Red, blue, green, orange

Are there rules? Of course there are rules. You're talking to the person who set up rules for the Vice Favorite Red Sox Player position. Hello.

The rules for seeing a much-loved former Red Sox player battle against his old team are pretty simple, though. Easy to understand and to follow.

Overall Objective: To see Player do well. NOT to see Player win.

Offense: Player is encouraged to hit the ball well and get on base. A strong offensive effort is supported by Fan, assuming, of course, that this offensive effort does nothing to score Player's Current Team any runs. Home runs are hereby forbidden. Player is not allowed to cross home plate or pick up any RBI's. Stolen bases, if applicable, are encouraged.

Defense: Player is encouraged to demonstrate precisely why he earned Favorite Red Sox Player status during Boston seasons, but only if Current Red Sox team is enjoying a lead. Diving catches are always cool.

Outcome: Player makes Fan proud. Rightful Team (Red Sox) win game. No Fan loyalties tested.

Kevin Millar followed most of the rules on Tuesday night. He did cross home plate, but such an oversight was far more Timlin's fault than Millar's. With a good lead racked up midway through the game, I was free to enjoy Millar's turns as Baltimore's DH, cheering him while hollering for the Boston boys to bring home the win (I did in fact proudly wear my No. 15 Boston shirt to the game, one of only two that I saw at Camden Yards that night).

Everything was glorious, if you ignore the near disaster that was the bottom of the ninth. We won. Let's focus on that.

For those who haven't made the trip to Baltimore, you should. Particularly if you're a Red Sox fan. With a team that hasn't done much of note since that World Series in 1966, Baltimore has become a haven for opposing teams' fans looking for a good ballpark and easy ticket acquisition. The city is laidback and accomodating, the fans are game for seeing superstars roll into town and Orioles Park is breathtaking. Tuesday marked my third trip to the park (first since moving back to Vermont after the District City days) and the third time my jaw dropped at the beauty of it all -- the factory stretching the length of Eutaw Street, the markers for home run balls, the brick and green steel color palate...

We were seated in Section 262, halfway between third base and the foul pole and, unbeknownst to us, a swanky area of seating. A private entrance, Hall of Fame Lounge directly behind us and waitresses ready to take whatever orders we wanted so we didn't have to miss a moment of the game. I left my seat once.

Oh, and the beer is better than it is at Fenway. And cheaper.

Trying to compare Fenway and Camden is akin to a showdown between (Granny Smith) apples and oranges, I know. Old/new. Tradition/innovation. Obstructed view risks/no bad seats in the house. Sellout crowds/bargain night specials.

It's really no contest anyway -- I'm a girl in love with her Yawkey Way. But were Fenway not around? Camden would have my heart, no question.

What makes it even easier is that the place might as well be Fenway South. Different color scheme, fancier scoreboard, no "Sweet Caroline," but the place still echoes with cheers for the Sox when they're scoring, boos when Timlin's walking off the mound after nearly tying the game in the ninth. You see more red and blue than orange -- a fact that I'd almost feel badly about, were the Orioles fans not so excited to see the Red Sox themselves.

Millar. Millahhhhhh. Couldn't we bring him home with us? I don't think it would have required much arm-twisting. Pre-game, I raced to the Os dugout to find Millar laughing with his old teammates; hearing that cackle made my face instantly break into a grin. I've missed him. Sure, the fielding was spotty. Yes, I know the hitting was streaky. But I loved the X factor he brought to the team -- slow baserunning, frosted tips and all. Millar is, in my mind, still a Red Sox player displaced.

He was why we were there. After the move, seeing him once more at Fenway was out of the question. We opted for Baltimore instead. And after the chaos and tension of the Red Sox Virtual Waiting Rooms, the ticketbuying process had been glorious. Might as well have come with a backrub and a Pina Colada, pink umbrella included.

The ultimate stress-free baseball experience.

Baltmore itself was surprisingly new, not at all what I'd expected. We spent the entire day in the Inner Harbor, which I admit lends itself to overall city juding much in the way Back Bay belies Boston, Adams Morgan falsely represents DC. But I was expecting to see a city with a little more historical meat on its bones, presented instead with modern structures of turquoise windows and brick, with a huge Hard Rock Cafe guitar serving as the cherry atop the former Power Plant building.

I'd gone looking for Edgar Allen Poe and found space more befitting Nicole Ritchie instead.

That said, not at all bad. Far from it -- actually quite enjoyable and lovely (guitar aside). As we walked the quiet city streets, we encountered Sox fan after Sox fan, making me wonder if the city residents proper had decided to take a few days off and head to the hills once they learned Boston was coming into town.

(Also, several things should be quickly noted:

- Ellipsies in text messages = rather bizarre. Doesn't that go against the very nature of the quick communication process? That said, thank you, cell phones, for letting me laugh from my bleacher seats at a Monster Seat friend during Sunday's home game.
- Hector on Stilts. Band out of Western Massachusetts that I caught at Bill's Bar on Friday night. OUTSTANDING. A friend described the band earlier in the day as "really smart, just really good indie pop." He was right. Go catch 'em live. The lead singer reminds me of Scott Weiland crossed with Gene Wilder, circa Willy Wonka. In a good way.
- Read Bill Simmons' "Now I Can Die in Peace" cover to cover during the trip from Baltimore to Boston yesterday. I highly recommend.)

Now, back from this set of adventure, I prepare for tomorrow's -- Austin and all that comes with it. Bags are packed (I think), itineraries set (as much as they can be) and the promise I made to myself to get to sleep early tonight.

I have a hunch that that will be easier said than done.