Baltimore Ravens Defeat Pittsburgh Steelers

Like Taking Candy From a Fat Kid,

it Takes a Little Luck

This was no small feat. It wasn't even supposed to happen. But somehow, the Ravens sneaked one from right under the nose of the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Because I like to focus on the mundane and irrelevant, we begin with the pre-game troop greeting. I suppose this is customary, as much tradition as Faith Hill's ritual "I've been waitin' all day" song that my dad loves so much. Anyways, CBS was playing to the racial stereotypes. After showing a white soldier (of Italian descent?) waving his Terrible Towel, and ripping his camo open Superman-style to reveal what was probably a Hines Ward jersey, the camera cuts to the Ravens fan. An African-American. Not to be picky, or politically incorrect, but it struck me that there must have been some method to the network's editing that night- later, while showing black Dennis Dixon's family on camera, they would pump "We Are Family" through the speakers. It may not have been a conscious decision, but to me, these two things combined seemed inappropriate, although maybe I was just looking for something to criticize.

There was, of course, a larger problem with this troop greeting, which goes as follows- all of the pictured soldiers but that one woman were Steelers fans. To make a fully joking point, [because I have the utmost respect for our troops] I was thinking, "where are the standards for the United States Armed Forces?!" (In actuality, all troops are great people, regardless of their unfortunate upbringings that may have led to faulty choices for sporting allegiances.)

And, before we get to the game, we were stopped another time. This time, it was to "admire" Hines Ward's "charm," "class" and fake-white smile. I am sorry but I just do not buy it, and was glad to know that his NFL peers recently agreed with me, voting him the "dirtiest player in the NFL" in a Sports Illustrated poll. (Of course, we in Baltimore may be forced to reassess this title, after Brady Quinn's dirty, cheap chop-block on a Mr. Terrell Suggs. Thanks to this classless hit, Mr. T-Sizzle did not suit up last night.)

And the Ravens begin the game. Things are looking.... different! And unnaturally good! A 3 and out. Then Willis comes in as the Ravens drive down the field. Haloti Ngata joins the offensive line to complete the Mc-Mansion package, and on a second effort, McGahee scores his 8th TD (6th rushing) of the season. That's what I'm talking about, Willis.

But McGahee would not be the only graduate of "The U" to come up big against the Steelers. Tavares Gooden started making tackles early, and arguably had his best game of the season. Then, the Ravens let Mr. Dixon run. And run. And run. Like Forrest Gump or something! Luckily, a holding call on Mendenhall negated the 31 yd jaunt.

A number of good signs. Jarrett Johnson staring daggers at Hines Ward. Chris Carr holding on to the ball. Chris Carr and Lardarius Webb running decent kick returns. Ladarius Webb making tackles. Yes the Nicchols State grad did what no other Ravens CB or Safety seems able to do. Bring people down. But Foxworth would miss costly tackles as the night wore on. So, too, would Ray Lewis, and even Ed Reed. No one is perfect, but unfortunately it seems like a miraculous feat whenever the Ravens do make a good tackle. Credit goes to Chris Carr for avoiding the temptation of a pass interference call late in the game, but none to Mark Clayton, who made it his business to rack up costly penalties, drop balls, and take up space. (Space, that I think would be better filled, at least temporarily, by newly acquired Mr. Tyree, if not just to remind Mark Clayton he has to work for a living.)

Arguably, both teams are better than their 6-5 records would indicate. Unfortunately, both teams have suffered fourth-quarter collapses, psychological meltdowns, and countless injuries. But last night's game was the fully bruising, bang-up, battle royale it is perennially promised to be.

Another good sign was that until the Ravens' final drive of the game, the play-calling on the offensive side seemed to be much more inventive and varied than it has been in past weeks. Finally, Cam Cameron, the expert, decided to listen to the radio callers, and analysts, and teachers, and firefighters, and guys from Dundalk, and little kids, that have been calling for Le'Ron McClain's number all season long. Ozzie Newsome does not make many stupid decisions, but in addition to numerous other lapses this past off-season, his dismissal of Lorenzo Neal, the fullback, was not advisable. As a result, McClain has been stuck at halfback and hardly had a handoff all season. As last year's leading rusher, McClain was a welcome name returning to Cris Collinsworth's commentary.

Other bad signs? Time management. The Ravens last drive of the game was inexplicably horrendous. Part of this equation was the same old story; penalties. After the Steelers received a costly pass interference call, the Ravens, then within Billy Cundiff's proclaimed field goal range, must have decided the gift too generous. Clayton handed it right back. To be blunt, he put a stupid, ineffective hit on the Steelers, and pushed the Ravens back out of FG range. This see-saw pattern would repeat as the Ravens again advanced, and were again pushed back, this time due to Joe Flacco's exemplary play in the pocket. 5 Sacks in the game - one stat tells a story. And so Cundiff was rushed on, as time expired, and his kick just did not have the distance. Overtime.

Steelers win the toss. It's over. Or is it? Somehow, the Ravens would hold them and force a punt. Then, some terrible offensive-coordination and the Ravens were punting right on back. But it was a story of the unknowns last night, from Pittsburgh's Dennis Dixon stepping up for the concussed Ben Roethlisberger to a Mr. Paul Kruger. The big guy, who had played in just three games all season, anticipated Dixon's next pass, and somehow launched his large frame into the air, coming down with the interception, and even more impressive, running it back to put the Ravens at about the Pittsburgh 35. What a moment.

It looked like the Ravens might once again be cooked, but Ray Rice, dependable as ever, took charge and led his team down to the Red Zone. And then close enough for what should have been an easy TD. The Ravens did not get that, but set up a close-range field goal. Cundiff, we already see, likes to make things interesting, and the ball drifted far right, barely nestling itself between the goalposts. Two arms up. It's good. The game slid by the Steelers by the same margin Cundiff's kick was good.

And, of course, I have no reservations in giving all the accolades (or 99% of them?) to Derrick Mason, because that is just an unbiased and objective fact, and I do not play favorites at all. What a great touchdown pass, and at a key moment. Derrick Mason is a playmaker, and gave Baltimore the extra cushion and confidence they needed, heading into the lockeroom.

(Photo credit: Baltimore Sun)

Creative Piece: Overheard at Panera Bread #2

A man and

a girlfriend?

Maybe.

They talk about her ex. Then

"So Sheila Dixon's on trial.."

"Yeah, I think she knew what she was doing,

stealing those gift cards."

Me too, me too.

Then the guy says,

"I got fired."

Qualify that.

"I'm going to be fired."

"How do you know?!"

"Last one hired, first one fired.

That's me."

Recessions, cut-

backs.

"I just know it."

She suggests he hunt in another county-

always the solution- isn't it?

Look somewhere else.

He is a firefighter.

He's also an asshole.

But maybe he has a right to be.

"No way out."

Didn't go to college, he's young

He says something crude-

incendiary.

I turn around. He catches me.

"Hey, you! Yeah, girl with the

white polo-

fancy laptop!"

[oh God

I must look so privileged

careless

self-righteous]

I face him again

"Yeah, you--

What the fuck are you looking at?"

Is it cursing if we just borrow someone else's words?

Words are Simmering embers, Glowing, Burning-

one less person to put them out. Pour on some gasoline.

Creative Piece: Overheard at Panera Bread #1

Two girls and

an aunt-

or godmother? A writer.

"Your editor is harsh."

"Yes, he is. He wants my book to be good."

Later the girls say

they want to write too.

"Oh, girls, I know

you can write about two girls

who write a broadway show

and leave it on a table in a coffee shop.

And someone steals it!"

"No, no, no! That's already a movie!"

"Yeah, 'Big Fat Liar,'" the other interjects

(I love that movie, too)

"See, I'm sorry I didn't know that.

Okay then. Scratch that."

Minutes later-

"What would you do if you had that much money?"

They'd buy a circus, a whirling magical menagerie

of animals.

Candy colored stripes and flowing manes.

"I'd buy a car!"

"A car?! What?!

You can't even drive!"

"So?"

Long black sleek hair-

mommy-brushed.

Walking L.L.Bean Kids catalogue,

Walking smile.

Wonder.

photo: Arita S. (flickr)

Sophomore Slump: Joe Flacco's Woes Continue Following Loss to Division Rival Bengals

The Ravens appear to be stuck in a rut. Last week may have been a fluke, or an anomaly, but it definitely didn't fit the jigsaw puzzle John Harbaugh & Co. seem to be piecing together this fall. Carson Palmer and the Cincinnati Bengals started the game where they left off earlier this seasons, with two quick completions in the air. Then, the Ravens defensive line faltered, uncharacteristically, letting Cedric Benson go, and relying on Dawan Landry and Dominique Foxworth to make the tackle in some sort of sick role reversal. Terrell Suggs delivered some good pressure on Palmer to force a 3rd & 10, but soon the referees came to the rescue, nearly as dependable as a Disney Prince Charming when it comes to saving the other team. They granted Cincy a questionable timeout after originally calling a delay of game, and then allowed Cincinnati to start another play well after the clock struck zero.

At this time, the Bengals no longer needed the officials' help. Chad Johnson- I refuse to call him by his "legally changed" name and give him that satisfaction- may not know his Spanish very well but he sure knew how to make a bunch of fools out of our secondary today-- not that that's much of a secret. Johnson won his team a first down and then got the Bengals within inches of a second consecutive one on the next play. Cedric Benson got the Bengals inside the 10, and one begins to wonder whether the defense, of all units, could be the Ravens' Achilles Heel this season. But not to worry, the offense's later performance would quell all such rumors and concerns. The defense is definitely still the stronger unit.

Carson Palmer polished off a 12 play, 73 yd drive with a touchdown pass to Caldwell. It was as if Palmer was a boy scout, alone in the wilderness. He was that alone and unpressured. When the Baltimore offense took the field, things would just get worse. Tank Johnson dropped Ray Rice for a loss of yards, and despite Rice's talent and effort, this would become a pattern for the game. Derrick Mason also showed some versatility. No one was expecting Mason to have to play corner, knocking passes out of the actual corner's hands to avoid interceptions, as Flacco's passes sailed this way and that and whichever way Mason was not. A spark- fumble recovery! But no, Dawan Landry racked up another penalty. The Bengals continued to drive, and the Ravens allowed Palmer, the self-proclaimed slow kid, to slide in for a first down.

Just at this time, Johnson (Ochocinco) warmed up and put on an instructional video on how to catch- a video Kelly Washington, Derrick Mason, Mark Clayton, and their fellow WRs might just want to order off infomercial. Johnson made a series of spectacularly acrobatic catches. Fabian Washington took care of earning Baltimore its league-leading 7th pass interference call of the season. Lavernius Coles then escaped the great Ed Reed. We should have known it was over then. From the 2 yd line, Cedric Benson ran train on the Ravens defensive line, missing key starter Haloti Ngata, and waltzed into the endzone to give the Bengals a two touchdown lead. Viewers found themselves in anguish and disbelief- could it still really be the 1st Quarter?

Another penalty- this must be a typo- really? A costly penalty? No way. Yes, penalty on the Ravens receiving team backed them up again. Sam Koch was the face of the Ravens, and either he or Palmer was always on the field.

Because a backup's backup- a fully incompetent one at that- at secondary is not bad enough, Fabian Washington got injured. The Ravens turned to Chris Carr. I hate to break it to them but overextending this youngster is not the route to success. Carr already had too much to do. From here on, things quickly slipped downhill. Trevor Pryce took an inadvertent friendly fire hit and went out limping. But wait! A silver lining? Webb went in for Carr for Washington. And- he made a tackle!

Then I began looking for any possible distraction from the game. Ray Lewis's beard caught my eye. I am thinking that maybe he has decided, "hey the rest of this team's let themselves go, why not me?" Then, a Georgia Tech yellowjacket frustrated and angered me as never before. Tight End Foschi was a pest that just kept immunizing itself against the Ravens' coverage.

Soon, Derrick Mason was resembling the Ravens' secondary in more than one way, meaning that the actual Bengals' secondary actually caught the ball for a completion, I mean interception, from Joe Flacco.

By the time Ray Rice decided to take things into his own hands and score, it was far too late. Then the same story. Steve Hauschka misses. Should have kept Stover. Baltimore's on fire. Players dropping like flies. Then another near pick. Then a sack. And another. And.. another? Three?! Yes. The Bengals' unsportsmanlike conduct penalty at the end of the game was indicative of their dirty play and their team's less than spotless record. But at the same time, it was indicative of the entire game. The penalty ultimately cost them nothing, nor did any of their other mistakes, due to the Ravens' substantially longer list of screw-ups, penalties, and missed opportunities. So the game came to a fitting end, and the Ravens hobbled bloody, battered, and, yes, beaten into the locker room. Are they settling for .500? I thought that was a standard held only for the Orioles..

photo credit [WR Derrick Mason playing DEFENSE?]: Baltimore Sun

My Sister's Circle: Tutoring at Dallas Nicholas Elementary in Baltimore City

"I Did All My Homework Already.. In Class"


Yesterday I took a trip downtown. Not to Fell's Point. Not to Hampden. Or Federal Hill. Or the National Aquarium. I went to Dallas Nicholas Elementary School down on E. 21st street. There's something happening there. Girls with dazzling smiles. Flashing grins. Tremendous talent. Back in 2000, Dallas principal Irma Johnson started a program. The program grew, and today My Sister's Circle volunteers reach out to girls in more than forty local schools. These girls are selected by their teachers because they show intellect, talent, and promise. Our school works with fifth grade girls specifically, in hopes of helping them enter private and charter schools in sixth grade. Last year, one program member was granted a full-scholarship to the prestigious Calvert School in North Baltimore, which she is attending this fall.

As we walked into Dallas, one could not help but notice the striking disparities between these girls' school and our own. Dilapidated, out-dated, falling apart. Dirt streaked windows, barred doors, dusty floors. Worn wooden furniture in the front office. One is definitely not in private school anymore. At Dallas, you have to press an intercom button to be admitted and sign in at the desk as a safety precaution. Winding your ways down the dank halls, illuminated by a few sparse, faltering fluorescent lighting fixtures, you catch sight of little girls peering around corners, walking in single file lines. There's the straggler, the little one whose white polo is too big for her little frame, and who stops, filled with curiosity, as you pass. She's never seen you before? What are you doing here?

In the classroom, packed with boxes, old art supplies, and dusty toys, we sit at miniature tables, in chairs with broken legs, and teach. Really, we just help with some mechanics, remind them how to do division or to multiply by 12 to get "x" by itself. They teach us. There was the little girl with big, round, chocolate eyes standing in the corner playing house and washing dishes in the little play-sink. She watches us. "What's your name?" No answer. "Do you have a sister in this program." She just blinks back at you. No one is looking for her, no one seems to be troubled by her presence. She's just there, under the radar, quietly playing make believe by herself. She stands in the corner while her imagination runs wild. She's in a kitchen. She's a grown-up. She's pretending she has a simple, domesticated life, one of those ones moms usually complain about.

The little girl entertains herself with the wooden kitchen set for the duration of the tutoring session. You never learn her name or her business. The other girls file in, but four are missing. No one knows where they are. Doesn't that trouble anyone? Did they go home? Are they wandering the halls or out in the street? No one made sure they came to their tutoring program?

One girl has her homework all done already. She sits and cracks jokes while the others flip through their binders and settle down to spelling homework. One can already tell she is the class clown. A little heavy set, but bubbling and happy. The girls know all the spelling words. They know the definitions. Value. This week it's the "ue" words. Soon the others finish, and we play games. One tells us her nickname is Randy Moss, and so to include the other girl, we name her Ray Lewis. Randy Moss says she got her name because whenever they play football with the boys at recess she always catches the ball. Her dad takes her downtown to watch the Ravens every sunday. She and her friend both live in the county. They went trick-or-treating there last weekend. One went to her cousin's house. He had a haunted house in his basement.

The girls say they like Miley Cyrus, just like the privileged Lower School girls at my school do. One tells me I have the same color hair as Hannah Montana. Another says she hates "Party in the U.S.A." We go to look for the other girls but they are nowhere to be found. Brianna swears they were all in school today. Brianna also tells us about their skating field trip this Friday. She's never been before. She's excited. She doesn't even need help with her homework, it turns out. It's funny because 90% of the time they don't. They're pretty self-sufficient. When we leave, we promise more time for games and singing next week. They polish off the left-over Halloween candy we brought them. Brianna tells us she didn't get nearly enough last week, and, plus, she had to share with her brothers and sisters.

We walk out to the parking lot, turn on our iPods, and drive back. Through Charles Village. College students amble, sit at cafes, drink lattes in cable knit sweaters, and pore over chemistry books, cramming for their tests. Back through North Baltimore. The houses get bigger, the communities more sheltered. More gates. More white-washed walls, and wooden shutters, and manicured lawns. City parks turn to professionally clipped lawns. Roses grow up lattices. BMWs in the driveway. Soon enough, Dallas has been left in the dust. So long. See you next Wednesday..

Bryn Mawr Field Hockey: Defeating the Undefeated

Last Sunday, a disappointingly small, but dedicated group of fans got to witness a spectacular comeback, a miracle victory for the field hockey team. They became conference champions, as they took down the two-time defending champions, the team who was as of yet undefeated, and to whom they had lost twice. By all accounts, this season should have been a transitional year for our team. With few upperclassmen and numerous freshmen joining the Varsity squad, none, except perhaps the members of the actual team, expected such success. To be sure, very few members of the team ever envisioned taking back the crown come November 1.

But proving that hard work pays off, the girls did just that. With a rejuvenated student section in attendance at big games, capes, gold paint, and creative cheers to boot, field hockey charged into Sunday's finals, and then, quite literally, stole the title from under their opponents' noses, knocking in a goal during a climactic second overtime period. All season, the team drilled hard, staying for late practices, running, thinking about the playoffs. Senior captains worked to welcome and include the freshmen, and these youngsters fast became an integral part of the team. Numerous underclassmen racked up goals, steals, and saves, and experienced seniors helped make them even smarter players.

The parents coordinated team dinners and the players decorated shirts for one another, put notes in players' mailboxes, made inside jokes. The team became a family. Furthermore, the team was hungry to prove local newspapers, college recruiters, and conference administrators wrong. Inspired by a former players' severe illness, the team came together and played for her, literally throwing themselves this way and that. Countless bruises, injuries to the mouth, two broken thumbs, a black eye, and 12 stitches later, the team emerged- not beaten.

As they dogpiled at in front of the goal, girls collapsed to the ground sobbing with disbelief at what they had accomplished. The only ones more disbelieving than these champions were the runners-up, who perhaps had underestimated the talent and persistence, but also the intangible strengths, of the team they had just lost to. It was a happy ending, then, one brought about by a miraculous string of goal-line stands, skillful stickwork, and timely luck. Mostly, however, this team proved that Dumbledore is always right; love is always the most powerful force. The girls harnessed this love and converted it into an unforgettable championship that will be remembered long after the dust accumulates on the crystal trophy.

Gilman Volleyball: Better Than Friday Night Lights

I don't live in Texas. I probably never will. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate great high school sporting events when I see them. There's something magical, enchanting even, about seeing your school win a championship. There's something a little crazy about being in classes with, standing in line with, and going to parties with people you idolize once they're out on the field, or the court, or the ice.

This fall, play at the Gilman has been disappointing. The football team did not live up to the hype and lost an especially painful homecoming game. The soccer team suffered key injuries. But for all the disappointment, there was a silver lining. The volleyball team put on a spectacularly riveting show, one that lifted our spirits, and entertained its audience with theatrics and drama that Spielberg could not have directed better. And their success was so unexpected, at least to those of us unfamiliar to the team. With so many seniors graduating from last year's team of conference champions, this year was supposed to be a rebuilding year. But volleyball took everyone by surprise, and took the court by storm, setting, passing, blocking, and acing their way into the conference finals and the hearts of all who watched. Led by a team of strong, dedicated, and inspiring veterans, underclassmen followed the lead of those invested and passionate players, channeling not only their skills on the court but their energy. Returning coach Neil Gabbey once again led the team to success, and strengthened his bonds with players, as well as fostering new bonds with incoming players. Both the team's hard work, and its cohesiveness, allowed for communication and a dedication to the game that was undoubtedly an important factor in Gilman's success.

Their season was one of those little things that make high school worth enduring. To not even attend the school and yet be so fully captivated by, so enamored with, this team speaks volumes about what the group accomplished. They made their fall sports season a memorable one, they gave people something to look forward to on Wednesday afternoons, to talk trash about, to lose their voices for, and reason to paint their bodies unnatural hues of grey and blue. Heated arguments with referees that made Ron Winter look good. Obnoxious opposing teams. Chokes. Line judges. Missed calls. Make-up calls. Coaches out of their seats. Deafening noise. Authentic World War II air raid sirens. Trashcan drums. Cheers (and jeers) that put the Cameron Crazies to shame.

The Spirit Committee and cheering section made nearly as great a contribution as did the actual team. Referees frequently tried to silence this group, but to no effect. The passion and dedication and pride exhibited by those in the student section was in and of itself something to be in awe of. And the small, tight knit community, the familiar brown interior of the old gym, and the stained, scratched hardwood floors, made the experience all the more personal. Everything one could want in a high school experience, he got in coming to these volleyball games. The soul. The comradeship. The ups and downs and smiles and tears. The fist pumps and the temper tantrums. The boy from your English class who gets jammed on one play and comes back with a kill so powerful that you momentarily lose sight of the ball. Volleyball inspired in us the range of emotions that are a part of human life.

Literally, volleyball was fun. But then again, it's always fun to see a team that wins. For me, it was less about the team and more about the grace and precision and finesse of the sport, the sounds from the sidelines- and the bench. The sweat running down your forehead because you are packed like sardines among hundreds of other spectators in an old, poorly ventilated gymnasium. It was about the parents' mutters and prayers and sharp inhalations as their sons served. Students dancing. Girls holding hands in anticipation, collectively holding their breath, as the server sets the ball in motion. Volleyball was an art that rewarded all the senses, appealed to the most primal and most refined of emotions and instincts simultaneously. Volleyball brought my friends and me closer together. It took our minds off of Early Decision applications, and AP Statistics tests and gossip, and we momentarily lived, suspended in the moment, forgetting the long hours of history homework that awaited us that night.

We watched the games together, riding the emotional roller coaster with the team and bonding with one another. We formed bonds with parents, faculty- everyone else as long as he was rooting for the right team. We watched our friends on the team learn from one another and trust one another. We watched their acrobatics and watched as their tempers flared. Their elation after pulling out a fantastic semifinal victory.
Although Gilman lost to Calvert Hall in the MIAA Conference finals, they accomplished so much more than earning a letter jacket or their names on a cup. They accomplished something great both for themselves and their surrounding community. It was a good run, and all who watched were glad to come along for the ride.

Volleyball was comfortingly simple- although sometimes the refs didn't seem to understand the simplest of rules- it was a refuge for all of us. It was that high school experience you never want to end, the one you'll remember for years to come. Amongst the followers of the traditionally popular football and soccer teams, volleyball drew crowds just as large, and certainly louder. Volleyball delivered a lift (a legal one) to our spirits and reminded me of just exactly why we put up with these four years.