Eddie Murray, 1982 Donruss #483

I've never understood why some people don't like to celebrate their birthdays. Today is my 33rd, which seems like quite a good number. In the spirit of Eddie Murray, Chris Davis made my birthday all the sweeter with a tenth-inning grand slam to seal a 7-3 win, helping the O's to take a three-game series in Oakland. I'm still not completely sold on the Orioles' chances to make it to the postseason, but we're into August and the games still mean something. I haven't forgotten all of the years when that wasn't the case.

Gary Roenicke, 1982 Donruss #509

There's no mistaking the fact that Gary Roenicke was photographed in Chicago's old Comiskey Park for this card. It may be out of focus and partially obscured, but Bill Veeck's big ol' exploding scoreboard is the only landmark you need to see. I wish baseball still had at least one owner as creative and irreverent as Bill.

Rick Dempsey, 1982 Donruss #77

Rick Dempsey turned 65 today, and I'm grateful that he finally stopped dying his hair and mustache so dark.

Ken Singleton, 1982 Donruss #24

Those old-school Dick Perez Diamond Kings were simultaneously some of the most beautiful and the most hideous works of art ever created by man. Is this Ken Singleton, or Diana Ross? And why is the batter in the inset picture caucasian? Dick Perez is a national treasure.

Earl Weaver, 1982 Donruss #27

Most of us will never have to let the media know that we are indeed still alive. But Earl Weaver had that unique honor yesterday.

It seems that Saturday, in none other than the New York Times, political columnist Ross Ramsey used a tortured metaphor to compare Democrats in the state of Texas to the Baltimore Orioles and suggested that in the afterlife, former Texas governor Ann Richards must be commiserating with Weaver on the current sorry state of their respective teams. Way to do your homework, Ross.

Not only is Earl still here with us on Earth (Florida, to be more precise), at 80 years old he hasn't lost his spark. Baltimore Sun reporter Mike Klingaman reached the Hall of Fame manager by phone yesterday to clear the air. His first reaction to the news that he'd been presumed dead: "I'll be damned." He also mentioned that he is no longer able to golf due to bad knees, and put a punctuation mark on his comments:

"I’ve always said that there were two places that I wouldn’t mind dying. One was Memorial Stadium; the other, the golf course...Now I’ve got to wait forever [to go], because both of those places are gone.”

Take your time, Earl. We'll be glad to put up with you for a while longer.

Cal Ripken, Sr., 1982 Donruss #579

In his day, Cal Ripken, Sr. was known to be a pretty serious soccer player. There's a strong tradition of soccer in the Baltimore area, particularly the indoor flavor of the game. Over the past three decades, the Blast (and the Spirit, as the club was known from 1992-1998) has been one of the premier teams of their various leagues. They've won ten division titles and six league championships, including five league crowns in the past seven years. I've never had an overwhelming interest in soccer, but I can generally talk myself into watching any sport and I thought that it couldn't hurt to support the one consistent winner in Charm City. With that in mind, I took a trip to the 1st Mariner Arena (known in previous lives as both the Baltimore Arena and the Baltimore Civic Center) last night to watch the Blast take on their longtime rivals, the Philadelphia KiXX. That may be the worst team name in all of professional sports.

My cohorts for the night were my 18-year-old cousin Brittany, a diehard Blast fan, and her parents. It was remarkable that Brittany made it to the game, as she'd had a fairly major surgery on Wednesday to remove a shunt (essentially, a tube to funnel fluid away from her brain). She still wasn't feeling all that well, but her desire to cheer on the home team won out. That's dedication. We had great seats two rows from the field; my sister's company provides the special effects for the team's pregame ceremonies, so she gave us the hookup.

As for the game itself, it was fairly exciting. Indoor soccer is an undeniable Americanization of a sport that's more popular in almost every other part of the world. You take the original game and put it on a hard floor overlaid with carpet, cut the field size in half, encircle the field with hockey-style boards, increase the value of goals (2 or 3 points each, depending on your position on the field), and pump up the noise with rock and pop music and a PA announcer who bellows cheering instructions to the fans. God bless the U.S.A.

I was struck by the diminutive size of most of the players. Denison Cabral, Baltimore's leading offensive player, stands in at 5'4...at least four inches shorter than O's second baseman Brian Roberts, one of the smallest players in MLB. In all, eight of the 20 Blast players are 5'9" or less, including forward Giuliano Celenza, a former schoolmate of mine in high school. The tallest player on the field for most of the game was forward Machel Millwood, a lanky Jamaican who towered over the other players and seemed to the naked eye to be at least 6'5". In actually, he was only 6'2". When it comes to soccer, I guess size doesn't matter so much.

I've been to dozens of baseball games in my life and never caught a foul ball. Wouldn't you just know that at my first indoor soccer game, an errant kick would send a ball sailing over the boards, bouncing past the couple next to me, and straight into my hands? I'm proud to say that I fielded the ball cleanly (thereby likely saving my recuperating cousin from further injury), though I did have to toss it back onto the field to the waiting referee. The Major Indoor Soccer League is not made of money, you know.

After a slow start (2-2 at the end of the first quarter, which soon turned into a 6-4 Philly lead), the Blast turned on the jets and took an 11-6 lead into the half. The careful teamwork of the players on both sides was a sight to see, with eight to ten men maneuvering in very close quarters for much of the game. Many times, one player would seem to know what his teammate would do before it happened, and there's no question that there's a great amount of skill involved. There was even a Baltimore goal on a diving header, which was an amazing sight. It was still 11-6 when we left after the third quarter (trying to ensure that Brittany didn't overdo it), but the Blast put the game away for good in the endgame and emerged with a 19-8 laugher.

The season is only two games old, so there are still nine opportunities to catch a game at the arena. Tickets start at $16, and you can find more information at the team's website. After all, you've gotta find something to do with your time until pitchers and catchers report.

Dan Graham, 1982 Donruss #455

I just picked up another great book by ESPN's resident baseball stathead, Rob Neyer: Rob Neyer's Big Book of Baseball Lineups, which was published in 2002 and should be self-explanatory. He goes team-by-team and presents their all-time lineups: best lineup, second-best, best single season, best rookie season, best defense, worst defense, biggest busts, "used-to-be-great", and best nicknames. Because I was determined to be patient and didn't want to just skip ahead, I was relieved that the Baltimore Orioles came near the top in alphabetical order.

You can probably guess the all-time O's lineup. Rick Dempsey was at catcher, largely on the strength of his defense, and Bobby Grich stood at second between Eddie and Cal. (That's the only position that might change if Neyer drew up the lineup today. Brian Roberts still might not unseat the defensively superior Grich, but with his doubles power, speed, and on-base skills, it would be a tight race.) One of the eye-openers for me was the catcher for the All-Rookie team, Mr. Dan Graham.

Graham was before my time, as he was out of the majors by the time I was born. My family has never said a word about him, and he hasn't come up in any of the books that I've read about the Orioles. All I knew of him were the slightly goofy pictures on his handful of baseball cards, which have only come into my collection in the last year or two. It's to my detriment that I didn't have the curiosity to flip one of these cards over and read the back.

After going 0-for-4 with the Twins in his first two major league games in 1979, Dan was traded to the Birds for first baseman Tom Chism, a fellow 24-year-old rookie who went...0-for-3 in 1979. That's a funny sort of trade. Anyway, Graham got a fair amount of playing time in 1980 as Rick Dempsey's backup (285 plate appearances in 86 games), and really did play well. He hit .278 with 15 home runs and 54 RBI, placing him fourth on the team in longballs. It seemed that Earl Weaver had found another of his beloved platoons (the righty Dempsey hit .303 vs. LHP, while lefty Graham hit .293 vs. RHP). If nothing else, he had a little pop behind the plate when he wanted to give the Dipper a blow.

But the strike-shortened 1981 campaign was a disaster for Dan. He batted a paltry .176 and his production disappeared: a pair of home runs and eleven RBI in 142 at-bats. He had four errors and seven passed balls in 40 games behind the plate, so it's not like his defense was enough to keep him going. He spent all of 1982 in Rochester before packing his things and going home. Where have you gone, Dan Graham?

Bob Bonner, 1982 Donruss #610

Bob Bonner, in addition to owning an epic dirtstache and Hefty bag warmup jacket, was born in 1956. That's the same year that Bengies Drive-In Movie Theatre opened for business. Fifty-three years later it's still open, and is the last drive-in left standing in Maryland. A decade ago, it was also the place where I had my first summer job.

I found a listing in the classified ads of the newspaper - do they even still have those? - for a snack bar attendant. I dropped by for an interview, and was hired on the spot. I guess I could have taken that as an ominous sign, but that's hindsight. The first thing I had to do was shave my goatee; the boss believed that facial hair gave the appearance of uncleanliness. That was the least of his quirks. He was a small, shrill guy who liked to make his presence felt. Every evening before we opened, he would stroll into the snack bar area and bellow, "Where's my damn coffee?", and then start cackling. He was a pretty demanding guy, but he absolutely loved me. I imagine that it had something to do with the fact that I was quiet and reasonably competent.

Unfortunately, competence was a rare quality among my teenage peers at Bengie's. I remember one guy named Mike who was the absolute worst of the worst. One night, my supervisor pulled me aside and asked me to take over the popcorn machine because he didn't want Mike interacting with the customers. So between schmucks like that who were eventually fired and inexperienced kids who were ill-equipped to deal with the boss and quit, there was constant turnover. All of which meant that I was called upon to work a heavier schedule. Also, I was too much of a sucker to say no. So as many as five nights a week, you could find me at the drive-in from 7 PM to 1 AM. It sure didn't leave much time for a social life.

You might be thinking, "hey, at least you got to watch movies". Not so. No matter how slow things got at the snack bar, turning around and scoping out the flicks was verboten. It's just as well, because 1998 was a particularly lousy year for movies. During the two months I worked there, we showed such gems as The Avengers, Paulie (a movie about a freaking parrot), Small Soldiers, and Dr. Doolittle. Just having to overhear the irritating dialogue for that movie night after night ignited what has been to date a decade-long hate affair between myself and one Eddie Murphy. The best movie we had that summer was Saving Private Ryan. It was indeed a fine film, but I appreciated it primarily because it was so long that we couldn't run a double feature. I was home by 10:30 every night during its run. Bless you, Tom Hanks.

I hadn't really thought of a way to wrap this up, so I'll leave you an anecdote. One night I was working the cash register, and a guy came through and asked me if we served beer.

Beer.

At a DRIVE-IN movie theatre.

If I were quicker on my feet, I would've told him that we did, but he'd missed last call.

Doug DeCinces, 1982 Donruss #279

It's been almost thirty years since Doug DeCinces hit a two-out, two-run home run in the bottom of the ninth to give the Orioles a dramatic comeback victory against the Detroit Tigers. That one round-tripper is widely credited as the catalyst for what became known as "Orioles Magic". But today is a day to celebrate the man who spent countless summer nights at Memorial Stadium leading the cheers that fueled that magic.

For the non-O's fans and the Birdland neophytes who might be reading, William "Wild Bill" Hagy was a cab driver from Baltimore, and in the 1970s and 1980s he was headquartered in Section 34 of the Orioles' former home on 33rd Street. He and his rambunctious fellow rooters became known as "The Roar from 34". Wild Bill was a sight to behold with his straw hat, big sunglasses, and bushy beard. His beer belly hung over his denim shorts, but he was remarkably limber as he led the crowd in a chant of "O-R-I-O-L-E-S!", contorting his body to spell out each letter. He became so popular that the team actually allowed him to perform his cheers on top of the home dugout. He even had a policy that further endeared him to the local masses - if he picked up anyone wearing a Yankees cap in his cab, he would ask them to remove the hat. Those who failed to comply had to look for another taxi!

Wild Bill Hagy passed away last August at the age of 68. To measure his influence and popularity among the Orioles fans and the team itself, look no further than the posthumous steps taken to honor and celebrate him. The first game at Camden Yards after his death was marked with a moment of silence. There have been memorial services and get-togethers attended by an impressive number of his family, friends, and fans. Earlier this season, a group of fans paid tribute to Wild Bill during a weekend series against the Yankees by donning straw hats and fake beards and leading cheers for the Birds. Tonight, to mark Hagy's birthday, the O's will be giving away orange "HAGY 34" Orioles t-shirts. Best of all, he will be the first recipient of the Wild Bill Hagy award, to be given each year to an exceptional O's fan. From my understanding, this award will be incorporated into the annual Orioles Hall of Fame ceremony in August.

For my part, I will be at the Yard tonight in full throat, proudly wearing "HAGY 34" on my back and tipping back a cold one for the caretaker of Orioles Magic. Happy Birthday, Wild Bill.

Image from baltimoresun.com