Go O’s! My family are lifelong Oriole fans, and my mother is the leader of the pack. I have fond and confusing memories from when I was a kid back in the sixties. I would knock on her bedroom door late at night and find her listening to the ballgame on the radio in the dark while wearing her glasses. She said it helped her to focus, and you do what you do to keep your eye on the ball when it’s dark and you can only hear the game.

A few weeks ago, Bob and I ventured to my home state of Maryland for my fiftieth high school reunion. It was held in Annapolis, just down the road from where I was born and close enough to Camden Yards in downtown Baltimore for us to stay over a few days and catch a game.

I was super excited. Bob and I had on matching orange Oriole shirts, and I donned my thirty-year-old Oriole earrings and a brand-new, flowered Oriole ballcap. We had front-row seats down from the third baseline near the foul pole – a great view of our favorite left fielder, Colton Cowser. Unfortunately, he didn’t start that day.

That was the least of the disappointments for us that drizzly Tuesday night in Baltimore, but there was a silver lining on all those rain clouds and all that was required to take advantage of it was showing up at the stadium two hours early and waiting in a light rain to take advantage of the first ever Oriole’s Yard Sale. Usually, you have to pay for things at a Yard Sale, but this one promised free overstock giveaways. That was right up my alley and totally worth a long wait in the rain.

We made friends with people in line who were season ticket holders, and they showed us the ropes, including how to sneak a cowbell into the stadium. They were our escorts to the “sale.”

The cowbell was a gift from my sister Linda to Bob and was in honor of Colton Cowser. When Cowser comes to the plate, the entire stadium moos (not to be confused with boos). People come dressed like a milkman and there are cow prints dotted throughout the stadium. Linda gave Bob a cow-print hat, too. It was a shame that Colton didn’t start. He was one of many not in the starting line-up due to injury or manager’s decision.

The Oriole mascot showed up in the stands behind us. Note the cow headgear.

But back to our SWAG. Our arms were overflowing with 6 t-shirts, 2 ball caps, 2 mini tote bags, 2 water bottles, 2 Oriole Hawaiian shirts, 2 ski caps, and 0 bobbleheads (You can’t have everything!)

After standing in line for quite a while to receive our SWAG, a nice young man escorted us to our seats and even used a chamois to wipe them off for us, but our hands were so full and everything was so wet, we could not put anything down. Bob managed the loot while I hightailed it to the Fanatic Store to buy a tote bag, which they did not have on supply, but they happily gave me a big shopping bag.

We crammed our stuff in the bag and were able to sit down and take in the enormity of the stadium. The distance from home plate to the outfield corners and the center field wall is much greater than it appears on television. The distance from our seats, which were protected by a net to keep us from being beaned by an errant outfield hit, was also greater than we figured it would be. Bob and I looked at each other and said, “We’ll never be able to see what’s going on from out here.” The one thing we could appreciate from our angle was how fast the pitches were. Amazing.

Our original plan was to eat at Boog’s BBQ. Boog Powell is the renowned Oriole first baseman of my childhood during the glory days of the Orioles. He was quite the power hitter, and I met him once at Boog’s BBQ 17 years ago. I don’t think he remembers. The garage sale took too much time, so we opted for chicken nuggets, a cold hotdog, fries and drinks. This was one of the most expensive meals of our trip, but we were at a ball game!

Two years ago, the Orioles showed signs of being a good team again. It had been a long rebuilding time. Then came last year. They were exciting from the get-go, and we followed them all the way to the playoffs. Shortstop Gunnar Henderson was named rookie of the year. I was proud to wear my Oriole shirts in public again. In prior years whenever I wore Oriole garb, I was greeted with shaking of heads and maybe next year. It was rough.

This year they started off with a bang, which led to a fizzle after the mid-season All Star game in July, which I blame partially on ESPN giving Gunnar Henderson custom-made shoes with a Lego motif. Gunnar’s game fell apart like an imitation Lego tower. Poor Gunnar. (I hate you ESPN.) Thankfully, we had such a big lead in our division that it was enough to keep us in the playoffs even if we didn’t win the division. (As I type this, our season is over much too quickly. Maybe next year!)

Going to a ballpark is a different experience from watching a game on TV. While television is preferred if you want to see everything, have a bathroom handy, not pay $12 for a hot dog, or not walk through the streets of Baltimore at night on your way back to the hotel, there’s nothing like the roar of the crowd and the sound of the organ to put you in the mood for a game, plus they showed us o TV.

Where else but at an Oriole game would everyone stand and actually sing the National Anthem. I mean everyone. I loved it. At the part of the song that goes “O, say does that star-spangled,” everyone yells “O.” It’s Oriole tradition. It’s fun. It’s America at its silliest and finest. I love it and I’m glad we went, regardless of the 10-0 loss. Maybe I’ll go again in another 17 years.

Bob and I, no worse for the wear, on Eutaw Street after the game.