The Wall Street Journal takes a moment away from cranking out my pointillism portrait to remind us that the Cleveland Browns of Baltimore were almost named the Baltimore Marauders, which rolls off the tongue similarly enough to “murderers” to just maybe work. But, alas, the team took the name of a scavenger bird that figured heavily in a famous short story poem written by an author who had little connection to Baltimore other than the fact that he was buried in it. Unless, of course, they took their name from that WCW wrestler, which, while quizzical, but would explain a lot of the sulking of the fanbase. Or Raven Symone, who, like Ray Lewis, started out as a charming little girl, but then killed some folks (I’m assuming. She does work for Disney) and gained way too much weight.

/Charm City looks okay when you’re driving past it on 95
//that’s a lie; it still looks wretched
///has no use for Baltimore other than to make tasteless jokes about Chinasaurus

Joe Flacco, the starting Ravens quarterback and last keeper of the Frida Kahlo bloodline, is auctioning off a signed doodle of himself to support Neurofibromatosis, Inc. It’s a classy move, though the spartan stick figure character has, to date, only drawn a whopping $47 in bids. To further spur potential donors, Flacco decided to snazz up his uninspired design a little bit. Will it work? You be the judge.

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“Also, Can Bounties Be Legal?” The Ravens ask the NFL not to schedule them in any primetime games against the Steelers in Pittsburgh, thus attempting to duck the season kickoff game that everyone expected. BECAUSE THE RAVENS DON’T FEAR NO MAN! WWWOOOOOOOOO!

For all the readers who hate my onslaught of homerism on KSK and want to see me get my comeuppance, today may be your lucky day. Because there is no ending to the Steelers season that could be more embarrassing and soul-crushing than losing a fourth straight AFC Title Game at home to the shithead Ravens. 0-16 wouldn’t be as bad. Losing the Super Bowl, while immensely disappointing and painful, wouldn’t be as bad. Ravens fans can explain a loss away by saying where they got was a lot further than a rookie quarterback and a rookie head coach should have taken them. Steelers fans have no such fallback. Well, they can always complain that that Palamuuluu guy wasn’t totally healthy.

But with great risk comes great reward. The Steelers can go 3-0 this season over a hated rival and 2-0 against them in the playoffs. For all the talk of how promising Flacco looks, Ray-Ray, Terrell Suggs and Bart Scott are all free agents this year. Their best receiver, Derrick Mason, turned 35 yesterday (Why weren’t Ravens fans celebrating his birthday? Quick guess: He’s not white). This could be the Ravens’ best chance for a while.

I’d love to be here to live blog it for you (that’s a lie) but I have to brave the crowds in D.C. to hit the bar on the Hill. So enjoy the bloodbath in open thread form. And, hey, the only home win in an AFC Championship Game in the Cowher era did come against a Harbaugh brother.

Why is Phil Simms the only guy in that booth still doing the headline games?

The arms race for most idiotic stunt/promotion between Steelers and Ravens fans in the run-up to the AFC Championship has reached endgame, now that Bawlmer fans can buy fake unibrows to support Bert Flacco, as he endeavors to be the first rookie QB to reach the Super Bowl. But what of the faux Willis McGahee paternity test? The mock Ray Lewis plea bargain agreement to escape jail time? The imitation Todd Heap gimpy hamstring? The apocryphal Rex Ryan shit-eating grin? So much left uncovered.

I’m authentically surprised the anchorwoman didn’t say “The thicker the unibrow, the closer to God.” Guh. Pity Obama for having to stop in that shithole on the way to Washington.

However, little do Ravens fans know, but those things are made out of Haloti Ngata’s pubes.

Here we have some Ravens fans taking advantage of the Tennessee nightlife last weekend. I’ve always found the idea of grown folks wearing jerseys to be endearingly dopey. My OCD being what it is, I inevitably find myself checking the numbers to see which players are overrepresented and the most obscure jersey in the group. Along those lines I was able to Jersey watch: Derrick Mason, Two Ed Reeds, Joe Flacco (wisely trying to stay out of frame), Bart Scott (dedicated to Clare, who asked for fat & ugly), Ray Lewis and I think I even see Ray Rice bopping around in the back at one point.

Since they made the long trip to Nashvegas, one has to assume that these fans are some of the more hardcore Ravens followers plodding around the dance floor like some sort of Cretaceous period mating ritual. And while that may not speak particularly well of Ravens fans, I would rather be in the bar with those guys than in your run of the mill Steelers’ bars. I hear it’s shank or be shanked around those creeps.

[ complete video from Nasty Nestor @ WNST ]

From a concerned and troubled reader in a troubled city:

“It’s bad enough that I have to be a Titans fan living in fucking Baltimore city. Its bad enough that I have to see these slobbering cock-gobblers every day as I go about my business, walking around in their old, stained ravens super bowl sweatshirts and fucking-unbelievable-that-they-choose-to-dress-themselves-that-way purple camo. This is the team I most loathe (well, Patriots too, but we’re not talking about those grundle-munchers right now, are we?), and I’m surrounded by their fans. I will be this Saturday when we play. The prospect of us Kerry Collins boozing up before the game and lofting one to Ed Reed haunts my dreams and if we lose I’d rather have a bleach chugging contest with myself than see one moment of Ray Lewis dancing around in joy. But now Steve McNair, pride of the Titans for so many years but one of many to defect to these purple dog-fuckers, is hosting a Ravens pre-party in Nashville. He even denied it at first, his agent proclaiming him a Titan fan for life, but now the truth has come out. My blood boils. Then I find out its a pre-party planned by that gel-haired jackass fucking moron of a radio man whose commercials haunt my television, bringing the Ravens into the safety of my home. Once I calmed down was able to see straight enough, I looked again at their poster. Apparently the party benefits the Ronald McDonald house of Baltimore, MA. Hang on. Baltimore, MA? ARE YOU TELLING ME THESE MONGOLOID SCROTSUCKERS DON’T EVEN KNOW THE PROPER ABBREVIATION FOR THEIR OWN STATE?!?!? Then again, I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Say what you will about Tennessee (and you will), but can anyone be dumber than Ravens fans? FUCK.”

“Their website tells me they are less than 24 hours away from all heading down on a bus together to my hometown. I know you guys talk to God now and then, any chance you can get him to run that bus off the road? Into a river? And strike that motherfucker with lightning a few thousand times? Thanks so much.”

Well, that was by far the least interesting of the playoff games thus far. Kudos to the Ravens for their first playoff win in seven years. Perhaps Miami’s commitment to the Wildcat against an opponent that has already quelled it wasn’t the best call. That and ever giving the ball to Ted Ginn.

Ed Reed got two picks, returned one to the house and never even thought about lateraling one. To me, that’s probably the most remarkable story of the early game. That the Vikings should be happy that one of those vaunted road favorites got a win so fate isn’t so obviously setting them up to shit the bed.

And fuck CBS for the paucity of cheerleader shots in Miami.

Day two of Wild Card weekend opens with two AFC teams fond of employing gimmick plays and crazed linebackers. If the teams can negotiate a playing field draped in shoes, it’s to their credit.

Of course, it’s a homecoming of sorts for the Ravens, since half their starters went to the U. Okay, just McGahee, Ray-Ray and Ed Reed, otherwise known as the only Ravens anyone gives a shit about (except Bawlmer fans – they love their Matt Stover! That and McGahee sucks).

So join us in some retarded commentary. Otherwise

THAT’S DISRESPECT!

And Peezy ain’t havin’ that.

If you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won’t do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is the first second in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.

At the Hogwart’s School of Towson, the honmaster has taught us many important incantations for bedazzling the foes of the fearsome black magic Ravens. I have spent several semesters honing my mystical techniques. Observe!

[Twirls magical lacrosse stick]

Officiatus Culpatimatum!

With this spell, I can blame everything on the NFL and officials hating the Ravens. And none will be the wiser. A pox on you, Walt Coleman. May Terrell Suggs threaten you and not follow through on it!

Metropolicon Insecurious!

One chant of this and I can make it rain in all the cities that surround Baltimore that I hold a grudge against for being better than my hometown. WHAT GAVE YOU THE RIGHT!?

[Shakes lacrosse stick angrily at all the superior cities that surround Baltimore]

Judicious Obstructinium!

Now Ray Lewis can kill anyone he wants and announcers will continue to push his post-conviction religious awakening! He’s God’s linebacker! Yet he’s spending eternity jumping on piles of bodies in the eternal hellfire. Just don’t jump on Johnny U, Ray-Ray!

HHHEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

That’s not really a spell. We Ravens fans just like Todd Heap far more than any other player. I can’t really pin down why. I mean, he’s not the best player on the team. Not even in the top 5. For some reason, we feel a kinship with him, like we share some ineffable common trait. I bet he’d love to go downy o-shun with us! He’s so approachable!

Sure, Pittsburgh won the Super Bowl as a 6-seed three years ago with an 11-5 record and an inexperienced quarterback, but if we can’t do it, we’ll shrug it off by saying Flacco is rookie. And you’ll buy it, because you fell under the flummox spell of Muddle. You might even be duped into acquiring a Ravens fan’s overpriced Purple Cloak of Invisibility from White Marsh. Mwahaha! Tremble at my puckish grin, muggle!

Woooo! McTrain, Go. Crush the teams we should beat and lose to the ones we shouldn’t. That’s the Ravens way! Now excuse me, I must teleport myself far away from this horrid, crime-ridden city.

Pikesville Transporto!