Last Monday, watching the Ravens roll over like bitches in their season opener, I said, "I think I'm really going to put my back into being a Ravens fan this year." shep. sort of made the face, and my cat, who goes by the name of Billy Donovan around here, rolled over, lifted a leg, and started to lick himself, which really sort of sums up the entirety of being a Baltimore sports fan these days. When Billy Donovan won't back you up, you know you're in trouble.
It's hard to be an Orioles fan. I'm in the middle of a trial reconciliation with them, after eight years of bitterness, anger and Midwest living, and it hasn't been easy. They're bad. I mean, historically, legendarily bad, and not in terms of loss numbers, either. Thirty runs to Texas. Seventeen to Tampa Bay and then eighteen to the Angels. No-hit by a rookie. The worst bullpen in baseball and the best All-DL starting rotation. Injuries too numerous to count. And yet I continue to love them, because I am stupid and I am a Baltimore native and I enjoy having my heart broken over and over and over again like that.
Usually in September, I'm done with baseball. This year I'm still cheering for two game winning streaks.
And then the Ravens started off the season with three first-quarter turnovers, and Kyle Boller failed to throw a game-winning touchdown even given a fourth-down penalty blessing and getting to try three more times; instead of throwing a touchdown after seven downs inside the goal line with the game on the line, he threw an interception.
I think it's fate. I think I'm doomed to love teams that are phenomenally bad in excruciatingly creative ways. And I can't help myself. I'm going to put my back into being a Ravens fan this year, because I'm from the Baltimore: sometimes, losing's the only thing we know how to do.
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