In the fourth inning of a ridiculous baseball game — ridiculous even by the standards of the 2024 Chicago White Sox — I wandered out into the stands to meet Beefloaf.55bmw

Beefloaf sits in Section 108. I’d noticed him earlier, from across the stadium, because a White Sox home run (a rare thing) had gone sailing past the right field foul pole and landed near his seat. Even in the maelstrom of high fives, Beefloaf stood out: big guy, round shoulders, wearing a tank-top jersey with the number “108” and, in capital letters, “BEEFLOAF.” (Beefloaf is not Beefloaf’s legal name; his 5-year-old daughter chose the nickname, and it stuck.)

I’d heard about Section 108. I’d been told that, even during this shambolic season, as the White Sox slumped toward the 1962 Mets’ seemingly unbreakable record of 120 losses — a mark they tied on Sunday and, with six games left, seem all but certain to break — throughout all that misery, Beefloaf and his friends kept showing up, sitting in Section 108 to argue and cheer and complain. They represented a small, lonely remnant of a mysterious and dwindling species: the Chicago White Sox superfan.

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And so I walked out to Section 108, notebook in hand, like a zoologist documenting the last frog pond in the rainforest. I wanted to know many things. What does it feel like to witness, up close, this much losing? How had everything gone so wrong? And why on earth would anyone pay to see it?

ImageCredit...Sara Messinger for The New York TimesImageCredit...Sara Messinger for The New York Times

“It’s a mental illness,” Beefloaf said, succinctly.

At that moment, Section 108 was actually in a good mood. That was because down on the field, something miraculous was happening: The White Sox were winning. The team that always loses was currently leading the Oakland Athletics, 3-0. As soon as I sat, the superfans started to educate me about the very rich history of their team. They were like a big Greek chorus with a Chicago accent and a lifetime subscription to Baseball Prospectus. They told me about the spiritual differences between the White Sox (South Side, blue-collar, neglected, uncool) and the Cubs (North Side, trendy, rich, beloved). I heard thrilling tales of the 2005 World Series.

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