As I write this, late at night on an irksomely chilly May 13, in a year where (like every year now) spring seems reluctant to arrive, the Chicago White Sox are a .500 ballclub. The cold, sun-shy temps can make a person think we’re just at the start of a season, where they might be sitting at 3-3 in a still-formless barely-born year, but the calendar gives lie to that.
We’re 42 games in. A bit more than a quarter-way through the 2026 season, and the Sox are officially mediocre. And that’s a cause for minor joy, which might be slightly sardonic but is neither muted nor insincere.
It’s been a long time coming. Last season, the high-point was 2-2. In 2023, they were as good as 3-3 before the wheels came off. In 2024 the White Sox started strong, at 0-0, but quickly went downhill.
In fact, the last time the Sox had a .500 record this late in the season was 2022. If you remember that year, we were perpetually .500. They hovered a game or two on either side of middling for most of the year. In a nice piece of tuneless harmony, they were never more than five games under or over .500, and even the eight-game losing streak that wrecked any hope at returning to the playoffs was balanced by going 5-2 to finish a pointless 81-81.
It is that part — the chance of returning to the playoffs, in a weak AL Central just there for the taking — that made 2022 so brutal, and so emotionally different than this by-standings unremarkable year. Despite getting trounced by Houston in the 2021 playoffs, the defending division champ White Sox were hot preseason picks to win the World Series. Injuries, bad management, regression and terrible roster construction led to a season that never got started, until it came to a thudding finish. It’s weird and unsettling to think how not very long ago there was optimism, before the bottom fell completely out.
It’s also strange to think that there have only been three years completely in the wilderness — and you might even say that we began to leave the wilderness last year. So the years of wandering weren’t that long, it is just that the wilderness was so thorny and snake-filled and parched and really not very pleasant to look at. Not a photogenic wilderness. More of a superfund site than a wilderness, really.
There’s a chance that metaphor got away from me, just like the excitement we have over a .500 club could be seen as our emotions getting away from us. After all, there are a lot of negative signs, including a run differential of -12, which leads to an x-W/L of … 20-22. So only one game. But even that minor blip can be chalked up to an early-season bout of looking really bad in losses and like a normal baseball team in the wins.
And that’s what the Sox are right now: a normal team. Not a good one, but not a bad one. Certainly not a historically bad one, as we’ve been. Not a World Series contender, but in a terrible year for the AL in general and the AL Central in particular, a goofily fringe playoff hopeful.
Being normal when you’ve been intensely abnormal is a good feeling. It’s qualitatively different from being frustrating and mediocre when you expect more. There isn’t the agony of expectation, just the silly joy of thinking that you might, one day, have those agonized expectations again.
If the season ended today, the Sox would be in the playoffs. It doesn’t end today, of course. But at the very least, it feels like something else might just be beginning. And no matter what the temperature is outside, no matter how unnatural our seasons might be, that feeling of a new bloom is proof that you can never hold back spring.
