There is very little question that Camden Yards only holds a handful of good memories for most of the "old school" Orioles fans who lived through the glorious Memorial Stadium days.

Maybe you consider the Bill Hasselman vs. Mike Mussina brawl in 1993 memorable. Or perhaps that Brad Pennington head-jerking launch toward The Warehouse by Ken Griffey Jr. on that Sunday afternoon in that pretty teal jersey jogs your memory a bit.

Opening Day and Sutcliffe was also pretty outstanding.

The night Mussina almost threw that perfect game was memorable. And how about the night he took a liner off of his face?

And the ALCS games at Camden Yards in 1996 and 1997, while not victorious, were at least memorable.

The Marquis Grissom home run. The Todd Zeile incident. The Cecil Fielder home run. The Tony Fernandez home run. Darryl Strawberry, of all people, coming back to haunt the Orioles with home run after home run in October 1996.

Our community stole the Browns from Cleveland so we might have had karma working against us for that 1997 ALCS disappointment coming to us as fans -- especially after that Robbie Alomar blast at The Jake the previous fall -- but the Yankees thing in 1996 was just insufferable.

On second thought, maybe we CHOOSE to not remember some of the stuff during those two WINNING seasons because we got stuck watching the World Series on TV. And there's very little doubt that the BALTIMORE Orioles were the best overall team in baseball throughout that '97 season.

My feelings about those years are probably the same way my Pop would've felt about 1973 and 1974. He never talked about those years as particularly good (although he loved Rich Coggins) because 1966 and 1970 and, even 1969 and 1971, were so much better and more memorable for him.

Yeah, we were good in '96 and '97, and we had some big wins, but when it really mattered the most, in October -- the big at-bats, the big pitches, the big plays, and in the case of Jeffrey Maier in 1996, the big calls -- all were tilted mightily in the other direction when all was said and done and World Championship trophies were handed out.

Honestly, as close as we were, we CLEARLY weren't very close at all when you saw how those games played out in October. And other than Mussina, Brady Anderson and Cal Ripken, none of those players made a dent in the heart of Orioles' fans.

In his most recent public appearance/infomercial this past spring, Peter Angelos informed WJZ's Denise Koch that "we were one pitch away from the World Series -- you must remember that!"

The seats in the owner's box must've shown a different set of games or "time" must've illuminated "the glory of their deeds."

Because from where I sat, it looked like the better team won both years -- with or without Jeffrey Maier -- and it wasn't really that close.

And last time I checked, having LOST those series 4-1 and 4-2 assures me that I saw it a little more accurately.

The Orioles stunk in those two ALCS after dazzling in the previous rounds.

That's a painful thing for a sports fan -- or for an owner -- stinking when it counts the most and especially after proving over 162 games you were the BEST team.

But that's what the postseason is all about, right?

It's been a decade since they've played a meaningful game (there will clearly be more if you have a crystal ball, and unless we do something about it at The Rally on Sept. 21), and Camden Yards has been -- despite its unquestioned impact on architecture across the country and its economic impact for downtown Baltimore -- a tremendous "dud" for Baltimore as a temple for celebration when you compare it to its predecessor, Memorial Stadium.

But the Orioles' 15-year run of disappointment downtown would be bad for any stadium in any sport, really.

And pain, in the baseball fan way, is not a cornerstone for selling tickets and making memories or creating traditions -- unless you happen to be a Cubs fan.

But let's just cut through all of the prose and B.S.: after 15 years we can probably count most of the cool, bedrock type of memories at Oriole Park on one hand.

Aside from all of MLB's pomp and circumstance regarding Cal Ripken's chase of Lou Gerhig in September 1995 -- and the season-long event certainly had its treasured moments -- the late-inning homers that week he chased the record, the actual "Immortal Cal jog" around the stadium to "One Moment In Time" and the teammates pushing him toward that.

Even though the team basically stunk in 1995, that Ripken thing was OLD SCHOOL "Oriole Magic" right there. And in light of what had transpired with the fans and fan reaction in most cities by the 1994 strike and the subsequent cancellation of the World Series that fall, it was a quick, much-needed tonic for baseball during its darkest period of my lifetime.

But even THAT momentous occasion was sullied by a memorably long and diarraheal (is that a even word?) speech given by Peter Angelos that night. It was probably the supernova-explosive first sign that the fans would be gathering on Sept. 21 of this year or at least at some point to demand a new ownership group or leader.

It was, for sure in retrospect, that "HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!" kind of occasion.

It would the be first image in what would become tough times for Angelos and his good name in this great city over the next 11 years. It was the moment of conception in the birthing process of the death of the Orioles as we know them.

In "web-onics" or internet parlance, it was the moment the Orioles "jumped the shark!"
And it happened right there with Cal on the field on the biggest night of his life (and no, Cooperstown's introduction will NOT have the same impact as Sept. 6, 1995 did…no way!).

Because Peter Angelos' group did not purchased the BALTIMORE Orioles until after the All-Star Game in 1993, you can't really credit him with any of that magic.

But there was some Oriole Magic dust in the air that warm summer evening as well.
A full house, not including the people who greased ushers and sat in the aisles all over the upper deck. Free Willy draped from the scoreboard! (I wonder if that dude ever went to jail?) Electricity was all over the city for weeks if not months leading up to the big game. Obtaining tickets was a sell-your-kids-to-the-gypsies kinda expensive. The Fan Fast buzzed for five days at the Convention Center. The Home Run Derby was must-see TV for everyone in the state. The downtown gala at the Maryland Science Center was amazing.

(On a personal note, I bumped into Geddy Lee, the bass player for my all-time favorite band, Rush, that night at a veggie buffet and talked baseball with him for a half an hour. I didn't even realize he would be singing the Canadian National Anthem for the game. Needless to say, that having probably my favorite all-time musician appearing at the only All-Star Game we might ever see in Baltimore in my lifetime was pretty sweet!)

Kirby Puckett was the star. Mike Mussina was the lamb. Cito Gaston was the goat. And the people of Baltimore rose their voices to Toronto's hated Gaston in the bottom of the ninth in a fashion that we can only hope will be closely emulated on Sept. 21 downtown for The Rally to FREE THE BIRDS!

I worked my butt off over the four days that the "event" was staged in Baltimore. I stayed downtown and just walked everywhere from 6 in the morning until after midnight every day.

The memories I have of my first All Star Week, in my own hometown, are too numerous to even mention.

My Pop died almost a year to the day earlier, and I can't tell you how many times I thought of him that week and how cool he would have thought it was that I had a press pass to any All-Star Game, let alone the one in our town. Especially after all of those years we watched on TV religiously and stayed glued to the set until the last out. The Pete Rose incident (I don't remember seeing it live, but my Pop LOVED Ray Fosse and always talked about it.). The Dave Parker throw to the plate. Steve Stone's Dodger Stadium clinic. The Atlee Hammaker-Fred Lynn, Comiskey Park salami.

The best was part when we found his old 1958 All-Star Game ticket stub one day cleaning out his dresser drawer. I still have it to this day!

And now, I could put it next to my ticket stub from Sect. 388 that night. Orioles catcher Chris Hoiles, who was a great guy, hooked me up with a pair of his tickets.

I didn't need a ticket with the press pass, but I wanted to sit with my buds.

And then there was the press pass, my first "big event" press pass (unless you count the Preakness) and I had been in the media for almost 10 years then!

I chatted with Barry Bonds and Michael Jordan in the NL clubhouse. I met Tony Gwynn for the first time. I met Jeff Montgomery, the Kansas City closer, that day and we became lunch partners and business confidents every time the Royals came to town until he retired.

I was on the field at the on-deck circle (illegally of course!) for the Home Run Derby when Griffey flipped his hat backward and he and Juan Gonzalez muscled balls toward the beltway.

I took my son Barry to the Fan Fest. He was almost 9 years old that summer. We played games, bought stuff and ran around the Baltimore Convention Center. They had a simulated video batting cage and he got to hit off of "Mike Mussina." He smacked a liner up the middle. That night, I told Mussina my kid got a hit off of him.

He said: "What was I throwing, like 60 (mph)?"

On the day of the Workout, there was a celebrity home run contest in the morning that included Bill Murray, Patrick Ewing and this basketball player named Michael Jordan. It was that day that Jordan fell again for HIS first love, BASEBALL, and decided to go on the Birmingham Barons trail.

Late Orioles team photographer Jerry Wachter took a picture of me with Bill Murray -- I must've seen the movie, Stripes at least 500 times as a kid, not to mention Caddyshack -- a picture that I STILL never received before his death last year. It was a source of great amusement for both us for the rest of his life. I'd always ask for it, but I've still never even seen it!

Murray and his son were a constant at Camden Yards in 1992 and 1993 because he was close pals with Rick Sutcliffe, whom he befriended when Sut was a Cubbie in the mid-1980's. He actually knew me by first name and would come over and pick on me, in his fun way. I'd recite Stripes' lines to him and he'd always add fun little twists on the prose, telling me not to steal his lines.

He was a great guy!

But I STILL never got that picture!

Jerry, who died last year, like a lot of people in this business, had a son who was also a prodigy like my pal Kenny Albert.

Scott Wachter, who I met at Camden Yards in 1993, was also my age and loved sports. His sports photography, which was featured everywhere from Sports Illustrated to USA Baseball Weekly, was really magnificent and he was Cal Ripken's personal photographer for several years leading up to The Streak in 1995.

Scott Wachter has lived out West for more than a decade now, mostly in the Phoenix area, and there's never a trip that way when we don't spend time together.

But in the 1990's, when the All Star Game was fun and fresh for me, we'd ALWAYS plan to stay together and hang out during the three-day Midsummer Classic. We also did spring training together, mainly because we were both poor and needed to share hotel expenses.

But much like most of my friends in life -- if there's no baseball, there's no friendship, and ultimately, no fun.

But it was the All Star Games where our friendship blossomed, even though we'd drive to the park together and go in two completely different directions for 12 hours.

At the end of the day, he would show me all of the candid pics he snapped of me that I had no idea he took -- shots of me standing around the dugout with guys like Greg Maddux, Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds and Cal Ripken.

In Arlington in 1995, while having a long conversation with Johnny Oates, who was the new manager of the Texas Rangers, George W. Bush walked in to say hello to his then-employee. I spent 15 minutes talking baseball with Johnny Oates and the future President of the United States.

In Philadelphia in 1996, I was in the AL dugout when Cal Ripken received an accidental broken nose from White Sox closer Roberto Hernandez during the team picture. I also was the first person to interview Mark McGwire from the dugout after he won the Home Run Derby.

In Cleveland in 1997, I took all of my pals to the game and spent time on the field telling jokes with Drew Carey and got to meet and talk baseball with Joe Walsh, guitarist from The Eagles, one of my favorite bands, and John Ritter, whose Jack Tripper character in Three's Company became a fixture in my house as a kid.

In Colorado in 1998, I took my best pal Tom Kapp to the game and we ate Rocky Mountain Oysters and watched Tim and Tug McGraw do a duet during the Commissioner's Gala.

In 1999 -- one of the years that I actually have a "baseball" memory -- I got to rub up against my Pop's hero, Ted Williams, and there wasn't a dry eye in Fenway Park that night as No. 9 took the field. Pedro Martinez didn't stink that night, either!

As a kid, all I ever dreamed of doing was going to ONE All Star Game. I've now been to 10 and I stopped going three years ago.

In 2001, I actually had the treat of doing an entire four-hour gameday broadcast with one of my original mentors, Ken Rosenthal, who was The Sporting News' baseball insider at the time. We roamed from one side of the field to the other, interviewing everyone from Dusty Baker to Tony Gwynn.

The All Star Game was ALWAYS a fun event for a kid from Dundalk who had a dream, but the best part was figuring out which players would be cool and which ones would be jerks.

There were some guys with less-than-stellar reputations with the media who were extremely kind to me.

I remember having a nice 10-minute conversation with Ken Griffey, Jr. in 1993 here in Baltimore. I remember Gary Sheffield doing my show in Boston. So did Randy Johnson. Tom Glavine was always a super great guy. So was Joe Torre, who knew me from Baltimore and would always say: "You're from Baltimore, that's a great baseball town. Yeah, we're gonna do Baltimore, it's important." Derek Jeter was always a memorably nice guy.

Greg Maddux was always polite, but never did the show. Barry Bonds threw some insult my way when I was wearing a pink shirt at Coors Field. Manny Ramirez once told me that he didn't speak English -- in absolutely PERFECT English. Mike Piazza always blew me off. Albert Belle was always best avoided.

A lot of those years, Curt Schilling was on the team, and that always helped me because he would further my cause. I vividly remember a long three-way conversation at his locker with then-Expo Pedro Martinez at the Cleveland All-Star Game in 1997. At that point, it looked like one of them was going to be traded to Cleveland, so it was an interesting conversation.

Clearly, in October 2004, when they earned rings together as members of the Red Sox, it became a legendarily memorable occasion.

Trust me, it was a long way from that Prowler in Myrtle Beach, watching the game on a black and white television with my Pop adding tin foil to the rabbit ears and mosquitoes tearing me us up through the holes in the netting of little trailer.

But I haven't been in a few years now, mainly because the entire event just stinks now.

As a media member, there is very limited access and they do the interviews in a hotel banquet room instead of at lockers or on the field. There's no baseball vibe at all and it truly FEELS like WORK, not like fun.

And then there's the actual event you're covering.

The Home Run Derby is, without question, the DUMBEST event in sports and is just painful to sit through in the ballpark.

And the actual Tuesday night All Star Game itself -- ever since that night in Milwaukee with that idiot Bud Selig shrugging his shoulders for the world to see -- is a yawn fest.

Our listeners don't much care, I don't much care anymore and most of the veteran players act like it's a chore to even show up and play in an exhibition game for the fans' enjoyment.

The last two years, I've declined to attend and just stayed at home and thrown a party with my wife. We serve ballpark food and invite some of our friends who love baseball over to the condo. We all sit around and bitch about Peter Angelos and say how bad it all sucks, what's happened to baseball in our town and in our lives.

But at least the food is good and the conversation about baseball is always as spicy as the salsa for the nachos.

But we decided during this past year's game in Pittsburgh, we'd really like for the All Star Game to mean more to us than that we're two weeks away from the start of Ravens' camp.