I remember the first time I saw my dad cry. That's a huge moment in a boy's life. There was nothing I hadn't seen him handle. I knew it was serious.
For a while, my father was a single dad with three boys. I have a younger brother who's almost four years younger, along with twin brother. We're fraternal twins, but we did have identical twin beds.
(That line kills at twin conventions.)
We grew up in Maryland and, in 1983, the Colts were still in Baltimore. And they meant everything to our city. They were NFL Champions with legends like Johnny Unitas, Raymond Berry, Lenny Moore, and Gino Marchetti.
The Colts were loved, and they were ours. And I was crazy about them. I played tackle football in my plastic Colts helmet. When it was cold, I wore my Colts winter jacket. I went to sleep in my Colts pajamas.
One day during the 1983 season, my dad took us to a Colts practice. Back then it was nothing like it is now. The players were approachable. Not just for autographs. They would talk to you, like people.
I remember standing on the sideline when a receiver, Raymond Butler, asked me if I wanted to play catch.
Did I want to play catch with a Baltimore Colt?
Hell yes I wanted to play catch with a Baltimore Colt! Next thing I know, I'm on the sideline tossing the ball with Raymond Butler. He mentioned that maybe next year when the new season rolled around I could be a ball boy if I was interested.
Did I want to be a ball boy for the Baltimore Colts?
Hell yes I wanted to be a ball boy for the Baltimore Colts!
My father saw what was going on and came over. My brothers came with him.
Raymond Butler was a nice guy and when he saw my brothers he said to my father, "I didn't realize you had three boys. I'm not sure it would be fair for just one to be a ballboy."
My dad saw the look on my face. And he saw an opportunity. He knew how bad I wanted this.
"The hell with those two," he said. "You asked Ryan. That's life. If they wouldn't have been over there screwing around they could've been playing catch with you — getting me season tickets, like my new favorite son."
At that moment, my dad was excited as I was. One conversation later, he tells me that I'm going to be a ball boy for the 1984 Baltimore Colts.
Fall turns to winter. The 1983 season ends.
On March 29, 1984, three weeks after my eleventh birthday, on a cold, snowy night, I was sound asleep in my identical twin bed next to my fraternal twin brother and my father shook me awake.
"Hey. Hey! Wake up," he says. "The Colts are gone."
I'm still groggy, so I don't really know what he's saying. I mean, I think I do, but there's no way I heard what I think I heard. He repeats.
"The Colts are gone."
"Wait. What? What do you mean the Colts are gone? They were here today."
"I don't know what's going on, but they're packed up in Mayflower moving trucks and headed west into the black."
"The Colts are gone?"
"The Colts are gone."
My father, my brothers, and I run downstairs to watch the news and there, just like my dad said, are the Mayflower moving trucks rolling out of town into the blackness.
I looked over at my dad and he had tears streaming down his face as he sat watching his season tickets drive away on his television. I'm crying. The ball boy gig is gone.
My brothers are crying. We're all crying. Our Colts are gone. I looked at my dad.
"Dad. You didn't cry when mom said she was leaving."
"I can marry another woman," he said. "That's something I can help control. I don't know if we'll ever see football in this town again."
Now, I know that some of you aren't sports fans. I know some of you are and you've never lost your team like that. So let me put this in perspective for you: Let's say you're home sleeping tonight — hopefully not in an identical twin bed — and someone shakes you awake to say this:
"Hey. Hey! Titties are gone!"
You'd be like, "Wait. What?"
"Titties are gone."
"What do you mean titties are gone? Titties were here today."
"I don't know what's going on, but they packed up in Mayflower moving trucks and they're headed west into the black."
"Titties are gone?"
"Titties are gone."
Imagine that.
You go home tonight, and when you wake up tomorrow we enter a titty-less era. With no end in sight.
That would be devastating. Everyone loves titties. Women love titties. Men love titties. Hell, babies need titties. I have nightmares about the questions people born during the titty-less era would ask me.
Then, in 1996, after a 12-year drought, the Cleveland Browns moved to Baltimore and became the Baltimore Ravens. The truth is I was excited to have football back in Baltimore, but I wasn't excited about how we got the new team. I wasn't crazy about getting a team from another city because I knew what it felt like to lose my team.
But before Baltimore got the Ravens, my father died. He was 42.
My father died young, in a titty-less era.
To this day, I carry that with me. No matter where I am in the country, any time I see a Mayflower moving truck I give that guy the finger. And that dude is always like, "What the hell did I do?"
"You know what the fk you did," I scream. "You crushed my dreams, helped kill my dad and took titties!"
