The fans who wear Redskins jerseys to M&T Bank Stadium when the Ravens are playing the Steelers. The 50-year-old men in business suits who pretend they are Brooks Robinson as they try to snare a foul ball at Camden Yards. The soccer moms who still wear sweatshirts to remind us the Ravens won the AFC North Division in 2003. Some sporting event pet peeves die harder than Bruce Willis.

I’ve decided it’s my civic duty to inform my fellow Baltimoreans of the rules of what sports apparel is not permissible to wear — ever. The rules are final, and all violators are subject to having to dress like Bill Belichick.

1. Wearing championship gear after the statute of limitations: To this day, we all have a corner in our closet specially marked for the 2000 Ravens gear bought at Dick’s, The Sports Authority, or from a guy named Marco who set up shop on Boston Street and peddled Ravens championship merchandise at extreme discounts. That’s neither here nor there. The point is, there is a limit on how long you can wear a faded shirt with cigarette burns with some semblance of pride — even if it’s only to pick up your crab cake from G&M’s carryout. I’m setting the limit at four years. (However, you can again wear your “we use to be good” gear after the team has a 25-year reunion. Hence, I’m wearing a mesh Orioles ’83 World Series hat as I type this.)

2. No baseball glove for adults: Have some respect for yourself and promise me you’ll never go to a game with a glove unless you are under the age of 12. Just don’t. Please. Think about it for a minute: What’s a better story for your co-workers: A) You went to the game and made a basket catch with your Frank Robinson-model Rawlings; or B) You got a black eye because you took a foul ball off the cranium. Here’s the catch: Instead of telling the truth about your diving header, you tell anyone who will listen your tale of heroism and fortitude as you stood up to an Orioles usher and took one to the kisser to keep your buddies in the game. You can thank me later for the free round of drinks at happy hour.

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3. No first dates: Hey Bob Catzimmons from Cockeysville, I know we haven’t officially met, but you’re sitting two rows behind me, and I feel like I know you pretty well now since all you’ve done for five innings is talk about how your dad still wears Brut cologne and how “those guys” at Exxon are going to “get what they deserve.” So I feel like I can talk to you man to man. She doesn’t care you’re a Scorpio, and if you don’t start paying attention to the game, you’re going to be leaving on a gurney and then how will you and the wildebeest you took out of hiding ever enjoy that walk on the beach you promised? By the way, she looks stunning in those special edition Wham! Parachute pants.

4. After-the-fact jersey buyer: I know times are tough and pinching pennies isn’t a sin, but purchasing the jersey of a player after he was traded, released, caught making whoopee with a teenage country singer or incarcerated ain’t cool. It’s hard to distinguish the fan who owned the jersey the entire time the player was actually on the team from Frugal Fred, but a telltale sign of the latter is Fred always has a “I got this for $7.99” look on his face and desperately is trying to avoid a mustard stain on his brand new textile.

5. Wearing an arbitrary jersey to a game that does not involve your favorite team: I’ll admit: I’m as guilty as O.J. riding in a white Bronco on this count. I’ve been to many out-of-town stadiums and arenas when my teams weren’t playing and decided to represent my hometown with an Orioles, Ravens or UMBC jersey, but I’ve since stopped my chicanery. What’s the use of claiming your territory when you are in the wrong place, Columbus? Save yourself the unneeded taunting, peanuts to the dome and the occasional “ hey [bleep], your team sucks” conversations and just assimilate to your surroundings.

Honorable mentions:

Corporate logo giveaway day: Hey, I love free stuff as much as the next guy, but unlike the next guy, I’d rather not wear a hat with DAP or ESSKAY displayed bigger than the team’s logo.

Red Orioles hat: I’d like to personally punch Limp Bizkit singer Fred Durst in the larynx for ushering this phenomenon into American culture.

Wearing two teams’ apparel: It doesn’t take a fashion coach to figure out orange and black doesn’t exactly match purple and black.

Jersey tucked in: It’s 2008. Your seventh-grade school picture day was 25 years ago, Alex P. Keaton.

Tony Giro is a lifelong Baltimore sports fan who blogs on examiner.com for fans. If you subscribe — it’s free — you’ll be e-mailed each time Tony posts a column. He can be reached at timeout@baltimoreexaminer.com.