ESPN MAGAZINE

The true snapshot of the 1999 Orioles comes only with the negative. Same nightly picture: Albert Belle sits alone at the postgame spread, bothering no one but acknowledging no one, his body language screaming, "Stay away, and no one will get hurt." His furious eyes focus on his usual meal: four yogurts, placed roughly four inches apart. What is he thinking? Perhaps about what's most important to him -- his four at-bats that night.

It's a sad team portrait. The Orioles were once baseball's finest family, a perennial 90-win machine, the essence of stability. They were assembled from within. They were run frugally, yet wisely. People smiled when they passed you in the halls of Memorial Stadium. People were proud to work there.

Mostly, the Orioles were fun. They were Frank Robinson in a ridiculous wig, presiding over the team's kangaroo court. They were Earl Weaver, all 5'7" of him, cap on backward, stretching on tiptoes to get in the face of an umpire, then using his tiny feet to cover home plate with dirt during one of his signature beefs over a missed call. They were Rick Dempsey slipping and sliding around the tarp-covered infield in his slapstick rain-delay routine, finishing his inside-the-parker with a great belly flop at home.

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