I live in Baltimore, Maryland. I enjoy saying that as if my roots extend deep into the generational soil of the Charm City, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. In reality, I’ve lived here about a month. Nevertheless, I live here.
And I live in the same city that was once graced by the presence of a chap named Mike Mussina, alternately known as the Moose—first affectionately, and later antagonistically. Mussina was the dominant ace pitcher of our home baseball team, the Orioles, who, for those of you just tuning in to the world of baseball, were not always...well, this way. (See http://mlb.mlb.com/mlb/standings/?tcid=nav_mlb_standings.) Having made a quite name for himself in the Baltimore black and orange, Mussina found himself sitting pretty in the land we call “free agency,” able to choose between a host of suiting teams trying to acquire a top pitcher to bolster their rosters. Once again, for our non-ballfan readers, there are fellows each winter in this situation, whose choices are most often decided by The All Powerful Dollar. Much to the chagrin of my neighbors, this was the case for Mike. The Orioles’ offer for him to stick around in the city that made him a star, which would no doubt have made him a multi-millionaire with job security out the wazoo, was thrown back in their faces as their beloved Moose spoke before reporters at Yankee Stadium shortly after. Baltimore’s generous deal could never match what George Steinbrenner & Company waved in front of Mussina’s wallet. Mussina’s wife was quoted as saying that they were “offended” by such a measly offer given by the Orioles.
A lot of us here in the small corner of the world called America that we think is the whole universe are much like the Mussinas. We believe we’re entitled to a whole bunch of nice stuff, like comfort, safety, and recognition. After all, we’ve worked hard to become who we are, so now we should get what’s coming to us and enjoy it. So we wait for our proverbial Yankees to come knocking on our door with our ticket to the American Dream. And even if that actually ever happened to most people, it’s the kind of life that makes me queasy.
So I smile when friends and strangers alike ask me why in the bejeebees I wanted to move to Baltimore. I smile because I know that any life worth living is bound to cause confusion. I’m not wearing pinstripes down here, and the only ring I’m wearing has nothing to with the World Series, but I’ll hang around in last place for a while. It gives me something to work for.
By the way, you should look up how many World Series Mike Mussina’s Yankees won. Here’s a hint: it’s the same number as the Orioles total during that time.
