Same old same old

I’ve decided it’s past time I admit — nay declare — that the Baltimore Orioles will never be anything other than a mediocre baseball team.

I’ve been wanting to say that for several years now, but I deferred to much more learned folks — the historian and archivists, the statisticians, the algorithm drones, the believers of “the rebuild,” the optimists — who convinced me otherwise. Or at least convinced me to keep my mouth shut.

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Realizing that my personal conclusion is derived mainly from emotional and anecdotal evidence, I acquiesced to the “experts” and rode out several more seasons, witnessing little to nothing to change my mind.

Watching the recent trade of Adley Rutschman finally put me over the edge and I’ll tell you why.

Since 2018, we have been told to put all our faith in the rebuild of all rebuilds. In July of that year, the Orioles traded star third baseman Manny Machado ( still a kid) to the Dodgers in exchange for a gaggle of prospects. That move kicked off a subsequent fire sale of most veteran players that we were told was the official beginning of a ground-up renovation. In November, the team hired Mike Elias as executive vice president and general manager. Fans were told Elias would craft a structural rebuild much in the fashion of the one he was credited with engineering for the Houston Astros. Elias worked for the Astros from 2012-2018, and was widely credited with drafting core talent that turned the basement dwellers into World Series champions.

Elias was known for his dependence on and faith in analytics, and brought several Houston analytical employees with him, saying that he would implement a data-driven organizational overhaul.

In December 2018, Elias hired Brandon Hyde, a Chicago Cubs bench coach, to be the team’s manager, the guy who would lead the rebuild.

But here’s the problem I have, as a 60-year fan of this team. Since the mid-1980s, not long after the Orioles’ most recent World Series championship, we the fans have been sold on rebuild after rebuild after rebuild, though admittedly of various levels of destruction and reconstruction.

There have been a few high spots along the way. Camden Yards opened in 1992 and fans flocked to the new stadium in record numbers. Corporations snapped up season tickets by the bucketful and the team set a franchise record for the most consecutive sellouts. At one time, the season ticket waiting list was estimated to be about 10 years.

The team made the playoffs in 1996 and ’97 but didn’t go far.

“However, the late 1990s and early 2000s were characterized by losing seasons and rebuilding efforts,” according to an online history of the team.

The team had a bit of resurgence under the field leadership of manager Buck Showalter, with the O's making the playoffs in 2012, ’14 and ’16. Then the bottom fell out, leading to the team finishing last in the AL East in 2017, 18 games behind the division champs Boston Red Sox. And no fan can forget the catastrophic season of 2018, which saw the team set a franchise record no one wants to set, with a record of 47 wins and 115 losses. Showalter was fired three days after that abysmal season ended.

Over these many years, we have watched young players come and go as soon as their rookie contracts expired. We watched pitchers struggle here and then watched them win World Series titles, Cy Young awards and MVP accolades when they went elsewhere. 

So, with that history, I give you some of my emotional thoughts. In saying the Orioles will remain mired in mediocrity, I fully realize there will be the fluke years, the surprise years and the over-achievement years. But while I probably won’t be alive to say “I told you so,” I doubt we will ever see our Birds experience the dominance and success of the 1960s, ‘70s and early-80s. From elementary school through college, my favorite baseball team was almost always in the running. And the team remained consistent and recognizable — the days of Brooks, Boog, Frank and Jim to later days of Cal, Eddie, Rick and Mike.

Maybe I have a memory of convenience, but I don’t remember many examples of young stars or beloved veterans being sold off mid-season. 

Now, I can practically hear some of you ‘splaining to me that baseball is a business. I know that and understand that. I just don’t think Baltimore owners since the departure of Jerry Hoffberger have been particularly good at running the business. Ownership went from bad to worse when it transitioned from Edward Bennet Williams to Eli Jacobs, and then to Peter Angelos. And like it or not, the fan base is an important part of that business equation but they never seem to have a seat at the table.

Again, anecdotally, I blame the 31-year tenure of the Angelos regime for establishing the draft them and ditch them philosophy of player retainment. For decades, we have all witnessed the pattern of drafting good, young players year after year. We watch them develop and we fall in love with them, only to see them either traded off before their rookie contracts end or lost them to free agency. The Orioles, it appears, are happy to have three or four years of baseball minimum-wage players and then get rid of them when it’s time to pay them market value.

Which brings me to the current “rebuild.” According to the calendar, we’re in year eight of the rebuild that kicked off officially with the 2019 season. By virtue of finishing poorly year after year, the Orioles were able to stock the minor leagues with top prospects with the high draft picks awarded to crappy teams.

For several years during this current rebuild, we took pride in having the highest rated farm system, which was chock full of promising, almost guaranteed future stars. At one point, the farm system was so bloated we bragged about the embarrassment of riches, with the only worry being how all of them would get appropriate playing time and how to choose among them when the time came.

For the first time, many of us actually followed the progress of minor leaguers as they made their way through the farm team ranks. We know the names — Rutschman, Henderson, Holliday, Hall, Cowser, Westburg, Stowers, Mayo, Kjerstad, Beavers, Norby and Ortiz.

We kept an eye on those young guns because they were the seeds of the next World Series, we were told. And indeed, when Adley Rutschman was promoted mid-season 2022, he was largely credited with being the shot in the arm that turned that season around. Adley was the fresh face of the rebuild and would be followed by the rest of the young phenoms as they paid their minor league dues. And one after the other, most of them were called up. Some went up and down as their performances waxed and waned but the future was here, we were told.

In that 2022 season, after Elias traded away veteran players at the deadline, he declared, “It’s liftoff from here.” Translation: The rebuild was complete and the pieces were in place for longterm success.

We played along with the narrative. We embraced these young players with the vibrant personalities and the equally vibrant skill sets. I got a big kick out of the dugout traditions the kids instituted, from the large chain link home run necklace to the homer hose to the hydration station. Sunflower seed showers greeted home run hitters when they returned to the dugout and team chemistry seemed to be at an all-time high. The creation of the Bird Bath section in the stands was pure marketing genius, I thought.

In 2022, Adley’s debut season, the Birds finished with 83 wins and 79 losses. The following year, the Orioles shocked the baseball world by winning the AL East division with a record of 101-61. The post-season excitement was short-lived, however, as the home team lost three straight games to the Texas Rangers in a divisional series. But, we all thought, the long awaited baseball Promised Land was here. There would be more of the same, the team would only get better as more prospects got promoted.

The 2024 season took a little step backward, with a final record of 91-71, good enough for a Wild Card slot in the playoffs. The post-season disappointment continued, however, with the Kansas City Royals sweeping the series, 2 games to none.

The 2025 season took a bigger step back with a final record of 75-87, finishing outside of the playoff borders.

This seems like a good time to point to the elephant in the room, the albatross, the Achille’s heel. Pitching. This team has needed pitching for more than 30 years. Sure, there’s the occasional ace, the surprise performer, the veteran with one final superb season, the great closer. But we haven’t had a solid pitching staff with four good, dependable starters in forever. The days of Palmer, Cuellar, McNally and Dobson are long gone. Hell, the days of complete games are long gone. Pitchers are specialists these days. There are starters; there are openers who will pitch just an inning or two, by design, before yielding to the bullpen; there are long- and middle-relievers; there’s a set-up pitcher; and there’s a closer. Jim Palmer threw 211 complete games in his 19-year tenure. Shane Baz just threw a complete game for the Birds on Friday, a 2-1 loss to Texas.Trevor Rogers tossed a complete game on Aug 1, 2025, and that was the first once since Dean Kremer completed his game of Sept. 23, 2022.

And despite pitchers specializing and throwing far fewer innings than their predecessors, they are experiencing season- and career-ending injuries at alarming rates. Is conditioning a problem? Is technique a problem? Is pitch speed emphasized too much? I don’t know what the cause is, but modern pitching is destroying too many arms.

I’d have to scour rosters but I think the last time we had a true ace who stayed longer than a couple of seasons was Mike Mussina. And our losing culture eventually handed him to the Yankees. I took great pride in watching the Yankees not win a World Series during his tenure, because we Baltimore fans can carry grudge, but that’s another story.

But I digress. Every year, pitching is the big need. And every year, we go to winter meetings and come out with outfielders we don’t need and utility infielders we don’t need. When we sign a pitcher, it’s usually a veteran whose best years are behind him. We have prospects and has-beens; there don't seem to be many middle-career players who are here because they want to be. And mid-career players who express a desire to remain an Oriole get traded away.

With pitchers almost an endangered species in Baltimore, we just traded away Dean Kremer and Tyler Wells at the deadline. It sure seems like management raised the white flag on this season.

So here’s my major beef and the move that I think proves my point that the Orioles will never be a serious contender. 

Just four years ago, Adley Rutschman was the heir apparent, the fresh, enthusiastic face of the most comprehensive overhaul in team history. He was it. He was going to lead us to the Promised Land. He was going to take us deep into the playoffs and eventually to the World Series.

And now he’s gone. Cut loose. Traded for any value at all before he was lost to free agency; before he could get scarfed up by a team with ultra-deep pockets. Because the Orioles just don’t pay those big contracts with any regularity. And any time they do sign those mega contracts, they get burned (can we say Chris Davis) and that cools the desire to offer those kinds of deals again.

I’ve read the opinions that we actually got a great deal for Adley, that we got a handful of top prospects. Indeed, the team is once again boasting about the ranking of its farm system, based largely on those new acquisitions. We’re being told they are promises for a bright future. But we’ve been living on the promises of upcoming prospects and an extremely loaded farm system for years, and what do we have to show for it? Two playoff appearances with a collective record of 0-5 is supposed to excite us? We are now watching the big rebuild prospects being traded away. Of the players I mentioned above, Rutschman, Hall, Stowers, Norby and Ortiz are gone. Westburg is injured and out for the season, and Kjerstad is still languishing in the farm system. And Ryan Mountcastle, a highly touted draft pick from before the rebuild, never really lived up to his potential and has spent much of his career on the injured list. Neither Henderson nor Holliday are performing at the levels we were told to expect, which could bring into question the abilities of the coaching staff. It just seems like, again, anecdotally, that too many players aren't developing to the levels they were expected to attain.

In a nutshell, something is horribly, systemically wrong with this team. Elias doesn’t seem to be the right guy for the position that apparently holds much of the sway in determining the team’s blueprint; I’m not at all impressed with rookie manager Craig Albernaz, who seems to be way out of his element; our coaching staff doesn’t seem to be effective or inspirational; and our training and conditioning staff is obviously suspect.

I had high hopes when David Rubenstein bought the team, and he was Mr. Visibility that first year. He was always at games, meandering into seating sections and tossing out team merch. He seemed like a breath of fresh air. Now he just seems like more of the same; the continuation of the draft them and ditch them philosophy.

I’m prepared to lose Henderson, Holliday and the rest of this young cohort over the next few years as they head to wealthy contenders and then we’ll be on to the next group of promising prospects. Wash, rinse, repeat.

The experts, the pundits, the analysts and the statisticians might still believe otherwise.

But this is my story and I’m sticking to it.

How quaint!

I’ve been reminiscing a lot about the Centennial Olympic Games, held in Atlanta 30 years ago this summer. In looking through photographs and memorabilia from those three glorious weeks, I'm struck by how much has changed over those three decades.

In 1996, about 10 percent of Americans owned mobile phones and most of those folks were executives, life-and-death employees and on-call workers, according to our friend Google, which also did not exist that year. Ditto the pricey laptop, which was used mainly by executives who traveled often for business, and other professionals with money to burn. Wi-Fi didn't exist. As a result, communication while on vacation was dicey.

At the Olympics, there were almost always long lines at pay phones, which were emboldened with the AT&T logo and the Olympic rings. I don’t recall seeing so much as one person with a mobile phone, most of which at the time were the size of a brick and weighed about as much. An early-model flip phone was just being introduced around that time.

Pre-paid phone cards were about as high-tech as we got in 1996!
Photo: Marge Neal

Digital photography wasn’t yet in the mainstream, with early-edition cameras being extremely expensive while offering questionable picture resolution. My internet research tells me digital cameras really took root with consumers in the early- to mid-2000s, and the introduction of the first smart phone in 2007 paved the way for a camera in every pocket.

With that technology history lesson for background, let me tell you of some of my now rather quaint experiences in Atlanta.

And here’s another bit of background information relevant to the story. My Olympic traveling companion, Michelle Park, and I both worked in the field of recreation and parks. She worked for the National Recreation and Parks Association at the time, while I worked for the Baltimore County Department of Recreation and Parks. Anyone familiar with the field knows it’s extremely difficult to take time off during the summer, which tends to be the busiest and most visible season in the profession. To get a week off is highly unusual; three weeks off is unheard of. I requested my vacation time two years in advance because that was the time frame to order tickets. Michelle was granted the time off but took a work-issued laptop with her and agreed to work on a few projects and keep in touch with her office (her job was much more vital than mine).

When Michelle needed to work, we had to go to a Kinko’s office center and pay for internet service. Between pay phone sessions and Kinko’s visits, Michelle was able to keep up with work expectations. We stood in pay phone lines almost daily because that was the only way to keep in touch with folks back home as well as to get some work done.

In the photography department, I lugged three 35mm camera bodies, five lenses and 100 rolls of film with me. I thought it would be better to carry the extra weight of multiple cameras rather than risk damage by changing lenses in crowded situations. I shot roll after roll of film. The original plan was to shoot film there and bring it all back for processing at home. But excitement was hard to contain and several rolls — mainly Opening Ceremony photos — got processed at one-hour processing shops.

Throughout the three weeks, as photos were taken of new friends, we quaintly collected names and mailing addresses and promised to mail duplicate photos after they were processed. When I got home, I mailed the majority of the exposed film off in Clark Photo mailers — remember those? Clark was a discount mail-order film processing company whose mailers were everywhere. I ordered double prints so Michelle and I each got a complete set. A couple weeks after the Olympics ended, Michelle came to my place in Baltimore so we could go through the photos, figure out how many extra copies we needed to mail to folks across the globe, comb through negatives and make a list of all additional copies needed. We mailed a second order to Clark and were thankful for the affordable per-print prices.

When those copies came back in the mail, I sat down, lined up photos with names and addresses and mailed pictures to Idaho, Minnesota, Florida, Georgia, Ohio, Germany, Australia and Lithuania, that I can remember.

I giggle now to think that today, a digital image is created and shared instantly with the world via any number of social media sites, email addresses and text messaging. No processing costs, no money needed for additional copies, no need to squint at hundreds of negatives, no need to buy stamps or address envelopes. And no trip to the post office. Truly unthinkable 30 years ago!

Another technology not in widespread use in the ‘90s was GPS. We made the trip from Arlington, Va., to Atlanta thanks to a AAA TripTik, applied for in advance and received in the mail. It was a turn-by-turn set of directions the thickness of a small paperback! We augmented the TripTik with paper maps, still available for free at most service stations. (There is a rule that once a paper map is unfolded, it can never be refolded as it was originally. It is apparently scientifically impossible.)

When Michelle and I would get inadvertently separated while at venues, the only way to find each other was to physically hunt each other down. Michelle had a habit of leaving seating sections to take smoke breaks and, being the social animal she was, she would strike up a conversation with people she bumped in to along the way, losing track of time. She almost missed the entrance of the U.S. team at the Opening Ceremony because she had been out on a smoke break for more than 30 minutes. As it got closer to the home team’s entrance, I went looking. I found her sitting on a curb, drinking a beer and chatting with a couple she had just met. I let her know the parade of athletes was winding down and she needed to get back to her seat if she wanted to see our guys and gals march in. 

Today, a quick text message would do the trick!

I still think of how much better and more efficient that trip would have been if everyone was carrying a smart phone on their person. In 1996, most of us couldn’t have imagined being able to carry a device in our pockets that was simultaneously a phone, camera, atlas, alarm clock, calendar, calculator, library, television, radio, movie theater and gaming device. Pretty crazy stuff, huh?

To readers under a certain age, I’ve probably made the 1990s sound like the Neanderthal Age.

But it’s my story and I’m sticking with quaint.

Landing the hottest ticket in town — 30 years ago!

As the 2026 World Cup final kicked off today, I found myself reminiscing about another athletic event that kicked off on this date 30 years ago.

On July 19, 1996, my Olympic buddy Michelle Park and I had moved in to our home away from home in Atlanta and were cruising the downtown streets, visiting a few pubs before making our way to Centennial Olympic Stadium, home of the Opening Ceremony.

The first Coca Cola Pin of the Day honored the Opening Ceremony.
Photo: Marge Neal

We had tickets thanks to a happenstance stop at a welcome festival set up near the northern Georgia boarder. Michelle and I had made the trip from her place in Arlington in two legs with an overnight stop at a friend’s house in North Carolina.  We were on the second leg on July 18 and needed to stretch our legs when we saw the visitors event so we stopped. At one of the display booths, we struck up a conversation with two ladies and we mentioned that we were disappointed that we did not get opening or closing ceremony tickets in the ticket lottery. They told us there was an ad in the local paper that day for opening ceremony tickets and we sort of blew that off, knowing how overpriced third party tickets were. As it turns out, the ad was placed by a hotel that had invested in tickets to sell as part of a package deal, and they didn’t sell as well as they thought. They were selling them at face value rather than taking a total loss.

We called the hotel — from a pay phone!! — and they agreed to hold two tickets if we could get them within a couple hours. I forget the name of the town where the hotel was, but it was considerably out of our way. But that didn’t matter because it was a chance to be at the opening ceremony!

Michelle checking on the availability of Opening Ceremony tickets. 
Even the pay phone was provided by a brand sponsor!
Photo: Marge Neal

The tickets were $636 each and we didn’t bat the proverbial eyelash. We couldn’t wipe the smiles off our faces for the rest of the drive to the home of a friend of a friend, where we were renting a room for the three weeks of the games.

The hottest ticket in town!
Photo: Marge Neal

On the morning of the 19th, we got up early and established a routine that would serve us well for the duration. After showering, we’d have coffee and something light for breakfast before heading downtown. All Atlanta public transportation was free if you could show an event ticket for that day. There was a bus stop down the street from where we were staying. We transferred from the bus to subway/light rail to get to the Olympic Plaza.

We started each morning in the downtown square where the Coca Cola Pin Trading Center was set up. Since we knew we would be there from beginning to end, we decided to try to get the entire collection of Pins of the Day, issued by Coke. We stood in line each morning and managed to get the entire collection plus duplicates most days. Customers could get only one pin at a time, so duplicates meant standing in line again.

After an afternoon of absorbing the Olympic spirit, we headed to Olympic Stadium for the opening ceremony. We may have had an adult beverage or two along the way. We made our way to our section, where we discovered green fabric portfolio bags on our seats, stuffed with an opening ceremony program booklet, a special opening pin and various items needed for audience participation stunts. It also included a small audio translator and earplug that translated announcements in a variety of languages. Each seat was also graced with a big sunflower stem.

We had a volunteer usher assigned to our section. Spectators were asked to get to their seats early because they held a dress rehearsal for us. Julie, our usher, went through each item in our bags and told us what to do with each. There was a portion of the ceremony where spectators waved fabric cloths that were the colors of the Olympic rings. My section waved yellow swatches.

It was an exciting time for this life-long Olympic fan — literally a dream come true to be at an opening ceremony! Celine Dion and Gladys Knight performed, a shaky Muhammad Ali brought the house down when he ignited the Olympic flame and then-President Bill Clinton officially opened the games.

I admit to crying more than a few times as my emotions caught up with me.

And we got lost going home that first night. But it was a great opening day/night of the trip that was five years in the planning.

Oh, and congratulations Spain!

New friends

I think it’s safe to say many of us, a mere three weeks ago or so, couldn’t have named a single soccer player if our lives depended on it.

I know that, if pressed to come up with any name, the first in my mind would be Pelé — which of course horribly dates me — and second would be David Beckham, which dates me only slightly less.  With considerably more effort, I could come up with the big names of the current soccer era: Neymar, Messi, Mbappé and Cristiano Ronaldo. Upon doing a little reading, I came across other names I recognized but certainly couldn’t have pulled out of my brain without the additional prompting.

Now, as World Cup competition is winding down, this former non-fan, who openly admitted to nearly 100-percent ignorance of the sport the rest of the world covets, is a convert. I’m so proud of so many of these players you would swear I had given birth to them. I know their tournament stats, I know about their parents and siblings, I know how many daily calories they consume, I’ve learned about their home countries and I know all about their recovery routines and game day rituals.

My new son, Erling Braut Neal Haaland. Photo credit: Getty Images

Though he is listed as one of the world’s top players, I had never heard of Erling Haaland of Norway until this tourney. I have now adopted him (don’t tell his parents) and I can’t get enough information about him. He seems to be quite generous with the time he spends with media members, seems to have a great sense of humor and is absolutely filled with national pride.

The online content featuring him is eclectic, amusing and informative. There are videos of children mimicking his head-forward stance/walk. There’s an interview about his typical day, when he talks about his daily walk, his workout routine, the cooking he does for himself (he explains that he’s been on his own for a long time and if he didn’t cook or clean, who would do it?). There are stories about his father, Alf-Inge “Alfie” Haaland, who played on Norway’s national team from 1994-2001, and on various professional teams through 2013. I learned that Erling Haaland added “Braut,” his mother’s surname, to his World Cup jersey so both sides of his family are recognized.

I’ve also been tracking tourney scoring and know that, as of the writing of this post, Kylian Mbappé and Lionel Messi are tied for the tourney’s Golden Boot award, with eight goals each. I’ve learned that, should a goal tie exist at the end of play, the award is further determined by assists and then fewest minutes played. Mbappé is the reigning Golden Boot holder, having scored eight times in the 2022 Cup.

During the writing of this column, France eliminated Morocco in the first quarter-final game. France moves on to the semi-finals and six teams remain to duke it out in the quarters: Argentina, Belgium, England, Norway, Spain and Switzerland. 

I’ve been cheering for Norway all along for a variety of reasons, Haaland and the now famous crowd rowing display chief among them. With the U.S out, I’m officially a Viking from here on. I’ve also been cheering for England, so the Norway/England quarter-final will be a heartbreaker either way.

At the risk of being repetitive, I bring this all up to show how important events like World Cup are, even if you hate sports. Big international sporting tournaments open up the world in ways few other happenings can. Many of us believe our nation has never been at a lower point in its history, has never been so widely disrespected on the global stage and, quite frankly, many of us are depressed. We go to bed terrified and we wake up terrified, wondering what new hell our nation’s leaders have created over night.

We are being told on a daily basis how horrible we are and how horrible the rest of the world is. Everyone is mean and nasty, journalists are the enemy of the people, all Democrats are communists, media outlets (except Fox) are spouting fake news — you get the picture.

But the World Cup has reminded us of the world as it actually exists — filled with hard-working, loving, caring, enthusiastic, patriotic people who, in spite of lingual, cultural, religious and political differences, are more alike than different.

Many foreign visitors have raved about their visits to North America and have admitted that their nations lied to them. The America they witnessed was not the America their leaders told them about. I honestly think more effective diplomacy takes place in subway cars, stadium seats and on bar stools than in situation rooms and palaces.

Thinking about it, it saddens and angers me that just a handful of people can so stain the image of an entire nation. But I’m grateful that a sporting event can begin to clean up that stain simply by having real people share a meal, sit side-by-side on a bus, learn each other’s chants and trade memorabilia.

The World Cup has made the world a better place. Even if only for five weeks.