One of my favorite Spring rituals began yesterday.  Baseball season officially opened for most teams with the Boston Red Sox coming from behind to beat those New York Yankees in front of a crowd of 37,440.  It's only right that the season opened with these two teams playing each other in an ongoing rivalry that usually leaves my team out of contention for the American League East division.

It is my team that is named after a bird.  A bird with orange tones, gray to brown wings, gray bill and dark eyes.  It has a penchant for sweet nectar and caterpillars and is found high in trees.  It is the Baltimore Oriole.  Last year I saw one all summer.

The Orioles as a baseball team are somewhat like their namesake.  They don't attract a lot of attention anymore.   They can be heard more often than seen.  On Fridays they wear their black jerseys and seem to look even more like real Baltimore Orioles.

There are a lot of Orioles fans in this part of Virginia, so I don't feel so alone.  Not as I did years ago when I lived in California and went to see the then California Angels play my team.  I was actually told to "shut up."  I prefer to call it being shushed.  At any rate, I'd never been shushed at a sports venue before and never have since.  Those people in Orange County take their team much too seriously.  It feels good to be back in Birdland.

In honor of their opening game later tonight in Tampa Bay, I'm wearing my black cargo shorts and my orange retro Oriole t-shirt with the number 5 and "Robinson" on the back.  For those of you who remember, Brooks Robinson was the greatest 3rd baseman ever, bar none; better than Aurelio Rodriguez and Mike Schmidt combined.  How appropriate part of Brooks' name would be that of a bird.

Later this summer, I will go see my Orioles play the Yankees on June 10, admittedly the best team in baseball right now.  But for one brief, shining evening, the tables will be turned as I am enamored with Luke Scott, Brian Roberts, Nick Markakis and my other boys of summer in Birdland.