Here to riff on the topic I touched on is one of the best bloggers in D.C., J.P. of Japers’ Rink.
For the better part of this summer, it’s been eating at me.
And rather than fade away as it has in the past, it’s grown in intensity to a point at which it can no longer be neglected like the nine button on the microwave.
I need to reconcile my feelings about the Baltimore Orioles.
As a native Marylander whose awakening to the world of professional sports essentially coincided with the “local” baseball team instilling its second would-be legend in as many generations on the left side of the infield, the O’s were just about the most important non-familial thing in my life for years.
I have vivid memories of going to a playoff game in 1983, and the Rick Dempsey Sports Illustrated cover still hangs framed on the wall in my den. Of Mike Boddicker drinking glasses. Of the Cal Ripken growth chart on the back of my bedroom door. Of Ken Gerhart (the Ken Gerhart, you guys!) signing my glove at b...