Field Of Dreams

Last weekend 250 die-hard White Sox fans paid $250 each to attend Sleepover Night at Comiskey Park. (Proceeds went to Chicago White Sox Charities.) Participants watched a Saturday-night game against the Expos, camped out on the field, then watched another game against Montreal on Sunday. SI sent writer John Sellers to the slumber party.

Saturday, 5:45 p.m.
I meet the sleepover group at check-in, in a stadium conference room. They are mostly preteens and their parents, and young couples. A marketing director goes over the ground rules: Don't litter, don't carve your initials into the warning track, etc. She's still talking during the first pitch at 6:05.

8:39 p.m.
The Expos win, 2-1. Fireworks begin. As the 24,527 who are not sleeping over head for the exits, my posse begins that "nah, nah, nah, nah, goodbye" chant.

10:06 p.m.
They finally allow us onto the field. Chaos quickly ensues. Everyone has decided to fulfill the same fantasy of shagging flies in Comiskey's outfield. Balls fly everywhere. A kid in a Frank Thomas jersey runs over five sleeping bags to snare a fly—and lands on his face.

11:24 p.m.
An elderly White Sox staffer dressed in a cap and nightgown arrives to tuck people in. This mainly consists of his kissing women on the lips.

Sunday, 12:01 am.
The lights dim as The Natural begins to play on the JumboTron. What, no Eight Men Out"?

2:14 a.m.
Redford knocks one out to win the pennant. About a dozen night owls cheer limply.

2:24 a.m.
A tape of Chicago manager Jerry Manuel is played. "Good night, White Sox fans," he says. "It's time to go to sleep." But it's a tough sell: A cleaning crew is working the upper levels with leaf blowers.

5:29 a.m.
I awake to the sound of seagulls and revelry: Kids are already playing catch.

8:08 a.m.
Breakfast at The Bullpen Bar, behind rightfield. We're met by former White Sox players, including Bill Melton (1968-75). I ask if he ever wanted to nap on the field. "There were a few times in August we slept on the field when we were 25 games out," he says.