My First Heartbreak

Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.
            Mark Twain

Have you ever had your heart broken?  I’m not talking about the unrequited love of a woman or man who did not know you existed or would later prove unworthy of your affections.  I’m talking about the kind of love that was born and fostered with attention, nurtured through time and strengthened through ecstasy and adversity.  Then, they meet someone younger, sexier and all the years, all the tribulations and exaltations are defenestrated as if they never existed – as if they never meant anything at all.  On 28 March 1984, Baltimore Colts owner Robert Irsay, emboldened by greed, spite and alcohol, brought Mayflower moving trucks into the Colts Training Complex in the middle of a snowy night and ripped the heart out of a city.  I know because I was there…crying. 

My wife thinks I need to get over this but I was fourteen years old, growing up in my beloved Baltimore.  I lived in an apartment building in Owings Mills and delivered newspapers to my complex, as well as the slightly nicer ones behind me.  Because of our proximity to the Colts training facility, I had several Colts along my route.  From time to time, Colt players could be seen walking along store fronts or running the track of the nearby middle school.  I once was given a ride home by the great Joe Washington as I left school early, sick.  We watched the games every Sunday and occasionally, we traveled to Memorial Stadium to see them in person.  The players were a part of us and though I lived in a time when that was beginning to change, my world and that of the city’s fans was centered on the Baltimore Colts.   

There was talk about Robert Irsay not being happy with the situation in Baltimore.  The team was not at its best and the fan turnout was not as robust.  There was talk by the mayor, William D. Schaefer, who sought a way of placating the cantankerous owner.  There was an embarrassing scene at the airport when the mayor met the owner, recently arrived from, if reports were to be believed, Arizona.  Were the Colts moving?  A drunken Irsay demanded to know who was saying such things.  He wanted to know who would suggest he was meeting with other cities.  He lashed out at the reporters and, worse yet, the city and Colts fans.  He said if he had been supported by the city and its citizens, none of these stories would have materialized.   

Then, one morning, the city awoke to news reports live from Owings Mills and the training center, the last remnants of our love affair strewn around the parking lot and vacated practice fields in the form of random cars and abandoned equipment.  The team had moved to Indianapolis.  Employees who had worked for the team for decades arrived at the office, only to find their job no longer existed.  I kept looking at my father, trying to understand what was happening but he looked at me sadly.  He had no answers.  No one did.  Mayor Schaefer, who had tried to organize the city legislature to pass a law to keep the team from leaving until negotiations were complete, faced the cameras with tears in his eyes and little in the way of explanation.  He was as dumbstruck as the rest of the city.   

The Baltimore Colts were no more.  Instead, the team, its history and tradition, now rested in a city where, as famed Baltimore reporter John Steadman once said, the best bagel in town could be found in the frozen foods section of the local Piggly Wiggly.  The Mayflower moving company went out of business in Maryland.  I did not know they were still around until a trip to Texas left me gobsmacked as I saw a green and gold monstrosity drive down the interstate.   

Watching them on television in the subsequent years was like watching your ex-girlfriend stepping out with her new guy.  With the Baltimore Ravens in town now, my allegiance has shifted and my new love is great.  Still, from time to time, I look at the old one and wonder what could have been.  If you are not from Baltimore or a sports fan, this post will make no sense.  These are simply the memories of a scarred teenager who could not make sense of the world around me.  Sometimes, I still can’t.