Olde One

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The remainder of this article contains lore created collaboratively by the Blaseball community.

The Olde One (also known as The Mother Crab, Mr. Trash Wheel, The Deep One, They Who Lay In Slumber Under The Oldest Bay, Mom, The Indomitable Snip, She of the Eternal Shuffle, He of the Omniscent Ommatophores, “That There Big Crab”, Our Lady of the Impenecrable Shell, Ny'el'g'shuth Sh'ai'c'll'll'claroth, and Big Debrah) is the corpse-god of Chesapeake Bay, and matron diety to the Baltimore Crabs.

Prayers for The One Who Sleeps

The following words have been offered by the Baltimore Crabs. You can view more by refreshing the page, or by listening in here.

“Hey. If you’re listening, which I assume you always are, ████ you.

And thank you.”

“We’ve been around the sun a few times you and I. I wonder who’s been here longer? I’d like to think it’s me, but the older you get the easier it is to mistake your own self importance. Though it looks like you learned that lesson well enough on your own didn’t you?
Signed, Tot Fox”

“They keep rooting for me to go back to the shadows. Can you do me a solid and make sure I don’t? At least for a while. I still want to play.”

Conflicting Histories

If you ask 10 people who she was you will get 11 answers back. Rather than try and determine the truth of the matter we are simply choosing to record each one in the Interdimensional Rumor Mill as we come across it. This time, the Interdimensional Rumor Mill reveals a Rumor from IF-59.896 out of its Rumor Registry...


The Olde One was not always a part of Baltimore. The Olde One was inevitable. She was waiting below the surface for a time when she would be heard. When the city was built up around her she waited. When they prospered and fell, she waited, and when they asked for help she answered. When they asked for change she answered. When they asked for more she answered.


Not much is recorded about the killing of the Olde One. It is considered extremely impolite to bring up around anyone who was involved, and even between one witness to another it is only referred to with a soured expression or a trailed off sentence. Insinuations that it may have been at the Olde One’s behest that the first god the city kill be their own has been met with troubled reactions such as  "no, it wasn't like that..." while suggestions that it was a good thing to kill a god has seen Baltimoreans say "yes, but...it's hard to explain..." Emotions on record range from celebratory to grieving to indignant to harrowed to at peace to furious to revulsed, all from the same person in quick succession - the only Baltimorean to ever go on record about it. The only things that can be said in confidence about the event are:

  1. The entire city participated in the act
  2. The Baltimore Crabs were essential in the striking of the killing blow
  3. It had to be done.

At her Best

The Olde One became a part of the city, and a part of everyday life. She led her people (and make no mistake, they were her people) through strife and struggle, and guided them when they were lost. She was a guiding light – a voice you could rely on, and a relationship you could hold dear. She brought herself to the level of mortals so she could be a part of their lives and in turn they let her into their hearts. At her best she was the heart of the city.

At her Worst

The Olde one became petty and unpredictable. A storm on a clear day, a mirror that showed no reflection. The worst traits of any petty tyrant. Disappearances in the night that no one could explain. Change was a part of life in Baltimore, but this was a matter of instability. On the days their struggles grew gruelling even her most loyal followers knew that this could not be sustained. They planned in secret for themselves. Asking for no help from her and standing on their own feet. They wondered if she would have been proud.

At her End

When Baltimore rose against her (and make no mistake, it was Baltimore that rose) they did so together. It was a choice made by her followers, her citizens, and her loved ones. It was the most difficult thing they had ever done. Her death was not swift. Her death was not noble. She bled into the bay she was born from and her blood and soul still haunt the streets. Her voice is still heard by some, and they offer a quiet prayer and hope it reaches the part of her that they want to remember. The Olde one was not always a part of Baltimore, but she always will be.