It was a beautiful day for a ballgame Wednesday afternoon at Angel Stadium in Anaheim.
Too bad the nice weather was wasted on a meeting of the mediocre.
The home team, of course, was the Halos, suffering through their ninth straight losing season — a franchise record — and on track for their worst year ever.
Their opponent was the Chicago White Sox, on track to best — or is it worst? — the major league record for most losses in a season.
The two franchises are mirror images of ineptitude — junior teams in baseball-mad cities, long saddled with cheapskate owners and a tendency to underachieve when not outright tanking — playing a game where even the winner was still going to be an all-time loser.
Who on Earth would want to waste their time on this?
Kurt Squire, for one.
He’s a UC Irvine informatics professor who has been a die-hard White Sox fan ever since winning free tickets as a kid to a game at the old Comiskey.
The 52-year-old, who grew up in a steelworking family in northwest Indiana, has rooted for his team at Angel Stadium every season since starting his current job in 2017.
Last year, Squire decided to start a new tradition: attend a full series and invite the few White Sox fans he’s met in Southern California, where Cubs fans regularly pack bars and can easily outshout Angels fans. A fan of mine, he invited me to tag along to the Wednesday game with his son, Warren, and whoever else showed up.
“When I was growing up, [Cubs fans] were just a bunch of drunks in the stands and embarrassing,” the profe explained as we found parking. “The Sox were cooler — more diverse fan base, more working class. It’s nice to stay with that South Side [Chicago] mentality, especially in Irvine.”
I grew up a Cubs fan because Hall of Fame second baseman Ryne Sandberg was one of my favorite players. I mentioned that I had once gone to a game at Wrigley Field. “Were you the only Mexican there?” Squire cracked.
“It does feel like you gotta find [White Sox fans] here, and when you do, you point and say, ‘Hey, how did you end up here?’ ” he continued as we exited his car. He was now frowning.
About a dozen people had showed up to a tailgate Monday night, when the White Sox won 8-4. A smaller group attended the following evening, an 5-0 Angels victory. Now, people were canceling on the Wednesday lunchtime matchup.
“One friend went last night, but [the Angels win] broke her, so she’s not coming,” Squire said. “Another group of guys said, ‘Nah, man, we had our fill.’ ”
He slipped on a boxy 1980s-era White Sox jersey. “Putting on your cape, Dad?” Warren joked.
We approached Angel Stadium, the perfect place for such an underwhelming matchup. It’s the fourth-oldest ballpark in baseball, a creaking facility with all the charm of a concrete plant. Giant photos of Mike Trout, the record-breaking outfielder whose talents the Angels have squandered during his 13-year career and who played only 29 games this year because of injuries, were everywhere. People marched in with all the enthusiasm of students serving detention.
La Habra resident and season ticket holder Peter Blied stood in front of the entrance. He offered us some of his spare tickets next to the first base line — for free.
“That’s where we’re going to be sitting,” Squire replied. He had bought tickets 11 rows up from the visitors’ dugout for $42.50 apiece on SeatGeek.
By comparison, a similar seat for Friday’s game at Dodger Stadium against the last-place Colorado Rockies was $288 on SeatGeek.
“So no one’s taking them?” Squire asked.
Blied shook his head. “It should be a contest,“ he said, “because none of the teams are on top of their game.”
A handful of people decked out in White Sox gear trickled into the stadium. Then again, there were a handful of baseball fans, period.
“This is the joy of being a White Sox fan,” Squire deadpanned. “You get good seats and empty stadiums.”
I hadn’t been to an Angels game in a few years, and the stadium was as risible as I remembered it, if not more so. The aisle seats bore the chipped, painted-over logo of Edison International, even though the name hadn’t been used since 2003. That wacky rock formation with the fake waterfall was still behind center field, where seats should have been.
The video clip of team highlights over the decades, scored by the execrable Train song “Calling All Angels,” was longer than ever, and more desperate. Instead of going through the team’s all-time greats and playoff seasons, as in past years, it now included players who had thrown no-hitters, hit for the cycle or made an All-Star game.
All that did was remind fans of better times. Of what we weren’t going to see this afternoon. Definitely not Trout or Shohei Ohtani, the generational superstar who left last year to join the Dodgers, because who’d want to spend their career with the Angels?
Some White Sox fans whom Squire had met on social media joined us.
Matt Bailey, 35, went to the Indiana high school that was a rival to Squire’s.
“This season has been like a horseshoe of despair that’s now back to joy,” said the Los Feliz music supervisor, who wore a faded tie-dyed White Sox T-shirt. ”We [White Sox fans] have an impetus to become friends with each other because of what we go through.”
Rahul Chatterjee, a 42-year-old television producer in Los Angeles, is a South Side native who wore a soccer jersey emblazoned with “Los White Sox.” His team’s horrible year “has made me more of a fan because I got to be there to support them at their worst.”
“I mean, I’m here at a Wednesday afternoon game against the Angels,” he said.
Sitting next to Chatterjee was 38-year-old Matt Edsall, also of Los Angeles. He wore a vintage White Sox cap. How long had he been a fan?
“Never,” he replied, gesturing to Chatterjee. “My buddy here gave me a hat to wear.”
“Gotta give him his disguise!” Chatterjee said.
Edsall grew up a Yankees fan, but the Angeleno was rooting for the White Sox, “because I kind of hate the Angels. You’re not Los Angeles — that’s the Dodgers. Just stay the Anaheim Angels like you used to.”
The game, unsurprisingly, was a cavalcade of clumsiness. Not a single All-Star was in the starting lineup for either team. Batters weakly grounded or flied out. Fielders strained to make easy plays. The stadium announcer sounded as listless as the crowd. Even the appearance of the Rally Monkey, the Angels’ cult-favorite mascot, drew feeble applause.
Then, in the top of the fourth, White Sox designated hitter Andrew Vaughn hit a high, lazy pop up that somehow turned into a home run. Squire and his fellow White Sox fans screamed and high-fived like they wanted to knock off each other’s arms.
With Chicago ahead by a run, I visited the concession stands, which I had never seen so empty. The official attendance was 22,757 — less than half of Angel Stadium’s capacity — but that total seemed as generous as Santa Claus.
Jesse Carrillo, 32, was attending the game with friends. They all wore Halos hats.
“It’s a fun time, and I just live down Katella [Avenue]” Carrillo replied when I asked why he was attending. “Besides, we found the tickets like for nothing — $5!”
Gabriel Zepeda, 45, wore a jersey in honor of Bobby Jenks, a former Angels prospect who became an All-Star reliever for the White Sox.
“I don’t want the Sox to break the all-time losing record, but I also feel bad for the Angels,” the Corona resident said. “I hope the two teams have better luck next year.”
When I asked if he knew many White Sox fans in Southern California, Zepeda laughed. He became a fan after the White Sox won the World Series in 2005, their first championship in 88 years. Who did they beat along the way in the playoffs? The Angels.
“Not really,” Zepeda said. “All my cousins think I’m weird. But I tell them we’ve won as many World Series as the Dodgers and the Angels in my life, so we all equally suck.”
I went back to my seat for the seventh inning. Squire looked worried, even though his team was leading.
“The game is following a script,” he said. “This is where it goes south.”
An inning later, Taylor Ward singled off the glove of White Sox shortstop Nicky Lopez. The score was now 1-1.
“Well,” Squire said while everyone around him groaned, “I guess I have a sixth sense.”
After a scoreless ninth, people rushed to the exits. The rubber match between two of the worst teams in baseball … was headed for extra innings.
The White Sox scored in the 10th and 11th; so did the Angels. Squire and his squad, who spent most of the game trading jokes and baseball trivia, became quieter and quieter, expecting the inevitable.
The game ended — when else? — in the 13th inning, on yet another single deflected off the glove of a White Sox infielder.
4-3, Angels. Chatterjee grimaced; Bailey put his hat over his face.
Squire just stared ahead. I asked how he felt.
“I don’t even know. Relief? … What a White Soxian ending. It gets existential.”
He hugged the others and headed out of the ballpark.
The faceoffs of futility between the White Sox and Angels aren’t over: They’re scheduled for three games in Chicago next week.
Warren put an arm around his dad, which made Squire smile.
“Thanks for coming, Warren,” he told his son. “As I said before, you’re under no obligation to be a White Sox fan.”
