Pope Leo XIV Wears White Sox Cap at Vatican, Sparks South Side Pride
Chicago-born pontiff embraces hometown team during papal audience, drawing global reaction and White Sox fanfare
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Vatican City, June 11: It was a simple black cap. White lettering. Classic design. But when Pope Leo XIV stepped into St. Peter’s Square wearing a Chicago White Sox baseball cap during his general audience on Wednesday, it didn’t take long for the image to sweep across Chicago—and then the world.
For a city defined by sports rivalries and neighborhood pride, the gesture didn’t just confirm His Holiness’s baseball allegiance. It brought a sudden, almost surreal collision between South Side grit and the grandeur of the Vatican.
A Pope With Chicago In His Bones
Robert Francis Prevost, born in 1955, grew up just outside Chicago in Dolton, a working-class suburb with deep Catholic roots. His path to the papacy began in familiar Midwestern fashion: Catholic school, regular parish life, and a strong family connection to the Church. He eventually joined the Augustinian order, but stayed anchored in his Chicago identity even as he moved between Peru, Rome, and eventually, the global stage.
According to his classmates at St. Rita of Cascia High School, he was soft-spoken but deeply committed—both to his faith and, yes, to the White Sox. Former schoolmate Tom Delaney recalled in a local interview, “You could take the kid out of the South Side, but not the Sox out of the kid.”
So when he ascended to the papacy in May, replacing Pope Francis, there were whispers of curiosity in Chicago circles: would the new Pope stick with his team?
On Wednesday, he gave his answer—loud and clear, without saying a word.
That Cap, That Moment
There was no official announcement. No Vatican statement. Just a flash of the camera, the Pope in his white robes with a Sox cap pulled over his head. And just like that, the internet took over.
By midday, images of the Pope had been shared by the official White Sox social media accounts, along with the caption: “South Side of Heaven.” The team’s Senior VP Brooks Boyer wasted no time. “We’re ready whenever he is. First pitch. Seventh-inning stretch. Whatever he wants.”
Fans responded in kind. Memes. Shirt mockups. One South Side bar even offered free drinks “for anyone dressed holier than thou in Sox gear.” The moment hit a nerve—not just in sports culture, but in the complicated space where identity, place, and faith overlap.
A Deeper Connection Than Just Baseball
The Pope’s relationship with the White Sox goes back decades. According to Chicago Tribune archives, he attended Game 1 of the 2005 World Series, seated quietly in the crowd like any other fan. The Sox won that series in four straight. That seat—Section 140, Seat 2—was recently marked with a brass plaque commemorating the occasion and his later elevation to Pope.
It’s not performative. Those close to him say this is part of who he is. “He doesn’t wear that cap for cameras,” said Fr. Luis Gutierrez, who worked with Prevost during his years in Peru. “He wears it because it reminds him where he’s from.”
And that matters. In a Church that has struggled to seem relatable to ordinary people, the image of a pontiff in a ballcap—that ballcap—carried weight. It spoke to Catholics who don’t see themselves in Rome’s gilded halls but know exactly what it feels like to sit in the bleachers on a cold April night in Chicago.
Tradition Meets Authenticity
There were some murmurs of disapproval from traditional corners. Liturgists and Church conservatives noted that the general audience is a formal papal event—not typically a venue for baseball gear. But Vatican officials, asked by Italian news outlets, waved off the concerns. One unnamed aide reportedly said, “The Holy Father believes in meeting people where they are. This was one of those moments.”
As Vanity Fair described it, “Even Cubs fans had to pause. The Pope looked like someone’s uncle on the way to Comiskey.” For a city that takes its baseball lines seriously, the cap didn’t divide—it united.
The Reaction Back Home
Back in Chicago, the news turned quickly into celebration. Billboards went up near Guaranteed Rate Field with the message: “Leo XIV. Our guy.” Local parishes wove the moment into Sunday homilies. And a South Side bakery rolled out a special cookie topped with white icing and the Sox logo made from licorice strands.
Cubs fans, to their credit, mostly took it in stride. One man outside Wrigley Field, asked for comment, shrugged and smiled. “He picked the wrong team, but at least he picked a team. I’ll take that.”
Notably, this isn’t the first time a public figure’s sports loyalties have stirred civic pride. But coming from the Pope—especially one who has long avoided showmanship—it landed differently.
What Comes Next?
The White Sox have floated the idea of a “Papal Sox Night” at the ballpark. While Vatican officials haven’t confirmed any plans, speculation continues. A ceremonial pitch, a visit to his old neighborhood, or even a short Chicago stopover could be in play during a future papal trip to North America.
Meanwhile, fans are already joking about a “Papal Blessing” turning around the team’s season. Since the Pope’s election, the Sox have posted a modest improvement in form—from a miserable 10–28 to a more competitive 13–17.
Coincidence? Maybe. But for South Siders, it’s enough.
Because in a city that’s known for grit, loyalty, and holding on tight even when the odds are long, the Pope showing up in that cap wasn’t just about baseball. It was about belonging.
And maybe, just maybe, about hope.
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