No, I'm not talking about that girl from the East. I think I was crying at the time when my older brother announced that we should abandon the losing Washington Senators and take on that improving club from Baltimore. Now, Dec. 9 is a holiday in my world. As in Dec. 9, 1965. That's when the Orioles dealt a fine pitcher in Milt Pappas, reliever Jack Baldschun and outfielder Dick Simpson to Cincinnati for an "aging" outfielder named Frank Robinson. The short story version is Robinson was with the Birds for six seasons. In four of those years, the Orioles went to the World Series.
I was hooked for life. And then came my chance to work for my favorite team in the world. I was an Orioles employee selling group and season tickets for fans in the DC area. My first year working for the team, the Orioles won another World Series title. I was in the World Series parade in Baltimore. And then the winning stopped. I would get drunk at Orioles parties, and tell folks who would listen, that I wanted to be a writer. OK, it wasn't the greatest job ever but I had plenty of memories to take to the Chicago area.
And ever since our Brady was born, 13 years ago, the darn team hasn't posted a winning record. That of course is disgraceful.
Three boys in this house here are named after former Orioles players. And not one of my boys have adopted the Orioles as their favorite team. But who can blame them?
I'm an Orioles fan for life.
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