CHICAGO — It was 21 years ago this October when Ozzie Guillén did something we thought was unachievable: He led the Chicago White Sox to a World Series championship.
And it was just before 6 p.m. on Saturday when Guillén did something I thought was impossible in the year 2026: He got White Sox fans to cheer for chairman Jerry Reinsdorf.
I hope Pope Leo was watching, because Ozzie’s sainthood case now has its two miracles. Maybe Leo, who was there in person for the 2005 World Series, can make an exception with the whole “being dead” part of that deal.
At the beginning of his speech on the field the night of his jersey number retirement, Guillén thanked the White Sox owner, whom he has often said he loves more than his own father because Reinsdorf gave him money and a few jobs. Out of respect, the fans didn’t boo when Reinsdorf’s name was mentioned, and when Guillén implored them to cheer, they did.
Ozzie Guillén speaks to the sold-out crowd Saturday during his number retirement ceremony. (Jon Greenberg / The Athletic)
Yes, on a warm summer night on the South Side, there was love and respect in the air. Even for Jerry. And after four straight losses, the Sox won, 6-3, to pad their lead in the AL Central.
Two-and-a-half hours before Guillén spoke, I walked through the parking lot and the line of fans waiting to get in — and snag a giveaway No. 13 jersey — was like nothing I’ve seen here.
It was Ozziepalooza. It was Oz Fest. It was well-deserved.
The best player in White Sox history was Guillén’s teammate, Frank Thomas, who, sadly, was a no-show Saturday.
The most loved player in the last two decades? Easily, it’s “The Captain” Paul Konerko, who showed up, spoke and got raucous applause.
The best Venezuelan player in White Sox history? Guillén’s idol, Luis Aparicio.
But over the last 40 years, no one has represented the Sox more authentically than Guillén.
The White Sox are a loud, messy, colorful, imperfect organization, and so is Ozzie. He had a glove that made him a three-time All-Star, a brain that made him a World Series-winning manager and a mouth that made him a true South Sider.
How many other former managers become the team’s post-game show host? And how many could make it must-see TV despite a unique grasp of the English language?
“Nothing’s better than to get paid talking bad about baseball players,” he said. “You get paid to talk bad about the players and you get paid good money?”
In 2024, as the Sox set a modern record for futility, Guillén and his co-host Chuck Garfien made the postgame show appointment viewing. Give Reinsdorf credit for green-lighting it.
There’s only one Ozzie Guillén (no offense to Ozzie Guillén Jr.), and now there will never again be a No. 13 for the White Sox. (There also hasn’t been one since he left his managing job in 2011.)
White Sox manager Ozzie Guillén waves to fans during a ticker-tape parade for the world champions on Oct. 28, 2005, in Chicago. (Tim Boyle / Getty Images)
Given how often the team honors former players, this celebration was long overdue.
“I know there were a lot of ups and downs, hate and love,” Guillén said of his eight-season managing tenure. “Beautiful, nice but ugly. But we got it done. I think I did everything in my power in my life to make the White Sox win every day.”
Win or lose — especially lose — Guillen was God’s gift to sports reporters in Chicago, whether they loved him or hated him.
“I think my career has been helped a lot by the media here in Chicago,” he said.
This is true. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. He was always available and never boring. Sometimes his mouth got him in trouble — OK, a lot of times — but if you listened closely, you also learned things.
He wasn’t always right, but he was usually honest and incessantly quotable.
“When you are honest, people don’t like it,” he said. “They want to hear the truth, but when you tell them the truth they don’t know how to handle it. They don’t know how to react.”
That’s not quite true with baseball players, though. They crave that kind of communication.
“He literally told you what he was expecting out of you or what he thought of you, whether it was good or bad,” pitcher Mark Buehrle said. “You might not want to hear it, but his door was always open.”
Like the rest of us, Guillén has moments of ego and moments of humility. As a former player, he knew his effect on the team’s record was limited.
“You’re a good manager when you’ve got good players,” he said. “You’re not going to win the Kentucky Derby with donkeys.”
Reinsdorf and former GM Kenny Williams took a big swing when they hired Guillén to manage this club. In his second season, he became the first Latino manager to win a World Series.
As veteran players of the 2005 team have said privately, Guillén’s magic wore off after that season. But he got the Sox back to the playoffs in 2008 and lasted until a bitter divorce sent him to Miami in 2011.
Buehrle was with him in Miami for that one cursed season and said he knew immediately it wasn’t going to last.
Guillén’s place is here, where he is understood. And for as long as the White Sox are in Chicago, his number will hang with the other franchise legends.
For years, he’s said he wanted this night to happen for his grandkids, so that when they came to a game they could be proud of their grandfather and their family name. When he talked about that Saturday, he started crying.
A manager wins the World Series every season. But few represent a fan base and a city quite like Oswaldo José Guillén. And that’s why no one will wear his number here again.
The Sox were lucky to have No. 13, and No. 13 was lucky to have them.
