Zack Meisel is The Athletic's Guardians writer, and one of their best in general. He directed his focus on the Sox fans who've refused to unspool. CHICAGO — Seventy times a year, Barry Antoniazzi tosses on his black No. 27 jersey with “Bagodonuts” stitched onto the back, dons a firefighter helmet covered in Chicago White Sox pins and walks a block and a half to his baseball sanctuary. Antoniazzi grew tired of paying for parking at Guaranteed Rate Field, so 11 years ago, he moved to W. 35th Street and S. Parnell Avenue where, in a normal year, he can hear celebratory postgame fireworks from his residence. This is, of course, no normal year, and the skies over the ballpark are quiet nearly every night. The White Sox haven't won a home game in more than a month, and stand on the doorstep of undesirable history as they limp toward the 1962 New York Mets' record of 120 losses. And yet, Antoniazzi's faith in the franchise hasn't wavered, even though his house of worship has become a house of horrors that has hosted one defeat after another. On Tuesday, Antoniazzi, a paramedic for the Chicago Fire Department, watched his beloved, beleaguered club drop its 26th game in 27 attempts at home. Just as no two snowflakes are exactly alike, the White Sox have repeatedly found new and increasingly painful ways to lose in a season that has felt like one long, extraordinary blizzard on the South Side. On Monday, Cleveland Guardians rookie spot starter Joey Cantillo retired the first 20 hitters he faced. On Tuesday, a line drive to the thigh knocked out Guardians starter Ben Lively after two innings, but the team's bullpen covered the last seven frames to seal a shutout. On Wednesday, Lane Thomas delivered a pair of two-run infield singles to fuel a Cleveland sweep. Antoniazzi traveled to San Francisco last month to complete his mission of watching the White Sox in all 30 ballparks. He's drawn to Guaranteed Rate Field for the chance at seeing something new — he's never witnessed a no-hitter in person, for instance — and to support a team he insists can only go up from here. “We're not going to be this bad forever,” he said. “We're going to get better. So when we do get good, I can say, ‘I stuck with them through thick and thin.' That's what keeps me coming back.” Antoniazzi is not alone in his loyalty; some of the few thousand fans in attendance each night are true diehards, willing to stick with their team even as it careens towards the worst season in baseball history. But what inspires others to pass through the turnstiles? Why do they choose to devote several hours to watching a predictable ending unfold on the diamond instead of, say, cruising along the Chicago River on an architectural boat tour, or riding the Centennial Wheel at Navy Pier, or watching pennant races play out on the TVs at Timothy O'Toole's Pub, or shopping on Michigan Avenue, or even just lounging on the living room sofa? The White Sox sold 11,429 tickets for Monday's game, though the true attendance count appeared to be less than half of that. There was a slight uptick Tuesday, maybe because of a $5 beer promotion or because fans wanted to snatch up some of the last Campfire Milkshakes of the season. Or there's another reason, one that has grown in importance as this impressively bad season has worn on: witnessing the train wreck, one loss at a time. “We're here to see them make history,” as one fan put it. https://www.nytimes.com/athletic/5757456/2024/09/12/fans-chicago-white-sox-worst-mlb-team/https://www.nytimes.com/athletic/5757456/2024/09/12/fans-chicago-white-sox-worst-mlb-team/