imagined when he bought the team.
As I pointed out in Part 2 of this Ghost of Baltimore Professional Football series, I really do believe those enraged “patriots” who swear they’re never watching another Ravens game and won’t be renewing their season tickets. That group is 100% dug in and gone forever from the purple kingdom. Most have been too mouthy, too over-the-top to ever go back and face their social media demons in a Ravens sweater with a purple flamingo on the lawn and a flag in the driveway.
Nevermore, indeed…
As you might be aware, I have long employed a similar stance on the Baltimore Orioles and Peter G. Angelos after an absurdly dishonest, dishonorable dispute on an advertising and partnership agreement in 2004. Then, for good measure, the Oriole Bird physically assaulted me and a few friends in the right field stands on a night when my company made them about $50,000 in profit and sold 1,200 tickets in the outfield for a bill they never paid. That entire story has never been told publicly but will one day be in “The Book.”
It’s OK because a week later I got a legal letter sent certified mail written by “The Oriole Bird” and signed by two mascots with cartoon signatures. It was signed “Oriole Bird #1” and “Oriole Bird #2.”
So I understand when the lifelong love of a franchise and the passion of your personal fandom and all that it entails from time, money and commitment doesn’t feel returned, respected, appreciated or even understood. I understand feeling taken advantage of and taken for granted. We all do because we’re all human and have all been vulnerable in any relationship – even with our sports franchise that we’re somehow told to “love the laundry” unconditionally like we’re all sappy Chicago Cubs fans from a bad movie where the home team never wins.
It says “Baltimore” on the front of it, therefore I must support it or I’m a disloyal citizen and an awful person!
8
I learned when I was 12 in the summer of 1981 during the Major League Baseball strike that loyalty and sports is not a two-way street.
I learned when I was 15 in the spring of 1984 when the Mayflower vans rolled west on I-70 never to return that sports is not a civic obligation and eminent domain doesn’t exist with team colors or logos.
I know all about the legitimate philosophy of “that sports team and its wealthy owner and rich players don’t care about you” and have seen it at work for most of my lifetime.
It really depressed my Pop because he held sports in the highest esteem because of what it meant to him. The ’58 Colts. The ’66 Orioles. Johnny Unitas. Brooks Robinson. Lenny Moore running backwards. The Baltimore Bullets. These were the stories of my childhood that he told in vivid detail that changed the course of
