As I got ready for work the other day, I spotted something hidden behind a chair in our computer. Once I realized what it was, I knew I had to make a change.

So I found an empty nail in the wall and hung the frame which held some special memories for me. I figured with the Baltimore Orioles actually in the hunt for the playoffs, I could return the tickets for the final three games at Memorial Stadium, the first game at Oriole Park and the 1993 All-Star Game back to a place of prominence.

Growing up, few things meant as much to me as my hometown’s baseball team. I grew up in a house filled with baseball fans and have distinct memories of cheering the Birds on during those glory days.

When I went away to a sleepover wrestling camp for the first time, my father gave me a tiny battery-operated radio which I could use to sooth any homesickness (didn’t work – I had a rough week) and keep up with the scores.

Most Oriole fans have memories of the June 22, 1979 game when a home run by Doug Decinces capped a comeback win, a game credited for giving birth to the notion of “Orioles Magic.” I have clearer memories of the doubleheader a day later which featured a pair of comeback wins. We had a family cookout night (eating between games of course) and gathered around the radio en masse to listen those final innings.

During the spring of my junior year in college, a friend kept warning me the hot start for the O’s would come to an end. When we got back to school in the fall of 1989 for our final year, he had to admit that the “Why Not?” team had proved him wrong.

My love for the team has honest origins, but so do the reasons I have drifted away in recent years. Family, work, the way Peter Angelos has run the team and many other factors have conspired to make me only follow the Birds from a distance.

But something has changed this year. The promise of young players fans have heard of for so long has actually panned out. No one has blown out their arm or come down to earth after an ungodly performance early in the season. They have had the kind of luck every winning team needs.

This has allowed me to proudly embrace my fair-weather fan status. I used to just kind of keep up with the team when I heard others bring them up in conversation. True to my constant also-ran status in my fantasy baseball league, I would nod and smile and pretend I really understood what was happening with the team.

Now I make sure to watch a few innings here and there, sometimes even catching most of a game. I have started to yell at the TV when something good happens. I might even open up my wallet and go see a game, through gritted teeth since I still can’t stand the owner.

But most of all I will rekindle those memories from when I moved heaven and earth so I could see that final series at the old stadium, spending the final game surrounded by strangers three rows from the top of the upper deck behind home plate. Something magic has indeed happened.