Gracious Hosts

Whenever I have company, I try to roll out the red carpet. The food meant for five could easily feed any army. The candles spark to life with the flick of a match. The corners of the room where dustballs party are swept clean. The cushions on the sofa are fluffed for comfort, and the coasters are lined up on the coffee table for style. I may not have the ritziest of homes or the most sophisticated of wine offerings, but I strive to rank high on the hospitality scale.

On Friday night, I visited someone else’s house and I have to say they would put me to shame. I walked in as an ungracious guest and walked out appreciating that my hosts had ordered up a perfect evening for me in spite of the chip on my shoulder. After a few short hours, I realized that Camden Yards is indeed the most hospitable place to root-root-root for the visiting team.

When I arrived at 4:45 pm, the front gate of Camden was already swarming with Red Sox fans and I was hard-pressed to find an Orioles fan in the lot. Instead I was surrounded by the diehards from New England, the transplants, and the bandwagoners in every conceivable Red Sox shirt. If I were an O’s fan, I don’t think I’d be pleased to have my field taken over by a nation of fans who act like this is the Fenway Annex. But O’s fans don’t seem to mind all that much. They joined the lines and mingled with the faithful without a grumble.

For one reason or another, I had to chat with various members of the Orioles staff, and even they didn’t think twice about my walking up to them in a Sox shirt and hat. One was even so kind as to smile and say, “What can I do for you, young lady?” They didn’t seem to care that I had the cocky swagger of a fan whose team is in first place, that I clearly believed my team would win. Instead they saw a baseball fan with a question that needed answering.

I had purchased cheap seats in left field because it was a last minute decision to come to the game, but I was afforded a breathtaking view of the entire park. From my bird’s nest in the second to last row, I spied a sea of red with a sprinkling of orange. Once the game got underway and the beer started to warm up the crowd, the thunderous chants of “Let’s go, Red Sox…clap…clap…clap-clap-clap,” drowned out everything else. The O’s fans came back with their own chants, and they certainly would have been entitled to come back at us with some choice words as well, but they kept an even keel and quietly enjoyed the one run lead they carried late into the game.

To their credit, the Orioles contingent tried to act mean. After the seventh inning stretch, the familiar strains of “Sweet Caroline” filled the yard. You could see the red- and blue-capped fans turning, smiling, and bobbing their heads along to Neil. Even the weathered hearts of Sox fans softened with the scoreboard promise, “And now here’s a little something for you Red Sox fans.” But just as Neil was about to belt it out, the music cut off abruptly and the scoreboard screamed, “NOT!” Only it didn’t scream. It was more of a nice guy try. The Sox fans chuckled, appreciating the humor, but no one took offense.

When the eighth inning exploded in a run fest for both sides, with the Red Sox first surging ahead for a 5-1 lead and the Orioles answering with four runs of their own, the Orioles fans had every reason to turn to the Sox fans and give them raspberries, but they didn’t. Instead they sat back and calmly rode the momentum into the ninth inning with everything tied.

The top of the ninth saw the Red Sox strand two runners on the basepaths. The Orioles came back in the bottom of the inning with a double, a bunt, and a sacrifice fly that drove in the winning run, and the Orioles fans erupted with cheers and applause. Their boys had fought harder for the glory, and ours had completely imploded on the field. The Birds deserved all of the kudos, and even Red Sox Nation could appreciate that. As I walked out of the yard, I was prepared to hear Orioles fans gloating about the drubbing their team had delivered, but the only words I heard were the strong chants of “Let’s go, Red Sox.” Even in defeat, Boston fans were eager to shout their allegiance, and even in victory, Orioles fans found no reason to stop us. They had won the game in memorable fashion and that’s all they needed to make the night complete.

I’m used to watching my teams play in opposing parks. I’ve seen the Red Sox at Yankee Stadium and the Marlins at Shea. A Yankee fan got in my grill and called me a “Chowdahead,” and Mets fans hurled cups in the direction of me, my Dad, and my “Fish Fans” sign. I knew I was asking for the taunts then because that’s what you get when you tread on someone else’s turf in enemy colors, but going to Camden actually feels like the exception to the rule. Orioles fans are kind and hospitable. They lay down the red carpet for opposing teams and their fans regardless of how virulent the opponents can be about their loyalties. Like good hosts, they believe what's most important is for fans to get comfortable, have a fun time, and enjoy a good baseball game.