Adley Rutschman represented hope. That’s why these Orioles fans named loved ones after him.

In the darkest moments, Adley was a light. He was a reason to wake up, to smile, to try again.

When Adley the Dog, not Adley the Baseball Player, came into the lives of Maggie and Lindsay Bramble, they had lost their husband and father in 2023. Shortly after, Declan, the family’s Irish setter, died of cancer.

The importance of this Adley — a wiggly, silly Irish doodle whose personality was an instant stimulant in a house dealing with two massive losses — cannot be overstated. The same can be written about so many other cases around Baltimore: Adley the Son or Daughter, Adley the Cat — they all had so much in common with Adley the Baseball Player.

Adley Rutschman arrived in the darkest of days for the Orioles. When he was chosen first overall in 2019, he became a focal point of a rebuild that would be stuck in losing ways until 2022, when he arrived in the majors.

I posted a simple message on X and Bluesky: If you had named a loved one after Adley Rutschman, please email me. I received about 50 emails, all with personal stories that showed how much this sport means to the community. It creates heroes for children, and favorites for adults, and it provides inspiration and hope.

That last one, more than anything, is what Adley brought. And that’s why many of you named your children or dogs or cats Adley — a port in a storm, a lighthouse in a gale.

For fans in Baltimore, it’s no surprise they would gravitate toward Rutschman. Frank Bramble sure did.

When he died at 75 in 2023, his youngest daughter, Lindsay, eulogized the life of an Orioles fan from Pimlico in a way that fit his love of baseball and his family.

“I’ve never seen someone love anyone the way my dad loved … Buck Showalter,” Lindsay Bramble said of her father. “I’m kidding, but really, when Buck was our manager, my dad would stand up and get as close to the TV as he could for every postgame press conference.

“But, in all seriousness, my dad loved Buck, but it was nothing compared to how much he loved ... Adley Rutschman,” Bramble continued. “Really, he did love watching Adley play and loved seeing the way he led the Orioles this season. Sadly, my dad went into the hospital just before the O’s made the playoffs. While he was in there, my mom and I actually started talking to him about the final games in their regular season and his heart rate immediately sped up. After that, we laid off on the Orioles talk. But, back to the real point, my dad set the bar so high, because I want to be loved the way he loved my mom.”

Is this a game? Yes. Is it so much more? Yes.

Sports fandom is, inherently, an irrational construct. You’re born into it, or you stumble into it — whichever, it doesn’t matter. Once you’re in it, you’re stuck. There is no choice. And, while the reasonable part of the brain whispers that — as president of baseball operations Mike Elias said — nothing lasts forever in sports, every other fiber of your being spits in the face of reason.

Name your kid Adley. Name your dog Adley. Name your cat … Catley, as Brooke Harden named her orange, black and white cat.

“This isn’t ‘just a game’ to so many people here,” Dave Thompson wrote in an email. “It’s half of the year every night connecting with a group of players who represent us. Adley was one of the easiest to love and be proud of representing us.”

Thompson’s son, named Adley, is 3. He doesn’t know how to explain properly to Little Adley that Big Adley is no longer an Oriole. “I’m glad he’s only 3, I guess,” Thompson wrote. “It’ll likely make it easier.”

Rutschman’s tenure in Baltimore didn’t amount to a postseason series win, let alone a World Series title. But it brought relevancy to a club that had been stuck in neutral — or reverse, in some seasons.

Josiah Dells calls Baltimore home, but he has lived all over. He, his wife Casey and two children — Adley and Brooks — live near Charlotte, North Carolina. Before Adley, his eldest, was born in Seattle, Josiah Dells was already diving into Rutschman highlights from his Oregon State days and felt the excitement that comes from a promising prospect.

Shortly after Adley Dells was born, Josiah and Casey Dells boarded a cross-country flight to Baltimore for the 2023 home opener. With young Adley in Casey’s arms, Josiah Dells held a sign that prompted them to make the Mid-Atlantic Sports Network broadcast: “Hey Rutsch, be Adley’s God-Dadley!”

To see Rutsch — as Josiah Dells calls him, reserving Adley for his own son — traded to the Red Sox is a “gut punch,” Dells said.

Chris Peacher is in his mid-30s. His “first love,” he said, was the Orioles. In his 35 years, there have been, essentially, three seasons full of magical baseball: 2012, 2014 and 2023, he said.

“I sat through the rebuild, and when they called Adley up, it was like, ‘OK, this is it. It’s starting. We’re finally a different organization.’”

Peacher got tickets to Rutschman’s 2022 debut and went with his dad and older son. It’s the only game those three generations of Peachers ever attended together. In November 2022, Peacher’s father died. To honor that one game — Adley’s first game — Peacher and his wife named their second son Adley.

“There is sentimental value to naming him Adley,” Peacher said. “We’ve joked we’re gonna call him by his middle name [Clarke] now. Obviously, that’s not going to happen.”

Hap Conover quipped that his family may start calling their dog “Sadley” now. And Corey Moser said folks wondered if he’d start calling his son A.J. (Adley James) by his middle name.

They won’t actually do that, of course. There are still those fond memories, such as when Rutschman spun around on his debut, taking in Camden Yards.

“It felt like this time was different and the future of Orioles baseball was bright. And for a while it was,” Moser said.

Brady and Makayla Wilkins named their son Adley, in part, because it continued a family naming convention. Brady is named after Brady Anderson, the longtime Orioles outfielder who just so happened to also play for the Red Sox. He and Makayla settled on Adley for their son.

“Adley was a perfect choice for me. He was the start of a brand-new era of hope for our city, a source of joy and optimism,” Brady Wilkins wrote in an email.

Makayla Wilkins also wrote, because she wanted to explain a decision that “the general Baltimore population will think I’m crazy for going along with.”

Makayla wrote that she watched Rutschman approach the mound for a hug at the end of an inning. She watched him serve as an undercover worker in a humorous video at the MLB store. She watched him sliding down the hill on cardboard, laughing with the children around him during the Little League Classic.

“His fun and affectionate nature was exactly the sort of thing I had hoped would manifest in our son, too,” Makayla wrote.

Rutschman’s Baltimore tenure didn’t last nearly as long as many would have liked, even if they all knew, eventually, it would end. Now Rutschman is a Red Sox player. What he unwittingly leaves behind in Baltimore, though, are many Adleys — dogs, cats and kids.

At the Bramble house, Adley the Dog is still there. He’s still running around with a toy in his mouth, and with Fergus, their other dog, they make a dynamic duo that brightens each day.

He came into their lives amid loss. Frank and Declan were gone. Adley the Dog, though, keeps their spirit going.

“It was such a dark, sad time,” Lindsay Bramble said. “And then we bring in Adley, the doodle, and he doesn’t know any of the sadness we had been experiencing. ... We talk about how much my dad would’ve loved this dog, because he’s so goofy and fun and sweet, and my dad would’ve just been crazy about him.”

That doesn’t change with Rutschman now in Boston. There are so many Adleys still carrying the torch of hope in Baltimore.