A piercing scream rose from the basement where my 6- and 3-year-old sons were playing.

After taking a deep, calming breath, I stomped down to enforce what little order we have in our house.

Ryan sat on the concrete sobbing, tears streaming down his face. His older brother slouched off to the side, trying to hide a satisfied smirk.

"OK, what happened?" my stern voice echoed off the cinder blocks.

No visible injuries marked his body, but Ryan shook as be sobbed. The hiccupping cries slowed. After a few stuttering starts, he managed to answer. "He . . . he . . . he said I was a Cubs fan."

The Sox lover in me laughed in triumph as I tried to maintain the proper, serious expression. "Colin, don't tease your brother."

I'm the South Sider. My husband goes the other way. He has tried bribes and male bonding to help our boys "see the light" and root for the Cubs. In a divided baseball household, every victory counts. A division championship and two new die-hard fans--it has been a good year for the White Sox.