By Roger Wallenstein
The modern term, I suppose, is Man Cave, although I’m not as consumed with naming it as I am with using it.
Originally the space was our business office when we operated one. Now the basement in our home serves a number of functions: a location for computers, files, laundry, storage, coolness from the summer heat, and, not incidentally, a lovely, comfortable couch in front of the largest flat screen that fits.
And it’s only half subterranean. Windows filter in unneeded sunlight, giving us a weather report any time we gaze outdoors.
If I ever intimated that this was my place – my private place – to observe the White Sox, my wife, dearest Judith, would simply indicate the part of my anatomy in most imminent danger. No, this is a combined affair, watching and waiting to see if our White Sox can outlast the Tigers in this most surprising of seasons.
Posted on September 17, 2012