Bitter Baltimoron

It seems that everytime I start to have hope in things the Orioles are doing, they find new ways to piss me off. My sister gave me some vouchers to use at Sundays game vs the Nationals, she had to work and it was the last day the vouchers were valid. I accepted the tickets, and was excited to go have a great Sunday afternoon at the park. It rained through the early afternoon and the start of the game was delayed for several hours, so my friends and I watched TV at my house in Fells Point to bide time during the delay. When the first inning started some three hours after it was supposed to, we decided to walk to the game. Even with a brisk walk, it took a couple innings, and when we arrived to an empty stadium with bright smiles on our faces the Orioles decided not to honor our vouchers.

The first bad sign came when we walked up to the ticket window and talked to a woman whose microphone must have broken. It was like in Wayne’s World when they order from Stan Mikita’s. I understood just about every fifth word she said, but I did hear “___ dollars,” “go…glass doors.” and “side___warehouse.” We walked to the side of the warehouse without a struggle, because speaking with the talking head was hurting my ears and I was happy to find a human to speak with.

We were greeted with a classic East/South Baltimore woman; hair in an updo, short in stature, but wider than all three of my friends combined, she even looked polish to complete her stereotype. Instead of being an ear of sympathy, the clearly blue-collar woman informed us that our vouchers needed to be turned in for tickets by 4 pm, at which time the box office closed. She then told us we could pay $10 in cash if we wanted to go to the game at the special in-game price. None of us carried cash, and as I opened my mouth she raised her short, heavily-accented voice and shut the doors like she was the guard of Oz. No One Sees the Orioles! Not You! Not Nobody!

Apparently, the Orioles did not care that the game started close to 4 pm, or that the stadium was empty on a Sunday afternoon. Instead they told us to give them $10 cash for in-game tickets…what a deal! Since none of us had cash, a walk to the ATM would allow me the chance at some sweet $14 tickets to a game that I had already paid to go see. No thanks.

Our last hope was that the ushers would let us in. There was an old guy at the turnstiles, and an assortment of others standing around near him. All of them looked like your classic blue collar Orioles fans, but when we tried to see if the ushers would let us in with just our vouchers, we were greeted with the same condescending voices that the Orioles rep enchanted us with. I swear they talked to us like we were eight years old; very slowly, small words, and the Orioles rep woman even sort of yelled at me when I just inquired about the situation. After they told us to leave, and we said the normal and expected lines of “who cares the stadium’s empty,” I said loudly “Fuck the Orioles!” I looked back and saw this complete devastation in the face of the ushers. Here was their youth, and the future of the team, walking away from a mess of poor policies and by-the-book part-time employees.

Looking back I should have thrown my Orioles shirt into the trash, after I said “Fuck the Orioles.” It’s a cheap away Orioles jersey that I found at a Goodwill. Of course my away jersey doesn’t have “Baltimore” scripted across it, that would just be too kind to the city. Instead, we remain the only city in the majors that doesn’t have their city on their away jersey, despite the fact that Washington now has its own team. That’s another gripe for another day, and one that just about every Baltimore writer or radio host has complained about while the warehouse seems to be in no rush to change the situation.

To think that I was sort of excited to see the young, energetic Orioles team that Lee McPhail is putting together. Foolish me. I forgot that the Orioles will forever screw their fans in new ways (closing box office before the game hits the third inning) and in their old ways (being too embarrassed to put Baltimore on their jerseys).

It was during the rain delay that we watched ESPN Classic’s highlights from the 1970 and 1971 World Series. I recognized every face on the Orioles and I’d met nearly all of them, those members of the Oriole Way. We drank our Natty Bohs and walked to the game just as our fathers did at Memorial Stadium. Stories of how the ushers would let in young fans after the startof the game, have now been replaced with ushers who disallow $40 worth of tickets because a box office window couldn’t stay open an extra hour to compensate for the three-hour rain delay. My story to tell my kids is just another bitter Orioles story. The day three young Orioles fans got extorted for $30 cash, after already purchasing tickets. Thanks Orioles, King Peter, Bud Selig, and everyone else who helped ruin Major League Baseball, the Oriole Way, and a fun day at the ballgame.