These days, Cubs fans are floating on Cubbie Cloud Nine. If 7-Eleven ever started selling Big Gulps full of Cubbie Kool-Aid, I’m sure they’d fly off the shelves.

As one who rarely passes up an opportunity to take verbal jabs at die-hards — several of whom occupy office cubicles within an earshot of mine — I can’t say all this giddiness permeating from the Crumbling Confines surprises me.

From notes being left on my desk — “What team has the best record in baseball?” one Cub fan co-worker scribbled on his business card — to reminders that June 1, 1908 just happened to be the last time the Cubs sported the best record in baseball until now, I suppose Cubbie Karma is getting back at me for all my anti-Cub rants over the years.

Thus, I might as well brace myself for the full fury of rituals associated with Cub culture, annoying as they are to me.

I better stop rolling my eyes whenever I hear grown men at a sports bar yell, “Go Cubbies.” Or whenever I hear 40,000 strong at Whiffle Ball Field sing, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” — or that silly “Go Cubs Go” tune after a victory. (Did you know that “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” also happened to hit the pop charts in 1908?).

And I might as well stop grumbling under my breath whenever I see “W” flags flying in front of suburban households. Or when I witness a bleacher bum or babe throw an opponent’s home run ball back onto the field. (Any of them ever consider giving that baseball to a youngster as a souvenir? I didn’t think so.)

Because all this euphoria isn’t about to die down anytime soon. Lou Piniella should be able to set the Cubbie Love Train on cruise control and coast to an N.L. Central title.

Short of another Bartman rising like the Phoenix — or some other spell associated with black cats and billy goats — I reluctantly concede they have a good shot at winning an N.L. pennant and making their first World Series appearance since 1945.

Crosstown concession
Despite pounding Pittsburgh the past few days, I don’t have much faith that the Sox’s all-or-nothing offense will continue its onslaught as Round 1 of the annual highly touted two-weekend slugfest known as the Crosstown Classic gets under way this weekend (one Chicago-based sports Web site actually has been counting down the days, hours and minutes until the first pitch).

So I’m taking a different approach to the Classic this time around.

Rather than wig out whenever Juan Uribe swings at a pitch near his ankles, or Jose Contreras throws a belt-high hanger to Derrek Lee, I’ll try to refrain from watching any of the games, maybe do a couple of loads of laundry — I think my four 2005 White Sox World Series Champion T-shirts need washing — and catch up on some reading.

Fortunately, I just picked up a good book, titled “Then Ozzie Said to Harold ...” The Best Chicago White Sox Stories Ever Told (Triumph Books), which should help keep my mind off the North Side feeding frenzy, and reinforce the fact that it’s been only three years (not 100) since the Sox — who somehow remain in first place in the A.L. Central — have won a World Series.

The book, co-authored by Lew Freedman and former Sox standout left-hander Billy Pierce, features a wide assortment of short stories which examine periods in White Sox’s history, along with the players and personalities that have been part of it all.

Charles A. Comiskey — the first ballplayer to become an owner of a team — is chronicled, as well as The Black Sox Scandal, Shoeless Joe Jackson, “Bucketfoot” Al Simmons, Luke Appling and  Minnie Minoso.

Nellie Fox, Luis Aparicio, Early Wynn, manager Al Lopez and the 1959 Go-Go White Sox, who won the American League pennant that season, also get their just due. There’s even a section on “Disco Demolition Night.”

A couple of sections of the book examine the career of Pierce (with comments from Pierce himself), who spent 13 of his 18 major league seasons with the Sox, including the 1959 campaign.

Switch-hitter
Given my disdain for the Cubs, you might find this hard to believe, but I bled Cubbie Blue right through my high school years.

Yes, I was once a Cubs fan. Rub your eyes, and re-read that again: I was once a Cubs fan.

I followed Santo, Kessinger, Beckert, Banks — “the infield, third to first,” as Jack Brickhouse used to say — religiously, and rarely missed an afternoon matinee at Clark and Addison on WGN TV.

Then I had a baseball epiphany: The 1977 South Side Hitmen.

This particular year made baseball fun again for me. Richie Zisk, Oscar Gamble, Chet Lemon, Ralph Garr and Eric Soderholm — who, by the way, owns Soder World Healing Arts Center and Spa in Hinsdale — were among the nine Sox players who hit 10-or-more home runs that season as the exploding scoreboard at old Comiskey Park got a workout.

It was the year of Bill Veeck’s “rent-a-player,” Harry Caray broadcasting games out in the center-field bleachers on scorching summer days, and “na, na, na, na ... hey, hey, hey, good bye.” And it all can be found on Pages 136 to 139 in the book.

Needless to say, the book’s last chapter (16) is devoted to the 2005 World Series championship season.

I’ll save this chapter for last in case the Sox happen to drop both series to the Cubs.
One look at the photo of the Sox’s World Series victory parade through downtown Chicago on Page 212 should cheer me up.

Mike Sandrolini, who encourages all suburban Cubs and Sox fans to wear hard hats if they’re going to Wrigley Field to see a game this weekend, can be reached by e-mail at msandrolini@mysuburbanlife.com.