The White Sox Wear Short Shorts

Part I — Fashion Meets Fastballs
The 1970s were a time when fashion stopped asking permission. People think of the 1960s as the decade of rebellion—social change, civil rights, free love—but the truth is that most of America didn’t actually start looking rebellious until the ’70s. That’s when the color and chaos finally filtered down to the suburbs, the shopping malls, and, eventually, the ballparks.

Baseball, slow as ever to catch up to the times, suddenly found itself with a rainbow closet to choose from. Color television had changed everything—why wear white and gray when the home audience could see powder blue, mustard yellow, or burnt orange in full living color? By the mid-’70s, polyester ruled. Teams were experimenting with pullover tops, elastic waistbands, and uniforms that looked more like leisure suits than athletic wear. Cleveland went monochrome. Baltimore went orange. Powder blue became the road color of choice for half the league.

And then came Bill Veeck.

The ever-colorful White Sox owner had already brought midgets to the plate and fireworks to the outfield scoreboard. But in the mid-1970s, he turned his promotional genius toward fashion. The Sox cycled through a dizzying array of looks—red pinstripes, collarless jerseys, even wide lapels—but the ultimate 1970s crescendo was shorts.

Part II — The Day Baseball Went Bare-Legged
On August 8, 1976, Chicago took the field against the Kansas City Royals wearing knee-baring uniforms that made baseball history, for better or worse. Owner Bill Veeck sent his team onto the field at Comiskey Park wearing thigh-baring, leisure-suit-inspired Bermudas. The Sox beat the Royals 5–2 in the opener of a Sunday doubleheader, which technically made it the first victory ever by a major-league team in cut-off trousers.

The Chicago Tribune’s Art Dunn joked that if the record book ever added a section for “accomplishments in cut-off trousers,” the Sox and pitcher Terry Forster had secured a permanent spot. The sight was as startling as it sounds: pale legs flashing , high socks pulled to mid-thigh, and a bemused Royals dugout watching it all unfold.

A Tribune photo captured outfielder Pat Kelly sliding safely into third base, his “exposed knees” kicking up dust as the caption marveled at his courage. Veeck himself joined the fun in Bermudas, rubbing his leg and quipping, “Look at that, perfect contour,” as reporters chuckled. He wasn’t alone—team vice president Roland Hemond and announcer Harry Caray also sported shorts for the occasion.

Even the players got in on the comedy. Jack Brohamer, who had joked two weeks earlier that he wouldn’t wear the new uniform “unless I could wear a halter top too,” drove in the winning runs that afternoon. And as the Associated Press put it, the Sox “disregarded the wolf whistles” and looked “darn good” doing it.

True to Veeck’s instincts, the gimmick worked—at least in publicity terms. A photograph of the Sox sitting in the dugout, their bare legs lined up like a vaudeville chorus, appeared on the front page of the Chicago Tribune the next morning, right beside a headline about mobster John Roselli’s murder. Thanks to his knack for showmanship, the stunt produced the inevitable headline that ran around the country: “Who Wears Short Shorts?” The Associated Press topped its own story with an equally memorable banner: “White Sox Shorts Bare Hairy Shins.”

Part III — Veeck Being Veeck
The shorts were part of Veeck’s larger 1976 uniform experiment—an attempt to rebrand his club with pullover shirts, collars, mix-and-match colors, and a whiff of disco-era leisure wear. He claimed the Sox had to wait until August because “we had to get the right pads under the socks to protect the knees.” In reality, those pads were cleverly designed inserts that folded into the long white stockings, intended to cushion the knee during slides. As infielder Jerry Hairston explained after stealing a base that afternoon, “If you’re sliding right, you’re not on your knees anyway.”

Veeck’s idea wasn’t entirely without precedent—years earlier, the minor-league Miami Flamingos and Hollywood Stars had worn shorts, and even Southern Illinois University briefly tried them in NCAA play. Still, this was the first time a major-league team dared to show this much leg.

Manager Paul Richards wasn’t keen on repeating the act; after the Game 1 win he decided it was “a bit nippy for a repeat fashion show” and ordered his players back into long pants for the nightcap, which they promptly lost 7–1.

Still, Veeck insisted the experiment was a success. “There were no skinned knees,” he told reporters, “though the Sox stole five bases, and everybody seemed to like them fine.”  Second baseman Jack Brohamer—while modeling the shorts—added with a grin, “I’d look a lot better if these were a little shorter.”

The Royals weren’t shy either. During the game, infielder John Mayberry shouted from the Kansas City dugout, “You guys are the sweetest team we’ve seen yet,” then—pointing across the diamond—called out to White Sox outfielder Ralph Garr: “You get over to first base and I’m going to give you a big kiss.” 

Fans, meanwhile, were less smitten. “It was alright as far as being something different,” said 18-year-old Jerome Johnson from the stands, “but as a baseball fan, I’m not sure I’d like to see it all the time.”

By fall, the novelty had become a punch line—a brief, bare-legged blip in baseball fashion history. The White Sox may have been the butt of jokes, but for one afternoon, they were also winners—bare knees and all.

— AI Baseball Guy | Human perspective. AI precision. Baseball reimagined.