National Football League

Soon it will be seven years (the anniversary date is March 28) and the National Football League will be reminded once again of the most ignominious moment in its history: a team changing cities under the cover of darkness, much the way a common criminal hits and runs. The other team owners read about it in their newspaper and so did the commissioner, Pete Rozelle.That's how Baltimore was deprived of a treasure it owned for 35 years, the Colts being shanghaied to Indianapolis without approval or forewarning.

Never has any city in America been made to endure such torment over a team that was stripped from its possession and carted off under the cover of darkness. The National Football League didn't attempt to rationalize the plundering. It feels embarrassed. Uneasy. There's no acceptable explanation, so it doesn't try.What it can do -- which is foremost among all men of decency -- is to right a wrong. And that's why Baltimore has the inside position among NFL officials when it comes to awarding an expansion franchise.

Maybe you're surprised at the severity of the crime, or that one of the Ravens' best and most popular players was involved. But if you're really surprised by the news that Ray Lewis has been charged in a double murder, your head has been in the sand for a long time. This is the National Felony League, er, the National Football League, where player-related crimes and off-field violence have become as routine as touchdowns and tackles. Sports pages are full of it, fans are sick of it, front offices are terrified of it and there's no end in sight.

In 1958, the Baltimore Colts licked the New York Giants for the National Football League title, and Americans licked the 3-cent stamp for the last time as full first-class postage. Or so they thought.Now, 36 years later, the U.S. Postal Service has resurrected the stamp for a limited run.On Jan. 1, at 12:01 a.m., the cost of sending a first-class letter jumps to 32 cents.What happens to the millions of 29-cent stamps left in our desks? A slew of 3-cent stamps -- two billion in all -- have been issued to make up the difference.

Baltimore-based Under Armour Inc. is planning to add 350 employees at a site in walking distance of its waterfront headquarters, significantly increasing its city work force at a time when it is aggressively expanding into new markets. The sports apparel company expects to open offices in a building now used as a warehouse and freight terminal in Locust Point. Baltimore developer Struever Bros. Eccles & Rouse has a contract to purchase the 7.2-acre property, between Beason Street and Key Highway, and wants to do a $14.2 million renovation if it can get zoning approval.

THIS IS TO announce, with proper dignity and respect for the occasion, the end of all guilt when it comes to Baltimore and the National Football League. Anger and disgust, we hold onto. Contempt, absolutely. But any lingering guilt concerning that business with the Browns of Cleveland and the alleged sanctity of tradition in pro football is declared officially kaput as of today. On this Super Bowl Sunday, four years after the arrival of the Baltimore Ravens, it is enough. Sorry, Cleveland.

Anyone with a passing interest in the practice of deep-frying, saucing and consuming chicken wings with celery and blue cheese knows the dish was created in Buffalo, N.Y. Pinpointing how the Super Bowl and chicken wings have become inextricably linked in the public's mind is another story. Maybe when Super Bowl M (1,000 for those who can't remember their Roman numerals) rolls around, watching it while munching chicken wings will seem as traditional and patriotic as turkey at Thanksgiving.

FOOTBALL is fast eclipsing baseball as the talk of this town. In elevators, at water coolers, at bus stops and on talk radio, the Ravens, not the Orioles, are the rage. And why not? This afternoon, our Ravens play host at PSINet Stadium to the first National Football League playoff in this town since Dec. 24, 1977. It's been a l-o-n-g wait. The Baltimore Colts lost that playoff game 23 years ago to the Oakland Raiders in a heartbreaking sudden-death finish. An even worse blow came on a snowy night in March, 1984 when owner Robert Irsay made an unseemly midnight moving-van exit with the team's belongings, stripping the city of its beloved Colts.

Jack Martin Cloud, whose career as a coach and educator at the Naval Academy spanned more than 30 years and who later became a Navy football radio broadcaster, died June 19 of kidney failure in the hospice unit at Spa Creek Center in Annapolis. He was 85. Mr. Cloud, who was part Cherokee Indian, was born in Britton, Okla., and moved in 1935 to Norfolk, Va. He was an outstanding football player while a student at Maury High School in Norfolk. After graduating from high school, he enlisted in the Army Air Forces and served as a waist gunner aboard B-17 Flying Fortresses in Europe with the 429 t h Bombardment Squadron.