When you enter "Baltimore" into urbandictionary.com, entry number 3 goes as follows, "...You like the grime, you like the fact that everything, absolutely everything, is stained and faded. Everything in the entire city, and even in many parts of the surrounding county, looks as though it was built sometime in the 50's and hasn't been sweeped since. I'm thinking mainly of the schools..." and the next entry rounds out the first page, with, "So we aren't the safest city... Don't be an idiot and wander into West Baltimore after dark. We might not be the cleanest, but the Inner Harbor collects all of the trash that floats through the freaking bay. But we have history. We are extremely cultured. We are Baltimore, and you aren't going to change that. "How 'bout dem O's, hon?"' 
Well actually, MMoFoW, I don't think you want to ask that because I'm sure you know the Orioles are terrible. Others credit Baltimore as the home of Carmelo Anthony, and his "Stop Snitching" video, which is true. They talk about Mondawmin Mall, where you can go "if you brave." Others talk about chicken boxes, urban/ exotic hairstyles, The Wire, Honfest, Patterson Park, Charles Village, The Painted Ladies. Crabs, crabcakes, crab dip, crab anything. BELIEVE. "The City that Reads." The painted bridge near MICA. The (failing) Zoo. The National Aquarium. Hampden. Fell's Point. Canton. The typical. The murders, the crime. Definitely home to some original, profane, eccentric, and opinionated people. Fort McHenry. The Star Spangled Banner. Obama's coming on Saturday! The B&O Railroad. The '68 Riot. The '58 Colts. The '08 Ravens. The Bromo Seltzer Tower. Domino Sugar. Morgan State University. Station North. Penn Station. Pimlico. Coppin State, Howard University. Nancy Pelosi. Baltimorese. Gee, this listing is starting to resemble "We Didn't Start the Fire." Ironic. Duff Goldman, the Ace of Cakes (who is making the biggest mistake of his life by moving to Los Angeles. I am heartbroken.) John Waters. Hairspray. The 410. Our rivalries.
The Charles Theatre. The Senator Theater. Under Armour. JOHNS HOPKINS LACROSSE. Black & Decker. Sheila Dixon and her corruption charges. City/ Poly. The private schools. Western. Dunbar. Frederick Douglass. The Sun (although it could use a little help.) Babe Ruth was born here, remember that. Cal Ripken Jr. Natty Boh. The NAACP. Mayflower vans; don't talk about them. Edgar Allen Poe. Nevermore. Jada Pinkett Smith. Step Up. OPRAH. Johnny U. Lenny Moore. Juan Dixon. Thurgood Marshall. Michael Phelps. Rocky AKA Sylvester Stallone. Mario. Pam Shriver. Goldie Hawn. KAL. Reggie Jackson. Nancy Pelosi. John Wilkes Booth. Tupac. Harriet Tubman. Annie Oakley. The guy who plays John Locke on LOST. David Hasselhoff. Cue slow-mo beach run. Oysters on the half-shell. Berger Cookies. The Lexington Market. Cross-Street Market. Each "Baltimoron" includes one or more of these in his own unique list.
Also, Baltimore likes to lay claim to all these things and all these people. They may simply have roots here, or maybe endings, but these things are all part of us. Or at least the fact that we like to think so is part of us. I am so drawn to Baltimore, in part for the same reasons American Exceptionalism is so appealing to me. I like to believe that as small and insignificant as we are, we are part of something amazing, something meaningful, and of great magnitude.
And now we lay claim to about twenty more guys, and become part of something great for the second time this year. Just as Michael Phelps's spotlight begins to dim, we get to assume the spotlight of another great man. Or two. And celebrate in our shared hatred of Hines Ward, Joey Porter, James Harrison, and those stupid purple towels. And it feels so good to be acknowledged again. I love when our city gets attention for the great people and cultures it produces and contributes, rather than just for murder rates, and all that stereotypical stuff. Even in Boston, I have never felt quite as at home as I do in Baltimore.
There are tons of people who would criticize me, telling me I don't know anything about anything, telling me I don't live in the real B'More, know the real Baltimore. They would tell me that I think I know their city, and I take credit for it, without living through its trials and tribulations. But I'd like to think I can claim just as much allegiance to the city as a man on North Avenue or a woman on The Alameda could. A different allegiance, doubtless, but I love Baltimore nonetheless. And isn't that something to be appreciated and wondered at, rather than put down? The idea that so many different people can take pride in a concept or a person or a place, for many different reasons? I think it's cool, not stupid, that people want to be associated with Baltimore.
And as you can see, there is much to be proud of. Nothing excites me like even the most minor recognition of our city. Interviewing Elijah Cummings on CNBC makes me proud, for goodness sake! So, having said this, imagine how I'm feeling this week. The Baltimore Ravens are coming off a regular season that no one saw coming, and are prepared to take on the Steelers on Sunday, at 6:30 PM, Eastern. I am feeling great, like just about everyone else in "The City that REEDS." I BELIEVE. So even if they lose, knock on wood that they won't, I hope we can enjoy, at least for now, that once again people have realized that we have more to offer than heroin and death tallies. Because we do.
This season, the Ravens adapted a cheer first used by coach John Harbaugh's father, Jim. The inspiration for Jim's cheer originated during the weigh-in before boxing legend Muhammad Ali was to face-off with Ernie Terrell. Terrell, also a black fighter, refused to respect Ali's recent conversion to Islam, demonstrating a great level of intolerance, ironic coming from an African American in that time period. Terrell continued to call Ali by his birth name, Cassius Clay. Muhammad told him that if he would not call him by his proper name now, he would be doing so by the end of the night. Legend has it that Muhammad went on to win the match decisively, and with each knock he demanded that Terrell submit to his simple request. "What's my name? WHAT'S MY NAME?" Soon enough, Terrell let out a faint "Ali." Faint, but discernable. Muhammad had earned the respect he deserved. The Ravens have since made it their mission to emulate this "What's our name?" chant, hoping to get the respect they deserve. Before every game, they pull together, join hands, and command attention, command respect. They're finally getting somewhere. 
And we might learn a lesson from both Ali and Ray Lewis. It's about time that we join together, asking the nation, asking the world, "What's OUR name?" It's a simple answer. Baltimore.
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