Oriole 83

Gainesville

The name of the book was The Stolen Child, by Keith Donohue. It is a brilliant book, and one I know I'll never forget. It changes the way you look at certain things. Since I don't know Ann well enough to know her taste in books, I have no idea if she'd like it or not.

It was certainly a less stressful day -- Sundays usually are. I sleep late w/o guilt, and change the sheets. Today I had Bill flip the mattress (we do this quarterly, after each solstice and equinox) and washed the mattress cover too, so the process stretched over much of the day.

I picked something from the week's menu plan I was sure could not fail-- pork chops with an easy cream sauce-- and it didn't fail. There, I got back on that horse, and was not thrown.

Finished The Stillroom Maid. I liked it, but it left me feeling troubled and sad. Not sure what to pick up next. The Andrae Barks book is faintly annoying so far-- I think starting with the Dorfman/ Mettalart business is a mistake, but maybe the rest of the book will make clear why. It makes for a difficult approach for anyone outside the inner cult.

Most of my online friends are living it up in DC at ALA. One of the others not there gave me a name for what we're feeling: FOMO: "Fear of Missing Out". Which is exactly what it is!

Had baseball on the tube all day. Now that I've memorized the channel number for MASN (Mid-Atlantic Sports Network) I know where the Orioles are, and can tolerate the Nationals too-- meanwhile thoroughly enjoying the local Baltimore/DC commercials. As an extra benny, tonight they showed an "Orioles Classic" -- Game Two of the 1983 World Series against the Phillies-- MY 83 Orioles! I watched the whole thing and just reveled in it-- A very young Al Michaels called it, with Howard Cosell (!) and Earl Weaver in the booth with him.

What a hoot! An unbelievably baby-faced Ripken, the glowering Eddie Murphy, the wonderfully loopy John Lowenstein, rookie Mike Boddicker pitching a brilliant game. Jim Palmer in the bullpen. And on the Phillies bench, an as yet untarnished Pete Rose and a youthful Joe Morgan, whom I've come to know well as a commentator in later years.

A million memories. Old Memorial Stadium. "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" at the 7th inning stretch. Wild Bill Hagy leading the O's Cheer. Revealing little time stamps: "Beat It" playing in the background-- it had just come out. Talk about players having "answering services" -- before everyone and their brother had their own answering machines. All the less famous players I remember so well from that one memorable season, with names like Tippy and Tito and Sammy. And of course, dear Rick Dempsey, who now works for MASN, and had his own commentary to offer on this game. He would go on to be the Series MVP.

As I remember it, I watched it with Chris at his place. Though I'd gone to many games the past three years, and two of the play-off home games, no way could I score World Series tickets. The O's had lost game one, and were being written off. The game 2 victory kept our hopes alive as the series moved on to Philly. It never returned to Baltimore-- the O's won it in in five, at Philly. I watched the rest of it from my temporary apartment, packing to leave for Gainesville. I went downtown and enjoyed the parade and celebration. I saw all of them, smiling and waving from top down cars. Bittersweet.

Long ago, it was. I have the t-shirt. A book or two. Baseball cards. Autographed photos of Ripken in his second year. It was a lifetime ago.