Jerry Reinsdorf: Champagne Toasts and Cemeteries

This article was published in The 2005 World Champion Chicago White Sox: Grinders and Gamers (SABR, 2025), edited by Eric Conrad, Mark Morowczynski, Bill Nowlin, and Don Zminda.

You saw the evidence across every cemetery in Chicago. White Sox flags draped graves. Baseballs, family photos, jerseys, and other memorabilia sat atop headstones, along with half-full beer cans and empty champagne bottles.

With so many powerful memories from that magical 2005 World Series-winning season, it may seem strange that one of my strongest recollections starts in a graveyard, but if you truly know Chicago and White Sox fans, it actually makes all the sense in the world.

For many Sox fans – raised from birth to love their team – it was only natural to celebrate the city’s first World Series victory since 1917 with those very people who first made them into White Sox fans, who shared the highs and lows of the franchise, over lifetimes.

As the team finished its four-game sweep of the Astros that October, Chicago’s cemeteries took on a unique, decorated look. Living Sox fans wanted to share this very special celebration with the generations who came before them, the generations of hard-working fans who made them into Sox fans, teaching them to love this team. Undying love for your team doesn’t even come close to describing how Sox fans feel.

“My father died minutes after the last out,” one fan stopped me in the parking lot the next April. “And he died happy. He knew.”

It was proof that that White Sox baseball was so much more than a game. It’s the seemingly limitless thread that connects us.

Chicago, the spirit of Chicagoans, the power of baseball and the passion of White Sox fans never cease to amaze me, even after five decades. This is a very special franchise with very special fans.

Home runs by Paul Konerko and then, shockingly, by Scott Podsednik to win a damp Game Two. Truly amazing starting pitching performances by José Contreras, Freddy García, Mark Buehrle, and Jon Garland lead us past the Angels in the American League Championship Series and then the Astros in the World Series. Bobby Jenks and his sizzling, ninth-inning fastball are supported by stellar bullpen performances by Cliff Politte, Dámaso Marté , Neal Cotts, and Luis Vizcaíno . El Duque’s bases-loaded, magic-trick escape in Boston to win Game Three in the Division Series. Jermaine Dye, World Series MVP who drove in the game winner in Game Four’s 1-0 decision, Carl Everett’s leadership, Tadahito Iguchi’s clutch fielding and ability to shoot ball after ball into right field behind the runner. Geoff Blum’s late-night heroics to cap Game Three. And of course, Joe Crede, Aaron Rowand, and A.J. Pierzynski, who not only stood out night after night on the field, but also somehow created a rallying cry for the 2005 team one night in Baltimore when a dive-bar cover band played “Don’t Stop Believin.’”

All of this was built brilliantly by general manager Ken Williams and orchestrated on a nightly basis by manager Ozzie Guillén, the master motivator/energizer/instigator.

Baseball, the people who work in the industry, the people who play it and the people who watch it with all the passion in the world, are notoriously superstitious. We were no different in 2005.

With a large midsummer lead slowly and precipitously narrowing, I must admit I fell under sway. A friend gifted me a ceramic, hand-painted figure of John Wayne. It measured maybe 18 inches high. I noticed that receiving the gift coincided with a winning streak, so I did something that was obvious and natural for any sports fan. For road games, I positioned “The Duke” on the living-room couch with the television set to the channel where our game would air. He couldn’t miss a pitch. And for home games, well, he attended them all, sitting with guests and fans alike. I am still not sure how much credit we want to give him for our dominating 11-1 playoff run, but we were not taking any chances that October.

The Duke with the 2005 World Series Trophy.

After two stunning plays by shortstop Juan Uribe to complete the sweep, we celebrated together — teammates, friends, family — shedding tears on the infield in Houston. The moments from the final out until Ozzie, Kenny, and I were holding the Commissioner’s trophy seemed a dream. I am not sure my feet touched the ground, but I know a cigar never tasted so good.

The parade in Chicago was one of our proudest moments as 2 million Chicagoans came together to celebrate without a single incident or arrest. The route from the ballpark to downtown was lined with Sox fans. You could feel the love for this team.

Important milestones in life, events like weddings, births and graduations, generate powerful, overwhelming emotions in people. This parade absolutely delivered all of that for those of us on the double-decker buses, but it also was different because of its length and intensity as we drove through neighborhood after neighborhood toward downtown. School students lined the streets with signs saying, “I’ve waited my whole life for this!” Nuns cheered us. Office workers held up signs and waved. Construction workers flew Sox flags from unfinished buildings and street overpasses. Fans, many cheering, others weeping, stepped toward the buses holding up photos of long-dead relatives. They wanted our players to see, and wanted their predecessors to share in, history. The intersection of Michigan Ave. and Wacker Drive was filled with love, happiness and so much positive energy. You could feel the pride.

Then Paul Konerko spoke to the crowd.

“Everybody kept asking me the last couple of days what I did with that last ball, the last out,” he said, leaning into the microphone. “Well, it’s going to this man right here because he earned it.”

Turning to me, Paulie handed me the single, most touching gift anyone has ever given me.

The 2005 White Sox, the leadership, the team, the players, and even that cherished baseball, don’t belong to me or to any one person. Those moments, those emotions, those memories belong to all White Sox fans, those living, those yet to come and even those who celebrated our World Series victory with a midnight champagne toast in a cemetery, surrounded by love.

JERRY REINSDORF has been the owner and chairman of the Chicago White Sox since 1981.