Actually, kiddies, major league baseball died in the 1980's...

...although most people did not notice until the debacle of 1994. Baseball is still the greatest game ever invented, but real fans can only enjoy it from Little League up through the AAA level.

So much for my disclaimer. You can take or leave the following as you wish.

I would like to congratulate the Chicago White Sox on their World Series victory. From the little I have read, they seem to play the classic style of ball even though they are saddled with that abomination known as the Designated Hitter Rule. They have good starting pitching, (especially for this era) they hit in the clutch, they have a solid defense, and, miracle of miracles, they know how to bunt.

Congratulations to Jermaine Dye, the Series MVP, a very good ballplayer who I will always remember as the guy who broke his leg by fouling a pitch off it.

Congratulations to Ozzie Guillen, the Sox manager. I remember him as a good infielder whoalways played hard. I always like to root for guys the media label as crazy or difficult or clueless.

But most of all, I'd like to congratulate the good Sox fans who have waited for this since 1917. Besides this long wait, Sox fans have had to endure a reputation (all too often deserved) as a drunken, ignorant mob as well as comparisons to the fans of everybody's favorite losers, the Cubs.

Rejoice, Sox fans! Until Satan buys a sweater, YOUR team is #1 in the Second City.

Oh, and one more thing. This one's for you, Shoeless Joe. Real fans know you got a raw deal.

Enough of my prattle. Here's Tom Boswell, often the only reason to read Washington's other newspaper:

In the last 365 days, baseball has squared some of its longest standing debts. Last Oct. 27, the Red Sox won their first World Series in 86 years. On April 14 this spring, the first baseball game was played in Washington after 33 vacant seasons. Last Wednesday, the Houston Astros won their first pennant in 44 years of existence. And on Wednesday night in Minute Maid Park, one day shy of the anniversary of the Red Sox' championship, the Chicago White Sox beat the Astros, 1-0, to win their first World Series in 88 years, storming through October with 11 wins in 12 postseason games.

Say it's so, Jermaine, Geoff, Ozzie, Paul, Scott, Jose, Freddy, A.J., Bobby and Joe.

After the final out, the White Sox formed a scrum at the pitcher's mound, often hugging each other until they toppled to the ground. Nellie Fox and Luis Aparicio, Harold Baines and Carlton Fisk, Frank Thomas and Robin Ventura, Ray Durham and Carlos Lee -- all of whom played and lost in past postseasons for the Pale Hose -- were not there. But all their efforts, fallen short over the decades, were fully honored by the work of a team, managed passionately by Ozzie Guillen, that respected every baseball fundamental. The Chisox preached pitching, defense and situational hitting -- a doctrine as valid in 2005 as it was in 1917, when the South Side of Chicago last ruled the sport.

The final two outs of this game bore the team's stamp of toughness and precision. With an Astro in scoring position, Chicago shortstop Juan Uribe battled his way into a third base box seat to grab a foul pop-up. No, this Chicago team was not afflicted with any meddlesome ball-deflecting fans. Then, to end the season, Uribe nipped Orlando Palmeiro at first base by inches on a slow dribbler. Throughout this postseason, the White Sox often seemed blessed by mistaken or controversial umpiring calls that went their way. This call was correct, just as the coronation of a White Sox team that won 99 regular season games and stood in first place for every day of the season was altogether proper.