BALTIMORE HAS NO LOVE FOR COLTS.

Byline: BILLY WITZ Staff Writer

When Lenny Moore settles into his usual seat today on the 40-yard line at Baltimore's M&T Bank Stadium, he promises that when the visitors in the white uniforms with the distinctive blue horseshoe on their helmets run out of the tunnel, he won't have to fasten down his heartstrings.

The Colts return to Baltimore today for an AFC divisional playoff against the Ravens, but they aren't Moore's Colts -- the only team he played for in a 12-year Hall of Fame career -- any more than they're Baltimore's Colts.

They are the Indianapolis Colts, or for all intents and purposes the Somebodyelses Colts.

``I divorced myself from them a long time ago,'' Moore said. ``I have no more thoughts. I have no feelings. When this team left, they broke a lot of hearts. It's carried on until today.''

When the late owner Robert Irsay ordered Mayflower moving vans to pack the Colts' belongings and drive them to Indianapolis in the middle of a snowy night on March 28, 1984, it left a rift that, indeed, carries on even today.

Baltimore has had a team back for 11 years now, with the Ravens delivering a Super Bowl trophy in 2000.

Also, this is the Colts' fourth trip back to Baltimore, so it's no longer novel.

This time, though, it's in the playoffs. And there's something about the horseshoe that many in the city can't let go.

When John Unitas died in 2002, the NFL -- at his family's request -- refused to allow the Colts to wear a decal on their helmets honoring him. Instead, the Ravens did.

``I'll sum it up for you in one word -- revenge,'' said John Ziemann, the director of the former Baltimore Colts March Band, which continued to perform for the 12 years that the city was without pro football. ``This is a playoff game, so people feel like they can really hurt them. It's a chance to say, `Feel my pain.'''

Even in a week when another local icon, Cal Ripken Jr., was elected to the baseball Hall of Fame, much of the city's attention has been focused on the Ravens and Colts, sometimes in that order.

Baltimore mayor and Maryland Gov.-elect Martin O'Malley stopped by practice to boot a field goal and wish the Ravens good luck in drop-kicking their opponent. On Friday, everyone was encouraged to wear purple.

``This town is going crazy,'' said Art Donovan, the Hall of Fame Baltimore Colts tackle. ``But the only purple I have is my underwear and I'm sure not going out in the street in my purple underwear.''

Since arriving in Baltimore, the Ravens have gone out of their way to welcome the old Colts. Tom Matte and Stan White, the old halfback and linebacker, have worked as color commentators on the Ravens' radio broadcasts. The team lists ``Baltimore pro football records'' in its media guide. A statue of Johnny U. stands outside the stadium, and inside the late quarterback is among eight former Colts -- all Pro Football Hall of Famers -- included in a Ring of Honor.

When the Ravens defeated the Colts in their return to Baltimore in 1998, quarterback Jim Harbaugh presented Unitas the game ball.

As much as these gestures are appreciated, for a lot of ex-Colts -- especially the ones living in the Baltimore area -- it doesn't quite feel right.

``I'm part of a group of guys that feel like we're out in a boat out on the water with no wind,'' said Rick Volk, a safety on the Colts' only Super Bowl champion in 1971. ``The Indianapolis Colts aren't the Baltimore Colts, even though the uniforms are the same, and even though I feel more connected to the Ravens, I never played for the Ravens. I don't feel like an ex-Raven.''

Several of the former Baltimore Colts, whose careers spanned the 1950s, `60s and `70s, say they've moved on. They harbor no ill will toward the Colts, and politely root for the Ravens.

The one misgiving each expressed is that when Irsay packed up and left, he took the team's name, uniform and history, too.

``The NFL made a big mistake,'' said Raymond Berry, the receiver who teamed with Unitas and Moore in the `50s and `60s and is also in the Hall of Fame. ``When the Browns left Cleveland, they left everything behind. It was totally unnecessary, the type of rupture that occurred in Baltimore. It left a lot of strong feelings and I think they're justified.''

The old Colts say that what made playing in Baltimore so special was the relationship with the fans. For many, it was an era when their salaries were in the same range as the fans, meaning they lived in the same blue-collar neighborhoods. Most held down offseason jobs -- Jim Parker selling embalming fluid, Donovan peddling beer.

Imagine putting in new cabinets and asking your neighbor Peyton Manning over to help.

``It was the greatest experience of my life,'' Donovan said. ``They didn't have a college football team. The University of Maryland was more connected with Washington, so we were their kids.''

It started to change when Carroll Rosenbloom, who owned the team from its inception in 1953, swapped teams with Irsay, who owned the Rams, after Baltimore won the Super Bowl.

The Colts, perennial title contenders, became regular losers and in 1983 John Elway refused to sign with them, forcing a trade to Denver. Attendance declined and Memorial Stadium had fallen into disrepair -- Volk described the field as ``Astro-dirt'' -- and when state government officials didn't give into Irsay's demands for help, he signed a secret deal with Indianapolis and called in the moving vans.

Jim Irsay inherited the team when his father died in 1997. When the Colts moved, he was just two years out of college, a rock-'n-roll worshipping grunt who worked in scouting, accounting and the ticket office, and hung out in the locker room.

``It was bad for him, bad for us,'' said Toni Linhart, a former kicker who lived next door to Jim Irsay and whose son was given his first guitar by him. ``If you mention his name here, it's not good. But there was nothing Jimmy can do about it. He inherited it.''

It's hard to say if others will be so charitable.

Moore, who worked in community development when the team moved, says he never received a phone call from the Colts or an invitation to join them.

``I've never heard a peep,'' he said.

Today, the Colts should be so lucky.

CAPTION(S):

photo, box

Photo:

A moving van carrying the Baltimore Colts' equipment leaves Baltimore for Indianapolis in the middle of the night in March 1984.

Lloyd Pearson/Associated Press

Box:

Colts at Ravens

AP