Take me out to the ballgame

The first Major League baseball game I can remember going to, I was nine years old. We went to a White Sox game every year--my school district had a deal where straight A's got you discount tickets, and even though my dad's allegiance to the Cubs was stronger than my Mom's allegiance to the White Sox, their mutual desire to avoid driving through city traffic all the way to the North Side was greater. That year, my favorite aunt came down from Michigan when the Detroit Tigers were in town, and I was so excited to go to a game at Comiskey with her.

Turns out, it was the day Jack Morris pitched a no-hitter for the Tigers. At the time, I couldn't appreciate the historic importance of seeing a game like that one; I was just mad that my team was on the losing side, and spectacularly so.

Well, this weekend I got the opportunity to see if it stung less as a grown-up.

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