Among the earliest things I ever knew about myself was that I was from Baltimore, home of the Colts. This was a matter of considerable pride, since the Colts were led by Johnny Unitas, the best quarterback in football and even at what would turn out to the early middle of his career (the years 1960, ’61, ’62), obviously the best who had ever played the game. Proof of this status dwelled in the championship the Colts won fifty years ago today, in the thrilling overtime title game against the New York Giants in what is still known as the greatest game ever played, and in the more convincing but more prosaically accomplished championship won the following year. In the overlooked, blue collar, port-and-steelyard city lying between New York and Washington, the Colts were heroes: regular guys who were accessible, who your dad saw in the supermarket or your uncle saw eating crabs (even if you didn’t). For years, from the time I was in first grade until the time I was old enough to get swoony over Beverly Brent (which, trust me, was some years after Beatlemania struck), I not only wore a Johnny Unitas haircut, it was what I asked the barber for by name.
Although we always remained staunch in our belief in the Colts magnificence, jolts of reality kept arriving with disturbing rudeness. The Packers, for example, kept winning all those titles—1961, 1962, 1965, 1966, 1967. We, of course, had our chances. We got to the title game in 1964, only to be shut out by the Browns (how the hell did that happen?) In 1965, we were charging towards a division title when the immortal Unitas was injured, and then his substitute Gary Cuozzo had a glorious game or two before being injured injured. With the limited squads they had back then, a halfback named Tom Matte had to play quarterback, with the plays written on his armbands. The team gallantly held on to force a playoff contest with the hated Packers, which history says the Colts lost in overtime, but which was only the case because an incompetent ref called a Packer field goal good when it was clearly wide of the mark (frame-by-frame photos that appeared on the front page in Monday’s News American, Baltimore’s own Zapruder film, proved it beyond a doubt.) In 1967, the team finished an astonishing 11-1-2, but didn’t make the playoffs, having lost a tie-breaker to the Rams. The next year they went 13-1, set a league record for fewest points allowed, and then, ignominy of ignominies, lost to the Jets in Super Bowl III. Finally, as the greatness of Unitas dimmed, the team won Super Bowl V, in an error-filled game immediately dubbed The Blunder Bowl. Even in victory, respect was denied.
Super Bowl V coincided with my last year in high school, and I left Baltimore, never to return. Of course I was shocked and appalled some years later when the team moved to Indianapolis; I felt part of my heart had been ripped out. But in truth, I had begun to move on, and had begun to find other teams and players to root for. Over the years, many others have earned my enthusiasm; no other has ever won my heart.