I love Baltimore and moving here 13 plus years ago is a
decision that I have never once regretted. When I moved here, I immediately
felt at home, as if to say, “Hey, Baltimore, where have you been my whole
life?” As a city, it’s not flashy or pretentious and neither are the people. If
they try to be, the joke’s on them—it just doesn’t work here. I chose to move to Baltimore from the D.C.
area for two distinct reasons: it’s
quirky and cheap. Well, cheap is relative, but for sure it is more manageable
than most other cities in the North East. And, it is indeed quirky. I hit the
nail on the head with that one. I was
born in New York City but my family moved to a very small town in Northern New
York (I’m proud to call Canton, NY my hometown) and Baltimore seems to be the
perfect blend of my two experiences growing up—small town and big city. So,
since spring of 1999, I’ve been proud to call Baltimore my adopted hometown.
I wasn’t a big baseball fan growing up. My father loved
baseball, but didn’t have an affiliation—he was still mourning the loss of his
beloved Dodgers who had moved from Brooklyn decades earlier. We were so far
north, that going to a professional game meant going to Canada to see the Expos
play. Or maybe, a Red Sox game in Boston. Many folks up there are Yankees
fans—it is still New York State after all. Hockey was the spectator sport of my
choosing and even then, it was Division I college hockey that I preferred over
the professional variety. Fast forward
to the present day—I would describe myself as an avid baseball fan—more to the
point, an avid Orioles fan. I have been for most of the time that I’ve lived in
this city. Each of those past seasons has meant rooting for a losing team. My
husband, Greg, has been a lifetime fan of the Orioles and remembers their past
glory. He has taught me about the sport and we’ve followed the Birds together
each season.
This season, we have probably watched about 140 of the 159
(on television with the exception of going once to the ballpark) games that
have been played thus far. I was miffed last week, when Greg started making
weekend plans that did not revolve around watching the games. “You mean, that
with just 6 games left and the Orioles in the race, we’re going to not watch
the games???!!” Clearly, Greg had momentarily lost his head and we made sure
that our every activity of the weekend revolved around the chance to see our
beloved Orioles play ball. For the first time in fifteen years, the ball club
is making it to the post season.
A decade ago, the Baltimore City government began a new
campaign aimed at bolstering the citizens’ home pride which would have a
cascading effect over the entire city-- banishing crime and making the
drug-addled go straight all with one simple word: Believe. The message was simple and the hope behind it
palpable. The cool among us would roll our eyes. Believe. Really? It was an
urging to have self-confidence, hardly something you would have to invoke in a
more sophisticated city that had its shit together. Nonetheless, this whole idea of believing was
not being bolstered at all by the city’s beleaguered baseball team. The
football team—the Ravens—won the Superbowl in 2001 and have had winning
seasons. (The history of football in this town is a whole other story rife with
emotion.) If football, with its 16 game
season is a sprint, then baseball, with its 162 game season is a marathon. To be a true baseball fan from beginning to
end, patience is required. I had just
added in the carbo-loading for my own benefit.
On Opening Day, in April, the fans believe. They really do.
This will be the year, they tell themselves. Until it becomes exceedingly clear
that it’s not. How many games it may take for this precipitous decline varies
from year to year.
But this year, our egos and the overall fan psyche never got
deflated. Almost all the way through
(and now, still, with just two more games remaining in the regular season and
at minimum a wild card berth guaranteed), I’m hesitant to say too much, not
wanting to disturb the baseball gods in any way. Every win is hard-earned and
meaningful. We’ve come this far (all of
us—we’re in it together) and who knows what’s up ahead. I can feel the tears of
joy bottling up behind my eyeballs. If I
could, I would wrap my arms around Buck Showalter, the O’s stalwart manager who
created a team that lives up to the adage that there is no “i” in “team”. Showalter gets it. He really gets how much
this team means to the city. He gets the sense of nostalgia and the pride for
this small market baseball team that once held court over all of the others,
but then felt the humility of 14 consecutive losing seasons.
He’s not from here and neither am I—but our hearts have been
captured by Baltimore—this once elite city that now is so often associated with
the unsavory parts of the city publicized in Homicide and The Wire. I’ve
lived here now for over a decade and I remember at first feeling slightly
apologetic when telling others from far and wide how much I love this town.
Even those who were from here would look at me a little funny as if to say, “you do?”
Yes. I do. I love this town and its ball club whether it’s winning or
losing. If you go to Camden Yards right now, you’ll see the larger-than-life
statues of the Orioles greats: Brooks, Frank, Earl, Jim, Eddie, and Cal. Each
statue was unveiled in a ceremony to honor the individual it represented in
this 20th anniversary year of Oriole Park at Camden Yards—winners
who can still feel the appreciation of fans young and old. Whether it was long
ago or in the recent past (and hopefully as we head into the future), I get the
sense that winning is something that Baltimore doesn’t take for granted.