It was called the World's Largest Outdoor Insane Asylum when the Colts ruled Baltimore, but Memorial Stadium had its own delightful brand of lunacy for Orioles games that was all its own as well, and uniquely Baltimore.

The craziness was born with The Roar From 34, and it was the child of Wild Bill Hagy, a bearded and bespectacled cabdriver from Dundalk - a man, as the great Chuck Thompson once said, "of ample girth and zeal," who was, as Jim Palmer said on Monday, the Orioles' "unofficial, official cheerleader."

Wild Bill was as Baltimore as crab cakes, the beehive hairdo, "hon," and a frosty bottle of Natty Boh, although his "ample girth" was more the result of the Budweiser he pounded religiously, particularly at Orioles games when fans were allowed to bring their own beer into the stadium.

Wild Bill's "ample zeal" was only partially fueled by the Budweiser. His passion was the Orioles and leading the cheers from Memorial Stadium's Section 34 in the upper deck of the rightfield stands, mainly through the late 1970s and mid-1980s.

O-R-I-O-L-E-S! Or-yuls!

Section 34 was an exclusive club open for membership only for anyone who loved the Orioles and who loved to cheer for them as loud as they possibly could, which means, night in and night out, it was the most popular place in the ballpark to be.

In those days, the fans in Baltimore loved the Orioles and the Orioles, in turn, loved the fans. They depended on each other, and knew they could count on each other. On any given summer night on 33rd Street, you could see catcher Rick Dempsey in the bullpen or in the dugout waving his towel to signal Wild Bill and the gang in 34 that the O's needed a boost. In fact, there were times when Dempsey even joined Wild Bill on the Orioles dugout in the late innings, using his body the way Wild Bill did to spell out "Orioles." And on most nights, those late '70s and early '80s Orioles answered the call with countless late-inning comebacks, bringing the term "Orioles Magic" to the Baltimore lexicon.

The magic was so real the Orioles even commissioned a Nashville songwriter to compose a fight song:

When the game is close, and the O's are hot
There's a thundering roar from 34, to give it all they've got

And you never know who's going to hear the call
Every game brings a different star
That's the magic of Orioles baseball


And as was always the case during that time, the Orioles said it was magic because of the fans.

There's a love affair between you and the team
You're the reason we win when we win
'Cause you know what the magic means!


Orioles Magic, feel it happen!
Orioles Magic, feel it happen!
O-R-I-O-L-E-S!
Magic, magic, magic, magic
Orioles Magic, feel it happen!

There was no more exhilarating time, no better place to be a baseball fan or, most importantly, an Orioles fan. And in the middle of it all was Wild Bill, perhaps just a cabdriver from Dundalk, but the leading example of what it meant to have a team to care about, and to root for a team that cared about you.

That time and Memorial Stadium, of course, are as long gone as a Boog Powell home run and now, sadly, so is Wild Bill, who passed away Monday at the age of 68. However, their times will endure in the hearts and the minds of Orioles fans who are lucky to have grown up going to games at that beloved red-brick stadium in the wonderful neighborhood of Waverly.

Oh sure, all good things come to an end, and when the Orioles prohibited fans from bringing their own beer to the park in 1985 (you felt naked if you didn't enter Memorial Stadium with your Coleman jug and your guacamole dip), Wild Bill boycotted the games and never returned to Memorial Stadium.

But it's almost as though, with the direction the Orioles were taking under the panicked stewardship of a dying Edward Bennett Williams, the beer thing was mainly an excuse for Wild Bill. He wasn't a fair-weather fan, he just wasn't feeling the love from the organization, which was just beginning to turn corporate. More and more fans were beginning to not feel it, too. The magic was dying.

Camden Yards? Please. Lovely place, to be certain, but going to a game there is like doing your Christmas shopping in a mall instead of doing it downtown. And while there's nothing wrong with shopping in a beautiful mall, it just doesn't have the soul that downtown has. It doesn't have the magic.

Wild Bill eventually went back to Orioles games at Camden Yards, and even did his routine on the dugout a few times. For the most part, though, whenever he was spotted, it was purely by accident. Kind of like one of those "Where's Waldo?" puzzles. The day had passed. Father Time was catching up. The magic had run dry.

The last time Wild Bill Hagy is known to have spelled out the Orioles cheer came in Cooperstown when he did it for part of the flock that descended upon Cal Ripken Jr.'s Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Fitting, since Cal's arrival to 33rd Street in 1981 marked the beginning of the end of the last great era of Orioles baseball. But there was nothing that wasn't great about it. Not back in the day when Sports Illustrated tabbed the Orioles "The Best Damn Team In Baseball."

There were six Hall of Famers (seven if you count the announcer) on those teams, and the Orioles won more baseball games than any other team. Yet in our memory, one of the first people to jump out and grab our thoughts for the time was a bearded and bespectacled cabdriver from Dundalk, cowboy hat in hand. A man of ample girth and zeal.

... Only in Bawlmer, hon.

Mike Burke can be reached at mburke@times-news.com.