Here's a viewing recommendation for anyone who hasn't had the pleasure yet: Watch HBO's documentary on the Dodgers' move from Brooklyn to Los Angeles, The Ghosts of Flatbush.
And here's a directing recommendation for anyone who is from this area and has a similar passion for a team that heartlessly abandoned its passionate fan base for a more lucrative deal: Make a documentary about the Colts leaving for Indianapolis.
It was a little surprising to realize in the past few days that, in fact, the defining moment in the sports and cultural history of Baltimore has never been committed to film in the way the Dodgers' doc now has been. One has to believe that the idea has come up; maybe it's been proposed and rejected, or started and never finished.
The thought came to mind with about 15 minutes left in the HBO special, in which the final machinations that cleared Dodgers owner Walter O'Malley's path from Brooklyn to L.A. in 1957 were detailed.
All the elements of the story sounded familiar, with one notable difference: The Colts' departure itself in 1984 lends itself to film storytelling far more than did the official last act of the Brooklyn team. I think we all know what I'm talking about.
Dodgers: a press release on team stationery with legal-sounding language.
Colts: Mayflower trucks in the middle of a snowy night.
Seriously, with the obvious exception of the society-altering Jackie Robinson angle, what does the Dodgers' tale have that the Colts' doesn't? As a matter of fact, there's a lot about the Colts' fleeing to Indy that packs more of a dramatic punch. It also has other advantages that the Dodgers' documentary couldn't, thanks to the fact that it took place more than a quarter-century after the move to L.A.
In essence: dozens of former Colts players and employees who want to and love to talk. Team and government officials who are still with us. Fans who have held onto the pain while keeping the flame alive - and who span far more age groups. All the ensuing chapters: the logo fight, expansion, the Ravens, the Super Bowl, the logo and colors, the playoff game here, the Colts' Super Bowl win.
The two hours the Dodgers got could barely contain their story. No way could two hours be enough for the Colts' story.
Now, there are obvious reasons, that are tied to obvious perceptions, why there might not be a groundswell of interest in such a documentary being aired for a national audience. There are also strong reasons to believe that fans would eat this up just as much as they would the Dodgers' story.
Negatives first: Don't get your feelings hurt on this one, but it's Baltimore, not New York. That won't be easy to overcome, not in an era when the second-place Yankees lead SportsCenter virtually every night.
On the other hand, after 50 years, lots of Americans are nearly deaf from hearing elderly Brooklynites wail to the heavens about O'Malley and Ebbets Field and Duke living next door to them and Pee Wee putting his arm around Jackie and the whole Boys of Summer thing. OK, got it, thank you, enough already.
The HBO project went over this well-trod ground again, with many of the same faces, voices and images. Larry King, again. Comic Pat Cooper, who dates back to the advent of television, again. The wrecking ball painted like a baseball, again. Sinatra's "There Used to be a Ballpark Right Here" again. Clich?-o-rama.
The best parts of the documentary took us to new territory, especially about how badly O'Malley appeared to want to keep the team in town, and all the financial, political and social circumstances that got involved. It was riveting for the myth-busting alone.
All of those aspects of the story would also fuel the Colts' story - which, truth be told, could use a little myth-busting itself. And it would be new, at least to the rest of the country.
That's the allure of this tale. Brooklyn and its fans were absolutely brutalized by the Dodgers' move, and it did alter the history of that city, of the Dodgers' new home, and of sports overall. It's a fantastic story and HBO told it well.
It still doesn't beat Baltimore's story. Equals it, maybe, but doesn't beat it.
And, of course, take the images and national cachet of the cities out of the picture, and the wattage of the rosters and their physical and emotional ties to their fan bases are a draw. Jackie, Pee Wee and Campy, meet Unitas, Lenny Moore and Artie Donovan. These aren't, say, the Seattle Seahawks, these are the Colts, one of the NFL's jewels.
That makes this relevant enough for a courageous producer to take this on.
Then, there's this final selling point: an owner who out-O'Malleyed O'Malley. Need a good villain? Ask the locals; to them, Bob Irsay makes O'Malley look like St. Francis of Assisi.
Put it all together in documentary form, and it would be a cinematic masterpiece.
So, c'mon, you budding Spielbergs, you Spike Lees-in-training, you Ken Burns wannabes with the Colts Corral membership cards still in your wallets. Your time has come.
The Ghosts of 33rd Street. It's begging to be made.
david.steele@baltsun.com
Points after -- David Steele
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