I generally discuss politics, and I suspect I’m becoming boring and repetitive on the topic. So instead, let’s discuss the Orioles.
Oh, darn, for those who know me well I suspect I’m boring and repetitive on this topic as well.
But I’ll try to entertain my target audience. The problem is my real target is only one person — David Rubenstein.
So David, let’s talk. I love the Orioles. The team is intertwined with my life. My father worked for Channel 13 in the ‘60s and ‘70s and ‘80s. He was the guy in the broadcast truck outside Memorial Stadium. A proud member of the IATSE union, my father would run cables into the park, bring cameras online, and work in the truck handling technical issues.
By the time I was 10 years old, we would grab a bus to the game, transfer at Park Circle, and sit in the cheap seats. By the sixth inning we’d move up to where the rich people sat.
One of my first memories is the 1966 World Series with my dad. Somehow, he got tickets and took me. I still remember how green the grass was and how loud the drunk behind us screamed nonstop.
The glory of 1970 seems still fresh to me. For a window of my childhood, the Orioles were the best team in the world. In 1983, I could only watch the season unfold from a distance. I was in my third year of medical school and it tore at my soul to not be in the stands when Cal Ripken and Eddie Murray brought the World Series trophy back where it belonged.
I cried the day Memorial Stadium saw its last game. I couldn’t make myself go to the game. I gave my tickets to a friend. And I locked myself in my home office and turned on the TV. I sobbed watching home plate being removed.
Years later, I took my boys to see Cal breaking the Iron Man record. What a glorious two days at beautiful Camden Yards.
I feel bad for my sons. The Orioles have never been what they were for me. They are adults now with families of their own. They’ve never experienced the collective community joy of winning playoff baseball.
David, the Orioles are years deep into a rebuild with nothing to show for the suffering. Instead of buying at the recent trade deadline, the team sold and waved a white flag. A year of great expectations has turned into a dumpster fire. Forty-three years of frustration.
David, Baltimore wants to love you. We are proud of you as a native son that made it big in investment world. You and I are both old. At our age, legacies start to intrude into our thoughts. You have a chance that most of us only dream of. You have a chance to bring a World Series to your boyhood town.
David, financial geniuses are a devalued commodity in our current world. How will history remember some of your fellow billionaires? I suspect Mr. Musk and Mr. Trump will fare badly. But you can be a hero for generations. This year is lost but please bring back winning baseball next year to a town that will crown you a hero for the ages.
Oh and David, come in and talk to us. Let us tell our 20,000 Baltimore Jewish readers your incredible story.
See you next October for game seven.
Scott Rifkin, MD
Publisher
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