What I saw at the ‘Pope Hat’ White Sox game: A nun throwing the first pitch, a 5th

Ballpark giveaways are a staple of sports culture these days: From bobbleheads to replica jerseys to commemorative trinkets, teams have ranged far afield in their quest to draw in more fans. Perhaps no giveaway was more unique than that engineered by the Chicago White Sox on Aug. 11, 2026: pope hats. Every attendee in a sellout crowd at Chicago’s Rate Field received a replica of a traditional papal miter (emblazoned with the White Sox logo, of course) to celebrate the connection between Pope Leo XIV and the venerable Chicago baseball squad. While the White Sox are in first place in the American League Central as of this writing, they haven’t had much to celebrate since they won the World Series in 2005—a series where one game was attended by the future pope. There is a joke among my friends and family, truth concealed in humor, that says: “Being a White Sox fan is something you are born into. No one chooses this for themselves.” (Converts to the cause exist, but they pale in comparison to the numbers Chicago’s North Side team attracts.) So it is with my mother, who grew up near Rate Field in Chicago’s gritty Back of the Yards neighborhood, and myself and now my 8-month-old son, whose first White Sox game was the team’s home opener in April. And so it is as well with one very well-known fan mentioned above: Robert Prevost, better known as Pope Leo XIV. Prevost was born in Dolton, a suburb that borders the city to its south; his home parish was just over the border in Chicago proper. Shortly after his election, his White Sox bona fides were confirmed when footage of him at Game 1 of the 2005 World Series resurfaced. The White Sox have since added a plaque to his seat and painted a mural at the section he sat in. The White Sox are one of baseball’s most historic franchises: founding members of the American League and three-time World Series Champions with a reputation as one of baseball’s most down-to-earth fanbases. But the truth is, they are also one of the sport’s most sad-sack teams. After 125 years of history, they boast just three titles and 11 postseason appearances—an atrocious record. Indeed, the 2024 team set the modern single-season loss record at 121 losses. (It is much more difficult to achieve than you would think.) This is the context that Pope Leo is intimately familiar with, and it is why the game the White Sox ostensibly played in his honor grew from just another promotion night to a simmering cultural phenomenon. On Tuesday, Aug. 11, the White Sox took on the Cincinnati Reds. The team’s original plan for this game was to provide White Sox-themed “pope hats” to the first 2,500 fans in attendance. When demand quickly outpaced supply, the decision was made to provide the faux miters to everyone in attendance and to provide an extra giveaway (a white-and-gold “Chicago’s Pope” baseball jersey with the number 14) for the original 2,500 ticket holders who first jumped on the offer. Game day itself took on a life of its own. Pre-game, the team’s charitable arm presented the Midwest Augustinians with a sizable donation. The first pitch was thrown out by Mary Jo Sobieck, O.P., a Dominican sister who went viral in 2018 for a first-pitch strike at (where else) a White Sox game. Even the Mount Carmel kids, the students at a Chicago Catholic school who held a mock conclave ahead of Leo’s election and met the pope earlier this year, made an appearance. A papal mural was painted live on the concourse. Besides the sight of a stadium full of mitered baseball fans (38,113 of them in attendance, the team’s ninth sellout this season), the most notable moment was a fifth-inning “sign of peace,” kicked off by an actual priest. As at Mass each Sunday, everyone was invited to turn to their neighbors and offer a sign of peace. An ecumenical but comical moment followed. The Catholics (and some Protestants) in the crowd knew immediately what to do. But a number of fans had no idea what was going on and participated meaningfully but awkwardly. One of the two men sitting next to me, obviously not Catholic, gave my wife a combination fist bump/high five, while the other one flashed a peace sign. Walking around the concourse throughout the game, I spotted at least five fans dressed in priestly vestments, several “nuns” and one actual priest in his clerical collar. Southpaw, the White Sox mascot, was dressed as the pope. In the midst of all the papal fanfare, there was still a baseball game to be played. The White Sox jumped out to an early lead and held it most of the game. But in the eighth inning, the Reds tied it up at four runs apiece. Two young men in the section next to me wore their giveaway miters and mimed the sign of the cross to rally the White Sox across the finish line. Alas, their prayers were not answered: The Reds beat the White Sox in extra innings. Is a game like this anything other than an excuse to watch baseball and think of the pope? It almost certainly does. The chair of Peter is now forever linked directly with Chicago, and the current officeholder is, almost inexplicably, a White Sox fan. It’s an odd confluence of events, and far from mocking it or turning it into a circus, the franchise, in my estimation, did an excellent job honoring their most distinguished fan. That the pope is “one of us,” so to speak, a fellow Southsider, humanizes him in a way that has escaped other popes. I don’t know about other fans, but every time I am at the ballpark, I imagine Father Prevost walking the same concourse I am walking, eating the same food and taking in the same sights. It is a comforting and encouraging feeling—no matter how well or badly the team on the field plays.