Superbowl XLVII

So you're new to Bmore.

Congratulations!  WE'RE SUPERBOWL XLVII CHAMPIONS.

You probably already knew this.

You probably heard the honking on the street well past 2:00a.  You probably were stuck on I83N around 1:30a.  You maybe climbed a tree to better loudly bang a lampost.

A joyous celebration on Charles Street

Maybe you took your dog out to pee after the game, only to encounter a mob of people blocking Charles Street in celebration.  Maybe you brought your dog into this mob and people took photos of him, holding up a paper mask of Ray Lewis to his face for their Instagram accounts.  Maybe you, like me, climbed a fence-like object to get a better photo of this mob, only to split the crotch of your jeans.  Everyone must sacrifice for the Superbowl, even my pants, along any semblance of class I may have previously had.

Flacco may have a fold in his face,
but he doesn't care with that Lombardi trophy in his hand.

Savor this week.  Go to Royal Farms and pick up today's Baltimore Sun, because that's the most quintessentially Maryland way of doing it.  Watch a John Water's movie, put Old Bay in everything you eat this week, and hook yourself up to an IV of 'Boh.  Then sit back, and make fun of these people who don't know where Baltimore is, even with the assistance of Google.  You know, you're proud, and you're CAW CAWing with the best of 'em.  While you may not regularly be a big football fan, right now there is nothing but purple pulsing through your veins.