There would be future PR blunders, such as Reinsdorf ordering the July 31, 1997, White Flag trade, in which the Sox dumped veterans because, as Reinsdorf told the Chicago Sun-Times, “anybody who thinks we can catch Cleveland is crazy.” At the time of the trade, the Sox were an insurmountable three-and-a-half games behind the Indians.

But the period of 1992-94 is the time when the Curse of the Black Sox might have morphed into the Curse of Jerry.

It might not be coincidence that the White Sox players were responsible for the establishment of an independent baseball commissioner’s office, and that it was Reinsdorf who was in part responsible for the disestablishment of that same office in 1992. A psychic revenge, perhaps? Nominally, it was because Reinsdorf wanted Fay Vincent out in favor of a commissioner who, as Reinsdorf put it, would “run the business for the owners, not the players or the umpires or the fans.”

It was Reinsdorf who brought us Bud Selig, baseball commissioner. (Reinsdorf’s enmity toward commissioners wasn’t confined to Vincent. He successfully sued NBA commissioner David Stern when he disallowed Bulls’ games to be broadcast on — what do you know? — the WGN-TV superstation in the 1990s.)

It also was Reinsdorf who brought us the 1994 strike. Reinsdorf led a group of hard-line owners who were unapologetic about breaking down the free-agent system that had sent players’ salaries skyrocketing during its 20 years of existence. That Reinsdorf’s own team was in first place and a serious pennant contender when the walkout began Aug. 2 didn’t matter — business was business.

Byline Title: / AP Joseph "Shoeless Joe" Jackson and his teammates were accused of intentionally losing the 1919 World Series. He was banned from baseball.

And there would be no World Series. Say it ain’t so, Jerry!

No doubt, Reinsdorf is sincere when he says that he would trade all six Bulls championships for one White Sox title. The tears he cried on the field at Angels Stadium after the White Sox clinched the pennant were genuine. Reinsdorf can be extremely loyal and affectionate to those in his employ, head-scratchingly so — such as retiring Harold Baines’ No. 3 in 1989, soon after the White Sox traded him to the Rangers, and with about 12 more years and two more Sox stints left in his career. And many in his employ have real affection for Reinsdorf — even Jordan has hung out in Reinsdorf’s luxury box during these heady White Sox days.

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And it’s true sports isn’t for just the sentimental, that it’s a business as well. But Reinsdorf has a unique ability to be a real killjoy by being so brazen in the frequent moments when he decides business trumps sentimentality.

So if you need a reason to root against the White Sox, don’t think about 1919. Think about 1994.