The Love Issue: Bleeding Purple

The Love Issue: Celebrating all of the passion around us

Sometimes, love gets a bad rap. It’s been called fickle, flighty, frothy and fleeting, something that tends to fade in a world of grim realities and absolutes. We’re told that we fall in love, akin to stumbling into a ditch or stepping off a cliff.

But here at Jmore, we believe that love is indeed eternal and never goes out of fashion, and we subscribe to the notion put forth by the title of that old movie and tune, “Love is a Many-Splendored Thing.”

Romantic love, while being wonderful and enthralling, is only but one form of the L-word. Passion and affection transcend the concept of two individuals with deep or amorous feelings for each other. It extends to love for other themes, concepts and interests, such as music, cars or animals.

In this “Love Issue,” we offer five examples of people who have a love and passion for a few of their favorite things. We sincerely hope you love it! — JMORE STAFF

Bleeding Purple

I love my family. I love my husband, children and dog.

But there’s another kind of love in my heart, a special love for a lot of other men. Don’t worry, my husband knows and he’s OK with it.

Not only does Rick approve, he has encouraged it.

By now, you’ve probably guessed or seen the photos: I love the Baltimore Ravens.

Sure, many people say they love the Ravens. And many more have jumped on the fan bandwagon this season. But my allegiance runs deep, beyond the purple nail polish adorning my fingers and toes from September through December each year, and beyond the dark purple lipstick that is my trademark on game days. The Ravens made it cool to love purple.

If my parents were still living, they would explain it’s in my blood. I have memories of them watching the Baltimore Colts on television and heading out to games as season ticket holders. I often think of my mom as I yell at the TV, directing the defense to “get him,” referring to the ball handler, whether quarterback, running back or receiver.

I remember a particularly rainy Sunday in 1983, sharing a flask in the upper deck at Memorial Stadium as Dan Marino and the Miami Dolphins provided a particularly bad drubbing at the expense of the home team. And I remember the feelings of sharp pain and horror following Robert Irsay’s calculated escape in the middle of the night.

The pain gradually waned as Art Modell ushered in a new era of football for Baltimore in 1996. My allegiance peaked along with our first Super Bowl team, and a houseful of celebrants enjoyed my purple-themed foods and drinks in jubilation as the Ravens handily took care of the New York Giants in Tampa, Fla., in early 2001.

Today, my love for the boys in purple transcends much of my life. From the moment the schedule is released and the dates and times are marked on my calendar — yes, in purple — my life is Baltimore football.

Purple lights brighten my porch, flags fly and signs mark my driveway; my office walls are purple with framed jerseys and posters and pennants and Fatheads adorning the walls. Of course, much of my wardrobe reflects my love for my team, all the way down to my purple phone case.

On game day, I have rituals beyond my lipstick and makeup. I’m covered from head to toe, underwear, socks and flannel-lined leggings to earrings, bracelets and necklaces. I choose from an assortment of Ravens caps and beanies, many of them gifts from my son.

Once I’m put together, I head out to tailgate with family and friends, taking in the experience and celebrating my love for the 53 players and coaches and executives who represent my city and state so well. Away games are spent at a local bar with friends or at home with family, screaming and cheering and pacing just the same. I’ve even been known to visit enemy territory with friends or family to cheer on the purple visitors. Throughout the week, my son and I exchange texts and share stories of all things Ravens in preparation for our favorite day of the week: game day!

I didn’t always have season tickets; in fact, just a few years ago, my husband surprised me with a pair. We’d buy tickets from friends and online and go to many games each season. Now, I don’t have to worry; we’re there every week, barring an emergency, rain or shine, in the stifling heat or the frigid cold of winter. I’m yelling to “get him” or “ball” for a fumble or just screaming in ecstasy, and you can hear me from blocks away or through the television, as I’ve been often told.

Linda Esterson is a Baltimore- based freelance writer