since 1917.
As we began to do way back in the 1960s with Dad, we still watch and wait… which will continue? Maybe. Either way, of all the Super Bowls, NBA Finals, Final Four, Stanley Cup, Indy, PGA, and other winner take all events attended… none was quite like that World Series moment. And we did not need a smart phone to figure that out.
