On the other side of Ostend I heard a rock band playing and decided to explore. A quartet was perched on the closed loading dock of a deserted warehouse, surrounded by cars with Ohio tags. Below, the dancing and singing audience were clad in orange jerseys with those wavy stripes. The delegation from Cincinnati had claimed the corner as their own.
How on earth did you ever find Pigtown, I asked one of the revelers. The question brought gales of laughter.
Pigtown? We’ve come all the way from Porkville to end up in Pigtown?
It seems Cincinnatti shares a similar heritage with Baltimore, at least regarding the meatpacking industry and railroads. When not touting their home town as “Queen City” for the sake of tourism, the locals call it Porkville. And they thought it was hilarious they were partying in Pigtown.
As to how they got there, their caravan looked for a place to decamp that was close enough to walk but far enough away to avoid Raven partisans. The deserted warehouse district looked perfect by dawns early light. Guess we didn’t go far enough, their leader remarked ruefully, as streams of heckling fans passed them en route to the game.
It was good natured fun, though. Some of the purple people stopped in to listen to the band and talk trash. The road warriors were clearly having a good time. The trip to Baltimore had been planned for quite a while and this particular slice of local flavor only enhanced their adventure.
I’m guessing they did quite a bit more partying after the game. They were planning to make a weekend of it anyway. But I hope they ditched their orange shirts before a night on the town. Charm City hospitality only goes so far.
No comments:
Post a Comment