For the last couple of weeks, I have been comparing the anticipation for today like the shaking of a soda bottle. Throughout what you’re about to read, please excuse my heavy dependence on this analogy.
In this particular case, imagine a machine violently shaking a soda bottle for 3,283 days. Now that you have that obscure imagery in mind, let’s talk.
In the weeks leading to the ALDS Game One, there have been hundreds, if not thousands of posts, articles, podcasts, TV spots, etc. mentioning how ready Baltimore was to host postseason baseball and reminding the world of how long it had been (shakes the bottle). The last time the Orioles played into October in front of a home crowd was October 11, 2014, in the ALCS. We were ready.
I’m not necessarily here to recap the stats or breakdown every pitching change and substitution. What I am here to do, and will be here to do throughout the Orioles’ run, is provide you my experience sitting in the stands and maybe provide you some insight or a perspective you did not see.
I’m sure, like many of you, I was up early today; entirely too early. Getting to the ballpark by 9:30 a.m. was a mission more than a suggestion. Ironically enough, it was 9:28, and we were the first car admitted to the lot.
As the rain continued to pour, the people continued to pour in. This was our moment (shakes the bottle). The gates opened at 10:30, and the wave of orange breached the iron and brick walls.
The overwhelming sea of people on a day, not in early April, was a bit jarring yet welcoming. Before I ever made it to Section 22, I was greeted by more than a few that I have been privileged to meet virtually at one point or another. Once there, I was greeted yet again, this time by an absolute monsoon.
Because I am certifiably insane, I stuck out the rain in the bowl instead of the concourse, almost as if I was afraid to miss something. Once an hour that felt like a year passed, the grounds crew jogged out to roaring applause. It was time to have playoff baseball at Camden Yards (shakes the bottle).
Between the video packages, the player intros, the fireworks, Joan Jett, Adam Jones or the rally towels, if you did not feel the pressure of 3,283 shakes before today, you felt all of them in a single moment. The cap had burst off of the bottle. I cried. I’m sure I wasn’t alone.
Once again, I will spare the details and breakdowns, but I would be remiss if I didn’t talk about what happened on the field. The pitching was good, and the offense was not.
You could feel the anticipation, the anxiety, the excitement, the almost dangerous-to-the-touch electricity throughout the confines.
The Orioles did a fantastic job of making sure that if you didn’t feel it when you walked in (shake), when you talked to other fans (shake) or when you walked through the concourse (two shakes), you’d feel it with a minute-long countdown before the festivities unleashed.
This team is too talented to lose to three runs, plain and simple. For most of the day, this did not seem to affect the crowd. They were loud, on their feet and attentive from the first pitch to the last.
However, leaving the ballpark, you could feel that the pressure of the bottle was starting to fizz out. What I would implore all of Birdland to do tomorrow is shake the bottle again, violently.
This series requires three losses to be eliminated, and the Orioles only own one of those. Shake the bottle for yourself, for the people who can’t be there and, most importantly, for the guys on the field. Tomorrow, shake the bottle again because that is what this team and this city deserves.
What did you think of Game One of the ALDS? Let us know in the comments below! Make sure to follow The Baltimore Battery on Facebook, Twitter (X) and TikTok, and use the hashtag #baltimorebattery when sharing our content!
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