Sitting in a living room in
I, too anxiously watched the final kick and simultaneously glanced at the diminishing seconds and the final play, and I sighed with relief as the seated Ravens jumped up and ran onto the field with raised arms.
Earlier in the evening, I had yelled at my dad, mostly in jest, when he started rooting for the 49ers — not because he was any kind of die-hard 49ers fan, but because the Ravens were crushing them and my dad pitied the team.
When the tables suddenly turned, I yelled at my dad: "Look what you've done!" — surprising myself with the depth of my emotional investment in the Ravens. I am so far from being any kind of football fan I don't even know all the rules or technical terms for the game.
I am, however, a New Yorker who considers Baltimore a second home after having lived there for the past four years while I attended school. And despite the surprised eyebrow lifts and questioning eyes I receive when I say this to people who either have never lived in Baltimore or for whatever reason just dislike the place, I am a fan of Charm City — and in some strange way that translates into being a fan of the Ravens, too.
Jessica Yoo, New York