There are all kinds of sports bars, and we understand about proclaiming a Jets bar or Steelers bar or what have you for disenfranchised fans of various teams, but no offense, we can't get behind the out-of-town action, nor can we in good conscience patronize a chicken-wing chain establishment to root-root-root for the home team. A recent early-evening visit in the vicinity of Camden Yards to a joint billing itself specifically and unmistakably as a sports bar found us out on the curb with only one beer under our belts after management announced it was so slow it was costing them more than they could make to be open. Whatever became of the wooden nickel? Enough bitching. We enjoy Mother's for lots of reasons: multiple bars, multiple seating arrangements (even comfortable ones), a diverse crowd, lots of television screens (we really dig the one downstairs that is about one foot away from a small high table where we saw three guys watching the O's game, leaning toward it like they were receiving messages from their home planet). But while we're urging the proprietors to fix that one set upstairs with the wacky color (Al Michaels is freaky enough to look at after we've enjoyed a few Hi-Lifes without him having an electric-green face), we salute Mother's for really getting it up for the Ravens before, during, and after each game, gripping that thing so tight it's purple.