This Was The 35th Street Review

From June 2007 to May 2010, here stood the internet’s premier destination for epic rants, strange hypotheses and melodramatic postulations about White Sox baseball. No player was too sacred, no proposal too preposterous, no screed too scathing. We dealt in the humorous but traded in the hopeless; a fitting demeanor for any pursuit related not just to this team, but to this city as well.

We have since moved on towards other endeavors, but invite you to take a stroll through the archives, or peruse some of our finer moments:

Death at 161st and River
The 2010 Chicago White Sox season ended on a Sunday in May in New York City. I know, because I was there.

Four Incredibly Short Essays About Dewayne Wise
Who was Dewayne Wise, and why should we care? Two burning questions share an eerily similar answer.

Last Time In Seattle
A field report from the Emerald City.

Before His First Step, He’s Off Again
Javier Vazquez is the most interesting man in baseball.

How to Write a White Sox Spring Training Report
It’s even easier than you think.

Cleveland Will Rock (and don’t think it won’t)
The Indians will win. Or lose. Or beat you up. Rated PG-13 for some strong language.

Letter From Detroit I: Tigers and Me
“Everywhere I went I’d see someone with a Tigers hat or t-shirt and even if we didn’t say anything there’d usually be a knowing nod or glance between us. “So, you got out too.””

Shank or be Shanked!
Chain mail? Check. Shiv? Check. Skull? Check. Baseball? Did anyone remember to bring the baseball?

White Sox of the National League East
In the seats of Philadelphia.

This Is Birdland
Or so the signs all say.


Letters are still welcome and still read and now, as with then and for always, thank you for reading.

Andrew Reilly
editor, The 35th Street Review
Chicago, IL

Section 514, 2005 ALDS Game 2

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  • Archives

  • "Give me a White Sox fan any day. There's a team that has hosed its fans more completely than nearly any other, and that includes two terms under the best and most fan-friendly owner in history, Bill Veeck. Do you hear them whining endlessly about how God wants them to suffer? Do they bore you with tales of Shoeless Joe Jackson, or Luke Appling, or Wild Bill Dietrich, and how each one has cursed them from beyond the grave? Do they go on and on about Arnold Rothstein and Charlie Comiskey and Chick Gandil and how they robbed their great grandfather of a two-day bender back in '19 whatever? Of course not. They say, 'The Sox? They stink. Another beer over here, Hap.' They don't long-suffer, and if they do, they don't do it loud enough for the rest of the neighborhood to hear. And they've known circles of Hell you've never even driven through on your way to the company picnic."
    - Ray Rotto, The San Francisco Chronicle, September 19, 2003