tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53586668289140199062024-03-13T23:12:35.866-07:00Island of WeilandUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-22886313177707960562021-04-28T06:28:00.003-07:002023-04-14T05:35:52.999-07:00My two hand backhand strength training journey with Bob Ryland and Dr. Elton Strauss. Balance your muscles...increase stroke power<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJOjsM0m44WJgFBpEvAjaSn3TbTicsmoDd8o1YBXYRI00PomqyOS_03rvC42WzWM2I9xTlDVshxou5yIbbQFUN8UrXtRdWUsl6X5JF5f1esI_E3MLdTHEuB6hUldaGKyj3BOlTvFArQEBxzBoaxRjft0RARhjaaKB4BPAmDtkaorG1tLbfivQ7oy-/s4032/with%20Bob%20Ryland%20in%20Bob's%20book.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJOjsM0m44WJgFBpEvAjaSn3TbTicsmoDd8o1YBXYRI00PomqyOS_03rvC42WzWM2I9xTlDVshxou5yIbbQFUN8UrXtRdWUsl6X5JF5f1esI_E3MLdTHEuB6hUldaGKyj3BOlTvFArQEBxzBoaxRjft0RARhjaaKB4BPAmDtkaorG1tLbfivQ7oy-/s320/with%20Bob%20Ryland%20in%20Bob's%20book.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> It was 1985. With our busy teaching schedules Bob Ryland and I were spending hours on the court every week in between our coaching schedules at Midtown Tennis Club and my weekly USTA Men's tournaments. This was during my 18-match losing streak. Bob started thinking that maybe my two handed backhand was affecting my results. He decided to teach me how to hit a one-handed backhand. I spent at least an hour a day hitting on the handball courts around the corner from Midtown.<p></p><p>After a month of no tournaments, I decided to use that new shot in a clay court event at Mt. Vernon Tennis Center. In the warmup everything seemed to feel fine. But then the match began, and my opponent started hitting every ball high to my backhand. It was a quick game as I just simply felt that nothing was going right on that side. Had a ton of trouble with the high topspin balls that were way out of my strike zone on that side. </p><p>So, I decided to switch back immediately to my steady two hander. My slice backhand was still a work in progress so that wasn't an option.</p><p>Hadn't hit a ball with my two hander in a month as I was fully committed to what Bob wanted me to do. The match quickly turned into a lobfest as my timing was a bit off on my two fisted shot. We were playing in an indoor tennis bubble at Mt. Vernon and many of my backhands went very close to reaching the top of the bubble. It was I will admit the ugliest win in that I had in my tennis life since I upset Andy Porter to reach the semifinals of the Cincinnati Center Sectional 12U qualifier in 1973. It also made me realize that if I ever wanted to be competitive with players on the Eastern circuit and the satellite tour that something had to change.</p><p>Also, that match broke my 18 match losing streak. I had thought all along that my losing streak ended later in the year at Stadium Tennis when I won 3 matches to reach the quarterfinals. But I just looked at my results from 35 years ago. It was the match versus Steven Rosen on October 8th,1985. The 6-3,6-2 win lifted a huge weight off of my shoulders. </p><p>But now it was time to improve. So, Bob and I consulted with our friend Dr. Elton Strauss who was an orthopedic surgeon in Manhattan that had fixed Bob's torn Achilles earlier that year. Dr. Strauss suggested that I go see his team at the physical therapy office that was connected to his office in Gramercy Park. </p><p>Dr. Strauss also worked with Aaron Krickstein when he was battling injuries during his career as an ATP Top 10 player.</p><p>I was excited to see what they could do to help me. The first thing that was discovered was that both of my hamstring, calf and quad muscles were weak. The left side was much weaker overall. Using Cybex computerized equipment they measured arm and leg strength. My left arm was also considerably weaker. So, the muscle imbalance was definitely a factor in my inability to hit backhands with any power. They tracked me at every visit over the next few months. As the strength increased over 50% in the workouts the ability to hit with power increased dramatically.</p><p>Now 35 years later I am starting to utilize similar strength training methods to add some balance and increase strength on my left side. Also, as a coach now after a very long hiatus from coaching I see that a good number of my players may have an imbalance and weakness in the muscles on their non dominant side.</p><p>Here is the question...are they willing to do the work that is necessary to gain strength, and which will I believe ultimately result in harder hit balls and better results? </p><p>It's up to them.</p><p><br /></p><p>PS Thank You Dr. Strauss and Bob Ryland for taking the time to work with me many years ago to help make me a better tennis player and athlete. Although you are both no longer with us you are always in my thoughts.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lgnD_6s3skY/YIlfMdebD0I/AAAAAAAAF4I/UXL9YJkhssYTRq54V--C3_uyaIOmxKRaACLcBGAsYHQ/s300/Elton_EltonStraussMD.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="220" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lgnD_6s3skY/YIlfMdebD0I/AAAAAAAAF4I/UXL9YJkhssYTRq54V--C3_uyaIOmxKRaACLcBGAsYHQ/s0/Elton_EltonStraussMD.jpg" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XtWvAWL7-8k/YIlhRXsuMBI/AAAAAAAAF4Q/2_j8ZB0PKY0crX88QBQio7Qq8zlFXxe8ACLcBGAsYHQ/s720/Ashes%2Bdream%2B%2BTo%2Bbeat%2BBob%2BRyland.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="720" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XtWvAWL7-8k/YIlhRXsuMBI/AAAAAAAAF4Q/2_j8ZB0PKY0crX88QBQio7Qq8zlFXxe8ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Ashes%2Bdream%2B%2BTo%2Bbeat%2BBob%2BRyland.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CCEUxUplSF0/YIlqBmk5mOI/AAAAAAAAF4Y/o-wDjbvsHXg41xvpJJmM9uHzXsPZdUOSACLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/7F8D666C-E39A-4F98-AE84-FBC0B227841A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CCEUxUplSF0/YIlqBmk5mOI/AAAAAAAAF4Y/o-wDjbvsHXg41xvpJJmM9uHzXsPZdUOSACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/7F8D666C-E39A-4F98-AE84-FBC0B227841A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-91280152770889722002014-04-01T08:34:00.000-07:002014-04-01T10:18:45.659-07:00The Rocket<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was a story that I wrote fifteen or sixteen years ago. It was originally called " Fast Serve" then I changed the title to "Rocket"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I edited the story today for the first time since 1999-2000.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The goal is to get this on the Big Screen. Or at least a small one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
ROCKET by Fredo Weiland</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a sweltering June afternoon .The bleacher was packed
with whining kids and parents attentively watching the baseball game. The team
at bat was losing 4-1 in the sixth and final inning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The bases were loaded and there were two outs .The young
pitcher took his windup and unloaded at the batter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the pitch crossed the plate the batter swung and hit the
ball straight up in the air .All the fielders converged on the popup. The
runners were furiously rounding the bases .As the ball dropped quickly a group
of arms raised up and little hands and gloves<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>reached out for the ball .The ball bobbled in the air between these gloves.
All the fielders fell to the ground. The runners had all crossed home plate and
the umpire removed his mask and walked toward the pile of little infielders on
the ground. The umpire was a burly man about 6'2" tall. As he removed the
players from the pileup he saw the ball in a baseball cap .He raised his right
hand and spoke, “No catch, no catch the Bearcats win 5-4".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All the parents on the losing team's bleacher converged on
the umpire. Fathers smoking cigars, mothers with babies in their arms. They
were all screaming at him. As he gathered up the bases and balls they did not
leave his side. One particularly irate mother was kicking dirt on him .A
toddler was imitating the woman and also kicking dirt on the umpire.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The umpire had enough and turned around to spew his venom,
“What is wrong with you people. Get a life! Look at the example you're setting
for these kids. You people scare me .You're like a pack of wild dogs, all you
can do is whine and bark and cry. And you scream at me: hey ump you suck,hey
ump are you friggin blind?,hey ump is the other team payin you off ?,hey ump
are you doing all the moms on the other team ?You people sicken and disgust me
you're all a bunch of LOSERS!".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The group of people surrounding the umpire looked at him
with their mouth's wide open in disbelief. The umpire looked out toward the
bleachers and called out ,"Lefty ,c’mon son let's go home ".A young
burly boy started to walk toward his dad , the umpire. As the umpire hoisted
the duffel bag containing the bases he clutched at his chest. He spoke "Is
there a doctor in the house ? .Five assorted men and women said, “Yes" at
about the same moment. The Umpire collapsed and many people looked over him
including his son Lefty who spoke softly, “Please help my
dad,please",Lefty cried.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seven years later</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A large young man is sitting on the bench watching his team
massacre another school in a high school baseball game. The score is 14-1 and
it's the bottom of the seventh inning. The coach is scratching his chin as he
looks at the scoreboard.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The coach shouts,
“Lefty Hilton get your butt and your glove over here now you're in the game
".The burly young man gets up off the bench and walks past the other
players accidentally stepping on a few toes along the way causing a couple
players to scream in pain as the 250 pound young man's weight descends on their
toes. The coach calls out to the umpire for a timeout.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The umpire walks over and signals for the timeout. Lefty
walks onto the field and the pitcher looking dejected hands Lefty the ball and speaks,
“Take it easy on these guys".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty smirks and walks to the mound. He is going to take a
few practice pitches .He takes his windup and unleashes a screaming fastball
that is coming right at the umpires head.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The coach mutters to himself, “now if he could only figure
out how to find the goddamn plate”. The batter cautiously approaches the plate
and the catcher is laughing as the batter hesitates. The umpire looks at the
batter and says, “c’mon boy he ain't gonna bite ".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The catcher looks up at the batter and speaks, “The last
time he pitched three guys on the other team went to the hospital. But don't worry
his control has gotten a lot better .He only hits batters in the head these days.
The batter looks at the catcher with an expression of disbelief. .".The
ump screams, "batter up”. Lefty takes his windup and the batter looks on
in terror. The pitch is in the mid 90 mile an hour range. As the pitch approaches,
the batter closes his eyes and crouches down .The ball hits the outstretched
bat and falls to the ground .The catcher picks up the ball and throws it to
first base for the out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The coach looks out onto the field and shouts ,"One
more to go boys".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty takes his windup and unloads a pitch that is headed
straight at the batters head .The batter is swinging wildly at the ball .The
ball misses the batter and heads straight towards a black crow sitting on the
fence .The crow screams as the ball approaches and barely gets out of the way.
Lefty’s coach says to himself, “As long as he don't kill nobody I'll be happy”.
On the next pitch the batter ducks and the ball hits the tip of the bat and
pops into Lefty's glove for the third out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A cheer erupts from the bench as Lefty runs off the mound
and gets swarmed by his team on the way to the dugout..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the celebration ends Lefty is greeted by his Uncle Ted
as he heads toward the locker room. Uncle Ted speaks, “Good job Robby, I mean
Lefty, nobody had to call 911 today. A day without causing bodily harm to your
fellow man is a day you can be proud of .You know it's too damn bad this team
doesn't appreciate your talent. What you need is a sport where you can rely on
your wits .Use your power without having to rely on eight other guys to do
their part. Not that there's anything wrong with team sports .But you son
you're a different breed, a mutant breed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As they continue walking they pass by a poster that reads
“Win 500 DOLLARS Enter the Pro Tennis Fast Serve Contest, if you can serve up
the heat you can win COLD CASH"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They fail to notice the poster and keep walking until they
get to Uncle Ted's truck.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uncle Ted and Lefty approach Lefty's house in Ted's pickup
truck when a jet comes screaming over their heads about 100 feet above the ground.
Uncle Ted screams out ,"Incoming" ,and puts his hands over his head.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then they hear a large thud hit the back of the truck.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uncle Ted screams,"Goddamn blue ice hit my truck again nephew,
that stuff is so disgusting: makes me want to puke".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty shakes his head and laughs ,"Uncle ,at least you
don't have to live next to Runway 13 and hear jets screaming over your head 24
hours a day. Have blue ice falling on your driveway every single day of your life.
I wish we could move away from this toxic hellhole.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe even to New Jersey, it’s cleaner in the Garden
State".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uncle Ted shakes his head and has a faraway dreamy look in
his eyes,"Ahh New Jersey, Shangri La, someday nephew someday".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As Lefty get's out of the truck a jet screams over his head
and he instinctively ducks so he won't get hit. In the distance Uncle Ted
screams ,"Incoming".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty enters his house and a young boy and girl are chasing
each other with their arms outstretched .The boy screams out,"I'm a 747 vroom
". The girl shouts,"I'm a Lear jet!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s carrying movie stars and Cheerios". Lefty laughs
and corrects the girl,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"It'sCeo's! ,Chief Executive Officers , Martha".
Martha makes a face and says,"Chief Executive Ossifers,big deal!".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another boy is sitting in front of a TV reading a comic book
titled, "Romeo vs. Juliet" .The TV is on the local 24 hour News
Channel .The reporter is dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt. He speaks,"This
is Alex Andrews live at the site of the 5th Annual-Harbor Village Pro Tennis
Smashfest that benefits the Boys and Girls Clubs in the Metro area.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm here with the Swanson <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>brothers to introduce the Smashfest fast serve
contest that will pay 500 dollars to the winning contestant, amateurs only folks.
So guys what is the fastest serve that you can crank off your racquets?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cooke Swanson speaks first,
“Is that as a lefty or a righty Alex?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alex has a surprised look ,"Wait a second you can serve
as a lefty or a righty? Folks can you imagine if a pitcher in baseball could
throw his heat with both hands?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gorton Swanson speaks up ,"Cooke can switch hands but
I'm the one with the heat ,watch this !"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gorton goes into his windup and hits a booming serve that
registers 130 on the speed board that the camera focuses in on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alex picks up a racquet and starts to speak as he prepares
to hit a serve, “Well there it is folks booming serves with the Swanson
Brothers at the Harbor Village Pro Tennis Smashfest this Saturday at 10 AM. is
the fast serve contest. Racquets will be provided courtesy of Dunlop"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alex grits his teeth and hits a serve with all his might as
the camera focuses in on the speed board it registers 57 MPH. The anchors in
the studio are laughing at Alex's serve.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The female anchor speaks, “You really smoked that one in
Alex , looks like you could barely get a speeding ticket on that serve."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty stares at the TV and scratches his head , "
Tennis , I always thought that was a sport for wimps. But hey if they're gonna
pay me 500 bucks to throw a fastball then I'll be a wimp for a day". Lefty
then looks out towards the garage and speaks to the boy reading the comic
book,"Hey Russell what did you do with that old racquet we used to kill
bugs with?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Russell looks up at Lefty and speaks ,"Well actually it
wasn't to kill them it was to trap them to see how they metamorphasize based on
their captive environment taking into account factors such as light,noise,smell
and a diet of Twinkies and Mountain Dew. It proved to be a breakthrough study
.It had serious enviro-political consequ....".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty was losing patience,"The racquet Russell ! Where
is the racquet Mr.BrainCramp?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Russell scratched his chin, “It’s on the bottom left shelf
behind the cannisters containing blue ice from Halloween and The 4th of July.
I’m studying the sugar /fat ratio in the diet of airline passengers during the
peak periods of aberrational food intake."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As Lefty walked away he passed his Mom who was sitting at a
computer .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty spoke, “Mom are you sure Russell wasn't accidentally
left at our doorstep, cause that kid ain't normal he's a freak of
nature"."Mrs.Hilton spoke, “Robert, um ….Lefty, I have five wonderful
beautiful children all unique in their own way. The twins are very intuitive and
always full of energy ,your sister Sarah is a talented singer and dancer, your
brother Russell has a great mind possibly the mind of a future Nobel prizewinner,
and you um Lefty you are fun to be around and could be something someday".
Mrs.Hilton looks up and whispers, “Something dear lord anything".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robby made a face and spoke, “Mom I could be a famous
ballplayer one day. Coach says I've got the arm it's just that I can't seem to
find the plate."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty's mom laughed ,"Your father may he rest in peace
would have wanted you to be a doctor .I would settle for less ."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty shook his head ,"Mom ,the sight of blood gets me
sick to my stomach. Besides Uncle Ted said I was a mutant breed ."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mrs.Hilton smirked, “Oh yea Uncle Ted said that?".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty walked away and waved his hand, “I gotta go find that
old tennis racquet in the garage .There's some contest for hitting a tennis
ball as fast as you can.First prize is 500 bucks and I think I've got a pretty
good shot to win."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mrs.Hilton shook her head,"Rober- ….. uh Lefty you
never picked up a tennis racquet before in your life and you are going to win
the contest". Lefty nodded ,"That's right mom I'm gonna hit that ball
so damn fast it'll break the speed gun .I better go take a few practice swings.
Call me when it's time for dinner ".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mrs.Hilton cleared her throat,"Ahem , you mean I should
ring you when your feast is served master Robert?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you want to eat then I expect the table to
be set in exactly 17 minutes. So run along and practice your tennis cause now
you have only 16 minutes and 54 seconds".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty hustled outside and into the garage. He dug behind the
cannisters labeled Blue Ice.He picked out a Wilson T2000 steel tennis racquet.
He took a few practice swings in the air.He then went to a bin that was full of
different kinds of balls .He grabbed a tennis ball and a super bouncy ball. He
went outside the garage and threw the super ball up in the air and took a
vicious swing and the ball disappeared into the air. Over at the airport a man
was yelling at his wife ,kids and the baggage handler. The man had his mouth
wide open and the super ball flew directly into his mouth and covered the hole.
His kids ,wife and, the baggage handler all laughed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty picked up the tennis ball tossed it in his hands a few
times and took aim at the ball with a vicious serve that went straight through
the garage window .Inside the garage was the sound of stuff getting knocked
over and a cat making a loud screeching meow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As Lefty approached the Harbor Village Park he spotted many
people dressed in tennis wear .It seemed as if everyone was heading towards the
makeshift stadium that was the site of the pro tennis Smashfest and the fast
serve contest .Lefty was dressed in a pair of cutoff jeans and a tank top shirt
with a picture of Bob Marley, the reggae singer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty was holding his T-2000 racquet and singing the
National Anthem .When he finished the song he made the sound of a crowd
cheering and held up his arms.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty then walked up to a desk that read “Fast Serve Contest
Registration”. Lefty looked over a release form that required the signature of
a parent or guardian if under 18.Lefty walked away for a minute and signed the
form with a scribbly signature and then he handed it to a lady at the desk. The
lady quickly glanced over his entry and then looked up at Lefty and spoke,
"Well Mr. Hilton you will have 5 chances to serve into the correct box .
Speed matters but accuracy is more important. If you need a demo racquet they
will be provided courtesy of Dunlop Sporting Goods. Good Luck Mr.Hilton!".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty nodded and said,"Thank You". Lefty heard a
stereo playing the songs from the Jock Jams CD .There was a group of guys from
Lefty's high school tennis team that were standing in a semi-circle with shirts
that read Mead Valley High Muskrats .There was a tennis racquet insignia on
each shirt .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty approached the group of tennis players who were mostly
tall and wiry guys. All the tennis players stared at Lefty with a somewhat
surprised expression. A blonde guy spoke up," Hilton am I seeing a vision
here .I thought you said tennis is only for squeaky voiced sissies.So what's
the deal ?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty laughed and shook his head,"Yea I did say that
but I heard about this fast serve contest and I decided to put aside my pride
and self-respect for the sake of cold hard cash.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know I can serve faster than any of you beanpole geeks.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One guy in the group looked at Lefty with a serious
expression and shook his head ," But there is one problem. Accuracy
!" , he shouted ," I don't think you can get the ball into the box
."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The whole team chanted in unison, “Can’t get it in the
Box!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the Box! Can’t get it in THE
BOX!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty grimaced and spoke up ," Oh that's gotta be
tough. Hitting the ball into a box that's the size of my car .That's a lot
tougher than throwing a baseball over a plate the size of a medium pizza . I
don't think I can handle that”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A curly haired guy mumbled to himself," Tougher than
hitting a batter in the head ".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty looked at him coolly, “What was that you said?".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The curly haired haired guy spoke ," It's uh gonna be
tough facing you head to head".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty walked away and entered the stadium where he showed
his entry form to an usher and was shown a seat in the 5th row of the
contestants seating. The Swanson brothers were hitting against each other on
the court and doing trick shots between the legs and behind the back .Then over
the sound system a deep voice announced, “Welcome to the Harbor Village
Smashfest Fastserve contest .All contestants please enter courtside in an orderly
fashion .Remember five serves per contestant .No racquet throwing or foul
language will be tolerated .Good luck everyone ".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the servers took turns aiming at the service box many
tries were in but very slow or very fast but way out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty approached the baseline and a ball was tossed to him
by a ball girl who was no taller than his waist. Lefty took the ball and
bounced it twice before he tossed it up and took a huge swing at the ball .The
ball flew over the other end of the court and hit a chair that created a domino
effect on all the chairs around it causing them all to be knocked over.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The announcer spoke,"I bet you can't do that again
". Lefty raised his hand in acknowledgement to the announcer . He smiled,
gritted his teeth<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>went into a stretch
baseball windup and took his next serve which was 85 mph and in the box . His
next<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>serve approached the 98mph mark
putting him 12 mph short of the record . On his fourth serve he tried<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with a running start like in volleyball. As
he got up to the baseline to release his serve and jump his foot slid on the
white thick baseline and he sort of slid stomach first towards the net. The
tiny ball girl came over to see if he was okay. He made a strange noise like
one a cartoon character would make when they got hurt. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty stood up with the hand of the tiny ball girl out
stretched to help him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He slowly walked back to the baseline.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then he had a flashback to his Uncle Ted saying,"you
are a mutant breed, a mutant breed."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lefty looked at the
ball and the box and unloaded a serve with a loud scream that was clocked at
127 MPH.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The announcer was half dozing off when he heard Lefty's
scream and the ball sounding like a rocket pass by his ears, "Goddamn!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a Rocket at 122 mph putting Mr.
Booby Lily Hurtgroin in the lead ." Lefty looked over at the announcer and
cleared his throat , "The name is Hilton , Robert LEFTY Hilton ". The
announcer shook his head," I'm gonna call you the Rocket "..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No other contestant could match Lefty's serve especially the
guys on the tennis team at Lefty's school. They all looked on with surprise and
disgust as he was presented the check for 500 dollars and a large trophy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The announcer patted Lefty on the back ,
"Congratulations young man on winning the Harbor Village Smashfest serving
contest .Next weekend you are invited to see Lefty the Rocket serve and play
points against the top professionals in an exhibition before the finals of the
Smashfest pro tournament .That's next <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sunday at 1pm .Lefty the Rocket versus the
pros".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty was looking at the announcer and could not believe
what he was hearing .All the guys on the tennis team at Lefty's school were
laughing at the idea of Lefty playing tennis against the world's best pro's .
Lefty had never played tennis before in his life .As Lefty walked out of the
stadium he was in a daze .He could not fathom playing tennis against pros .He
probably couldn't even play against the guys on the tennis team .Then he
spotted a table that had a big sign that read "ITS" Instant Tennis Skills
.Sign up now and learn how to play in six hours .Lefty grabbed the flyer and
studied it carefully .The guys on the tennis team walked over and looked at the
flyer .The curly haired guy spoke, "That is not going to help you .However
for a small fee I will teach you the basics in 5 lessons ".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty smirked," I'd buy a book on tennis before I
listen to you guys.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At that moment a very attractive woman walked up to the
table and turned to Lefty ,"Can I sign you up for my course honey ,I think
you'll love it ".She winked at Lefty .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty shook his head, "What the hey as long as you are
the teacher I'm in. Too bad my friends here are already expert players
otherwise they could take the class also."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The tennis team guys looked on with envy as Lefty signed up
and laughed with the attractive tennis instructor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty was in bed with the night light on and reading a book.
Every few lines he would pause and make some sort of body movement as if he
were swinging something. Then he reached out with his right hand to point at
the air and then he would swing as if he were throwing a punch .After one of
these punch like moves the book fell to the ground and his swing knocked over
the night light. Lefty fumbled to find the light and when he flipped it back on
a sock was stuck to his head from static cling .He picked up the book titled
"Tennis in a Hurry ". He read two more pages and then fell into a
sound sleep .He started to dream that he was in the stadium of the tennis
tournament on a pitcher’s mound and his whole team was on the field/court. A
batter approached the plate in a tennis skirt and it was the very attractive
woman tennis instructor from the ITS table .Lefty looked at the catcher for his
sign and threw the pitch .The ball came straight at Lefty and hit him in the eyes
.He fell to the ground with a thud .The woman stood over him and shook her head,
“I think this guy needs TRT".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a murmur in the group surrounding Lefty until the
catcher raised his hand, “What is TRT ?".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman smirked, “Tongue resuscitation technique".
With that she started to kiss Lefty who had a big smile on his face .In reality
,Lefty's cat Maxine was kissing him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty woke up and screamed loudly but he could not be heard
by anyone in his house because at that exact moment a jet was flying directly
over the roof of their house .Lefty pushed the cat off the bed and fell back
asleep.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next afternoon Lefty stuffed his books into his backpack
and ran down the steps at school and barely made it onto the crosstown bus that
would take him to his tennis class.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman that signed up Lefty for the class wore a nametag
that read, “Hi my name is Jennifer" and she greeted every person as they
entered the court enclosure. Jennifer also handed every student a racquet
courtesy of Dunlop Sporting Goods.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jennifer then spoke, “Our first lesson is called the high five.
Can anyone give me a high five?”. A short, older woman in her early seventies
reached up to Jennifer who was 8 inches taller and slapped her five .Jennifer
clapped ,"Now using your racquet give the ball a high five ".The
older woman obliged using Jennifer's technique and almost hit Jennifer in the
leg.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After this Jennifer instructed the students to form two
single file lines</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All the students took turns doing the high five technique
.Jennifer kept all the students moving very fast and after 7-8 minutes of this
they were out of breath .All the students took a minute to drink some water
.After this they were introduced to backhand high fives. After doing the same
7-8 minute routine the students need another rest .After the water break
Jennifer introduced the forehand groundstroke by dropping and lightly stroking
the ball. Jennifer emphasized to lightly stroke the ball .Five of the students
achieved their objective. Lefty was not among those five .Lefty's stroke caused
the ball to get jammed into the top of the chain link fence surrounding the court.
This was not bad considering the other two students in the class simultaneously
hit a man drinking out of a brown paper bag on a nearby park bench .The man
raised his fist and yelled out something that was gibberish. The class laughed
and then Jennifer explained to keep the wrist firm, “No spaghetti wrists guys,
keep it firm and stroke lightly in the center of the racquet."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the next try six of eight students including Lefty
succeeded in the drop stroke .The other two shots left the court enclosure. On
the next try all eight shots were placed in the court close to the target that
Jennifer had set up in the middle of the court. Jennifer divided the class into
two lines in the mid-section of the court and gently tossed balls to the student’s
one at a time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Throughout the remainder of the course all the students
gradually gained skills and confidence. They were able to hit the ball back and
forth at a slow speed. Jennifer congratulated all the students on their
progress and invited them to join her to watch the pros play at the Harbor
Village pro tennis event ,"There is a clinic on Sunday at twelve given by
myself and some top touring pros such as the Swanson brothers .You can register
with me today .At one o'clock there is an exhibition featuring the Swanson</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
brothers, and Manny “The Slammer” BamRoni <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a leading senior tour player; and the winner
of the fast serve contest Robert Hilton ".Lefty's face turned beet red and
he coughed loudly .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jennifer looked at Lefty and laughed "Robert , are you
ready to face the pros?”. All the students looked surprised and turned to face
Lefty as his face maintained it's red color. Lefty explained how he was a
baseball pitcher and that enabled him to serve very fast. He asked if anyone
would help him practice for his big match .The elderly women was the first to
volunteer .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty and his new practice partner Ester Choi set up two
practice sessions after Lefty's baseball practice. Ester was a big help to
Lefty because she reminded him of the fundamentals. Lefty was getting nervous
as the big showdown with the pros got closer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ester advised Lefty that he needed a partner who hit a
little harder. Maybe he should call one of the guys on the tennis team. A few
houses down the street from Lefty's house there was a girl who was a serious
tennis player. Lefty remembered seeing her leave the house early every morning
when he went out to get the morning paper. Her name was Ivy Bucca and she would
leave her house wearing a warm-up suit and carrying a tennis racquet bag.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After Ester's advice Lefty stopped by Ivy's house on the way
home .There was no way he would call one of the guys on the school team for
practice .Lefty had his pride ; he also was somewhat attracted to Ivy. A short
stocky man smoking a fat cigar answered the door at Ivy's house. Lefty
stammered and then he got out the words, “Is I-I-Ivy uuuhhhhh<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>HomeSirrrr ?".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man raised his eyebrows and looked Lefty up and down .He
walked out the door and leaned over the step and spit out some cigar juice,
“Step <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>inside Hilton I'll go get my daughter”.
Lefty shook his head, “Thanks Mr.Bucca".Mr.Bucca yelled out ,"Ivy
Iveee you got a visitor”. Ivy was upstairs studying while practicing different
yoga postures. Ivy closed her book and descended the stairs .She looked a
little confused when she saw Lefty. Although they would pass each other in
school and on the street and say hello their conversations never went beyond that.
Lefty explained his situation to Ivy .About entering the contest and the smart
ass guys on the tennis team .About his tennis class and his practice partner
Ester Choi.About his upcoming match against the pros at the Harbor Village
Smashfest .Lefty explained that he needed a practice session with a tougher
player and he thought of Ivy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ivy agreed to do it under one condition .That she could
attend the match and meet with the pros .Lefty agreed to her condition and so
they arranged to practice the next day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty met Ivy at her house the next morning at 6:15 am
.Lefty was half asleep and carrying the racquet given to him at his tennis
class.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ivy led the way to the neighborhood park .Lefty was wearing
his gym shorts and NY Yankees T-shirt . Ivy took six tennis balls out of her
bag and bounced one on her racquet. Lefty walked to one side of the court .Ivy
took the other side and hit the ball to Lefty . Lefty bunted the ball back and
Ivy hit a huge shot that whizzed right by Lefty. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty and Ivy repeated this scenario a few times until Ivy
told Lefty to get his racquet back earlier. Then there was more hitting back
and forth with Ivy dominating the rallies until Ivy abruptly stopped the ball
with her racquet .She suggested that they serve and play points. Ivy hit serves
with heavy spin that gave Lefty much trouble .Lefty hit hard fastball serves
that Ivy blocked back as fast as Lefty hit them. Lefty asked Ivy about her spin
serves and she gave Lefty a few pointers. Lefty added some spin to his serve
and it gave him better control .Ivy looked at her watch and realized it was 8am
and she was hungry .Lefty joined her at the bagel shop and he treated her to breakfast.
As they ate Ivy talked about her tennis career. How she could have played on
the boys team .How she made it to the finals of the state championships. How
she dreamed of playing pro tennis someday. How Lefty had the potential to be a
very good player. Lefty said his dream was to be a pro baseball player .He
asked Ivy if he belonged on the same court with the pros.Ivy said he should
play within himself not get too fancy. Lefty told Ivy about how he wanted his
family to move away from the airport to a quieter place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sunday came faster than Lefty had expected and he slept very
little on Saturday night. During the night Lefty had a dream that a pro tennis
player was facing him across a net .The ball hit by the pro came at him so fast
it turned into a jet airplane and was headed straight at Lefty's head. Lefty
was swinging madly at this ball/jet in his sleep and knocked himself out of bed
onto the floor. When he woke up he was sweating profusely. He fell asleep on
the floor in the fetal position.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The trip to Harbor Village was an interesting one indeed
.Uncle Ted was driving very fast and talking a mile a minute, “I knew you had a
calling nephew .I knew you would have a shot at the big leagues."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty raised his eyebrows, “It’s just an exhibition Uncle.
After today its back to being Lefty Hilton, last string pitcher for the Mead
Valley Muskrats" .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ted shook his head ,"Lefty it's just like hittin' big in
Vegas. You can take your winnings, drink your complimentary drink and hide out
in your little safe world out there in Airportville hell or you can parlay it
into a bigger payoff ."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What in the hell are you talking about ", Lefty
shouted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"College my boy, college scholarship for hitting a
little fuzzy ball a four year free ride ", Uncle Ted put out his hands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty smiled and shook his head," You are deranged, Is
your metal plate picking up signals from that spy satellite again? I can't play
college tennis .I could barely beat Ester Choi and she's pushin’ eighty years
old ."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ted sighed,"just leave it to me boy I'll take care of
the whole deal as long as you don't screw up out there today."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty started fake crying to himself .When they arrived at
the tournament site. Lefty passed Ivy and called her by the wrong name ……Monica.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
" Monica ,ahem it's Ivy ! .Earth to Lefty do you read
me? A little nervous are we about the big match ?" Ivy spoke
sarcastically.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty gave her a frantic <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>look ," No I'm a little worried that my
Uncle Ted doesn't do something totally freaky and somehow hook me into one of
his bizarre schemes. But nervous about the match? Hell no! .I'm about to
play<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a sport I only took up a few days
ago in front of hundreds of people with three guys who earn millions of dollars
a year playing professionally. Nervous? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you kidding me? I'm cool as a cucumber
cool as a freakin' cucumber ....that's been sittin’ in a batch of bitter
vinegar and lactic acid fermenting into one of the most sour pickles that ever
made contact with your taste buds. I’m a wreck a nervous bloody wreck !"
He put his head in between his hands as he leaned over and his waste.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ivy looked Lefty up and down and shook her head and walked
away laughing as hard as she could and mumbled to herself, “Now he knows how I
feel before every match I play."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty walked into the tournament office to report for his
match .People were shooting by him in every direction .Phones were ringing and
fax machines were humming. Lefty stood in one spot for five minutes with his
mouth wide open and his left index finger extended as if to make a point of
getting somebody's attention but it was not going to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>work . Lefty then cleared his throat and
cupped his hands together on either side of his mouth and started to shout,"My
name is Lefty Hilton .I was invited to play an exhibition match with three pros
today on the stadium court at one o'clock if anyone in this office can help I
would appreciate it otherwise continue doing your jobs and I will just stand
here wasting away until I am carted off by the building's security
personnel."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All faces in the office had turned to stare at Lefty. Some
people had their mouths wide open in amazement at this boy shouting at them
.After Lefty ended his verbal spew everyone resumed what they were doing except
one young man who emerged from behind a stack of folders he was carrying in
both hands. “So you're Lefty Hilton ,the Rocket .I'm Mitch Carroll , player
liason.I am here to help you get through the day with smooth sailing. First
stop is the locker room to meet the players and pick up some clothes, shoes,
and racquets that have been provided for you courtesy of some of our sponsors
.Then it's on to the training room where a pre match stretch routine conducted
by our tour trainer Bill Green .Then it's onto the court for a short press
conference and warm-up .Then as you know it's match time .Any last requests
before you are thrown into the world of professional tennis for the next few
hours ?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty nodded stumbled backwards and hurled into the closest
trash can he could find and without missing a beat looked up at Mitch and spoke
cheerfully, “Buddy you know where I can get a bagel or something. A piece of
bread maybe or a cracker that would be really nice right about now.Y'know it
would be really very helpful to me ".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty then remembered his promise to Ivy ." I promised
my friend that she could meet the pros .Her name is Ivy Bucca."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mitch nodded ,"Ivy Bucca she's a good local player .
Sure no problem ."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty was impressed that Mitch knew who Ivy was.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mitch and Lefty walked into the lockerroom and found an
empty locker for Lefty to use.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From a room off to the side of the lockers a man was
screaming .Lefty had a look of serious concern on his face and motioned to
Mitch that maybe he should go to see if the man nee</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mitch laughed , " Don't worry that's “The Slammer”
BamRoni getting physical therapy on his shoulder.He feels like screaming helps
to release the pain . "</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After Lefty had his racquets together in his new bag he went
to the snack table and found some fig newton’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and a can of Canada Dry Ginger Ale .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The trainer walked over and introduced himself to Lefty. “My
name is Joe Green and I am here to help you improve your flexibility ."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first stretch involved touching the toes .Lefty was very
stiff and his hands went no further than his knees.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After fifteen minutes of going through a routine of
different stretches Lefty was very relaxed and ran in place very fast and beat
his chest like a gorilla .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mitch then rejoined Lefty and brought him into the stadium
where the audience was sparse and showed Lefty to his chair . Lefty spotted Ivy
and motioned for her to come down to the court .Mitch then introduced Lefty and
Ivy to the Swanson brothers and Manny<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>BamRoni . Ivy was flirting with Cooke<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Swanson and The Slammer was giving Lefty a few tips on where to stand
and what to do .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The announcer on the P.A. stystem introduced the four
players to the small but growing crowd .The pros received scattered applause
but when the announcer introduced Lefty the audience went wild .As the players
took to the court ball boys and girls handed balls to Lefty and the three
pros.Lefty was so nervous that on his first shot he hit a cameraman in the head
.Lefty then noticed that TV reporter Alex Andrews was on the court and heading
for the umpire's chair .Alex climbed up into the chair and tested the
microphone .Alex then brought all players up to the chair introduced himself
and shook hands with each player.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty and Manny <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>won
the toss and elected to serve . Manny served the first game and the Swanson
brothers played to Lefty as if they were taking it easy on him .Murray hit a
high ball to Lefty that he swung at and missed but Manny right behind Lefty and
smacked the ball for a winner. Eventually it was Lefty's turn to serve and he
he did some circular motions with his arm as if it were an airplane propeller.
Gorton Swanson was standing on the other side of the net not really paying
attention when Lefty tossed the ball up and unloaded a serve that was headed
straight at Gorton’s groin .Before Gorton had a chance to react the ball hit
him squarely in the his groin and he had a look of shock on his face and he
fell to the ground groaning .The other players converged on Gorton to check on
his condition . Joe Green ,the tour trainer appeared with an ice pack and helped
Gorton into a chair . It appeared as if the match was over when Lefty looked
over at Ivy and motioned her to the court .Lefty suggested that Ivy fill in as
a replacement for Gorton who was obviously incapacitated.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ivy was introduced to the crowd and the match restarted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ivy was ecstatic that she was playing on the court with the
touring pros .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty was relaxed because Ivy was playing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Manny was a real showman and could be compared to a tennis
version of a Harlem Globetrotter .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the crowd Uncle Ted was talking to a coach at Central
Coast University about Lefty's skills as an athlete and potential as a member
of a team at Central Coast University.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cooke and Ivy pulled out the victory in a close tiebreaker .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the match Uncle Ted rushed courtside holding a piece
of paper in his hand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The paper was a date for meeting with the baseball coach at Central
Coast to discuss scholarship possibilities. Lefty laughed as he took the paper
from Uncle Ted ."You're a piece of work uncle ." Ted shook his head
and spoke," Oh by the way Lefty I think I worked a deal to get me and the
family to go with you to Central Coast .It seems as if you're brother Russell
is like a damn genius or somethin' and they want to recruit him for their
physics department ."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty could not believe what he was hearing .He managed to
get a baseball scholarship but he would be entering college as a freshman along with his
twelve year old brother.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty started ranting and raving to everyone in sight about
Russell being his classmate. He had a daydream of coming back to his dorm room
after a date and having Russell scold his date for keeping him out late.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty let out a loud scream that was heard by everyone in
the Harbor Village area. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Heads turned all around at the sound of the scream but this
was quickly muffled out by the sound of a large rocket that was launched from
the back of Lefty's house by Russell .The rocket headed straight toward the
Harbor and as the rocket descended to Earth a parachute opened and the
parachute blanketed Lefty who was still ranting and raving about Russell .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uncle Ted shouted out ,"Lefty shut up boy for one second.
The University is going to help find your mom a job and a house down there.
Russell won't be your roommate. Alright so just chill out . On the other hand
the coach did mention he may be your tutor in chemistry and physics
."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lefty let a loud scream ,"Tutor.....that obnoxious
squirt hah I'll show them."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uncle Ted grabbed a tennis ball and shoved it into Lefty's
mouth and smiled as he heard a jet flying overhead and saw an object<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>heading towards them he shouted ,"
Incoming".</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Uncle Ted dropped to the ground and muttered to
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-39239008822406109512014-01-02T11:04:00.001-08:002014-01-31T12:40:50.847-08:00Shaps, Fredo, and our Baseball family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7ZEGb-pxEv8/UsWxiUqvXXI/AAAAAAAAAiw/MmUCeBNZMAk/s1600/Grandpa+Roy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7ZEGb-pxEv8/UsWxiUqvXXI/AAAAAAAAAiw/MmUCeBNZMAk/s1600/Grandpa+Roy.jpg" /></a></div>
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"You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood,
... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame ..."<br />
It is truly a long way and I have hit a million tennis balls and a few thousand baseballs since leaving Columbus, Ohio in 1983. Also started a family with a great woman that led me back to Ohio.<br />
During
my time at The Ohio State University I was a member of Sigma Alpha Mu
fraternity. My maternal grandfather Roy founded the chapter in 1920 I
believe.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MBeu2DsgAMM/UsWxLYnjgrI/AAAAAAAAAiU/IyA3R87ttgc/s1600/Sammy+House+in+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MBeu2DsgAMM/UsWxLYnjgrI/AAAAAAAAAiU/IyA3R87ttgc/s200/Sammy+House+in+2011.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my son Matt at Sammy house in 2011</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0IOTnMoWm54/UsWxHYYK3RI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/y7V9lzQmvbE/s1600/Sammies+with+Ana+Ganz+1982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0IOTnMoWm54/UsWxHYYK3RI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/y7V9lzQmvbE/s200/Sammies+with+Ana+Ganz+1982.jpg" height="143" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sammies with Ana Ganz our housemother</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Gary Shapiro is on far left</td></tr>
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During my time at OSU I also
worked as a page at the Ohio Senate for Stanley Aronoff who at the time
was the Majority Whip in the Senate. He later became Senate President.<br />
I lived in a vacuum between school, fraternity and the Senate. Then I got a girlfriend and that was basically all that was in my world.<br />
I had played tennis in high school but it took a back seat at OSU as did the other sports that I used to play.<br />
Especially baseball. Which currently is one of my top 2 sports to focus on every day.<br />
Little known to me was that one of the younger members of my fraternity was quite an accomplished baseball player.<br />
Gary Shapiro was two years younger than me.<br />
I was friendly with the younger guys but by my Junior year I was living outside the house and only at social events and not in the frat on a daily basis. Gary starred at Gahanna High School and made the OSU squad as a walk on.<br />
During the time after I moved out of Ohio was when Gary had become sick and within a few years had died from cancer. I didn't know this until I noticed a picture of him on Facebook and a caption that listed him as deceased. That was where the story paused until my family moved to Columbus, Ohio in 2013.<br />
My son had joined the Ron Golden Baseball Academy in the fall and his instructor was a very well respected local coach named Mick Shapiro from Bexley, Ohio the town where we live.<br />
After about four or five weeks Mick mentioned that he was in a fraternity when he played baseball at the University of Cincinnati. It was the same one he said that his brother had joined at OSU.<br />
Eventually we pieced together that Gary was his older brother. All the Shapiro boys were baseball players. Including brother Rick who also lives in Bexley. We also all share a love for the New York Yankees.<br />
The Columbus Clippers were their AAA team for many years. Their dad Bob was a Yankee fan before they lived in Columbus when the family was in Chicago. <br />
Mick has said to me since discovering our connection that Gary was one of the most talented ball players that he had ever seen.<br />
Some might say that a younger brother sees an older sibling as infallable. Some might say because Gary passed away that Mick is being sentimental.<br />
If you know Mick one of the first things that you will realize is that he is a very positive person. You will also know that he is brutally honest and has a keen eye for baseball talent. He could have been an MLB scout.<br />
Gary had the five tools.<br />
Cancer took those away.<br />
I always see that in sports we are part of a bigger family.<br />
In the tennis world sometimes we may disagree but we look to the sport collectively to better ourselves and enrich our lives.<br />
The same can be said for baseball.<br />
The sport is so much a part of our national culture.<br />
It defines us as a country and gives many of us hope that tomorrow, next week, next year we may emerge from a blustery winter as champions.<br />
One hundred and sixty two games start as a little leaguer on a T-ball field somewhere in America. <br />
We spend hours on a field and in a batting cage to hone our craft.<br />
I am lucky to have re-connected with the Shapiro family and see where this baseball journey will take us together. <br />
My only regret is that Gary is not with us.<br />
But when we take the field or hit the cage he is there in spirit and we will honor him with every swing.<br />
Every throw. Every win...... and even every loss.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p3-I1H8PDKw/UsWxYbwHfwI/AAAAAAAAAio/B4delk-0Bo4/s1600/Evan+Rossio+and+Gary+Shapiro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p3-I1H8PDKw/UsWxYbwHfwI/AAAAAAAAAio/B4delk-0Bo4/s320/Evan+Rossio+and+Gary+Shapiro.jpg" height="225" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evan Rossio with Gary Shapiro at OSU</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">with Matt at 2009 World Series Game 6</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-13860353804892725632013-09-12T09:00:00.013-07:002021-03-20T16:40:28.825-07:00My first Field of Dreams is a tennis court<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SioMS6u5fZI/AAAAAAAAAC0/b5jJajrsl8I/s1600-h/west+side+tennis.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344097426971655570" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SioMS6u5fZI/AAAAAAAAAC0/b5jJajrsl8I/s320/west+side+tennis.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 241px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a>In a perfect world I'd be serving at match point in the finals during the fifth set at Roland Garros. <div>Or standing on the mound at Yankee Stadium getting ready to to throw the final pitch to record the last out in Game 7 of the World Series.</div><div>But in reality I never reached those heights.</div><div>Yet I still got to live my dream and follow my own path in life on and off of the field and courts.</div><div>Life changed for me in July 2008.</div><div>Everything it is said happens for a reason.</div><div>I truly believe that to be true.</div><div>Even though it felt awful for the days, weeks, months and years after an accident took me away from the those courts and fields.</div><div>By the time it was a couple of years I started to understand that the time spent being home with my family every day was a blessing.</div><div>Guess it was unlucky that that I suffered these injuries but now I feel lucky that I survived and became the director of Camp Dad as I called it at the time.</div><div><div>Never really thought that the last tennis tournament I would ever compete in would take place at the site of a Grand Slam event.</div><div>Honestly, I always took it for granted that tennis would be there front and center for me as a coach and as a senior tournament player.</div><div>Until something is gone we don't realize how much it is missed.</div><div>Especially when it is such a big part of your daily routine.</div><div> It took a great group of doctors at the Hospital for Special Surgery (HSS) to put me back together with shoulder, wrist and neck surgeries and three years plus of physical therapy.<br />
Now my life as a tennis player is known as before and after July 20th, 2008.<br />
That was the date of the accident that made me realize how lucky I am to
play the great sport of tennis......or for what it is worth... to be alive.<div>Being away from the sport that was also my job as a teaching pro tested me in many ways.</div><div>Physically it was a challenge to recover from the multiple surgeries. This took hundreds of hours of PT rehab in addition to being in the gym nearly every day to get back some strength and mobility.</div><div>Many hours spent in the pool walking, swimming and jogging to increase stamina.</div><div>But honestly the biggest challenge was mentally being away from the sport. </div><div>It took a few years before I could even watch tennis on television.</div><div>During this time I immersed myself in watching baseball because our son started to play that sport and it wasn't a constant reminder of what had been taken away by the accident.</div><div>
In June of 2012 I was finally able to step back onto a tennis court and compete in an event for the first time in nearly four years.<br />
I consider that as the start of my bucket list of things to do post July 20th, 2008.<br />
First was to play in the New Jersey State Men's Championships at the Arlington Players Club on the red clay one more time. My opponent was nearly thirty years my junior and a former #1 player at Ramapo College.<br />
The fact that I was able to get four games as a 51 year old against a 24 year old opponent that was ranked 11th in the USTA-Eastern section gave me great satisfaction and soreness throughout my entire body from head to toe.<br />
Then it was on to the US Open National Playoffs and a chance to compete for a spot in the US Open qualifying rounds.<br />
In my way was Zach Jonas who had attended my Champions Tennis Academy camp 8 years before at the New Rochelle Tennis Club in Westchester County, NY.<br />
Zach was the smallest kid that summer and the Zach that I faced in 2012 was double his size and hitting with a considerably greater amount of power and spin.<br />
It was a physical struggle to get one game. I finally realized that to win a game let alone a point I was going to have to stand on or inside the baseline and take balls on the rise and go toe to toe with the 18 year old Zach.<br />
In the end the 2 games that I won were a victory.<br />
During the match I actually was running so hard that I sprained my left foot.<br />
After witnessing Derek Jeter's 2013 injury issues I can definitely relate to his setbacks.<br />
Considering that in 2009 a doctor told me that I would never hit a tennis ball again a sprained foot is a minor issue.<br />
So July 20th, 2008 was in my rear view mirror a bit.<br />
Tennis was my first love.<br />Before girls.<div>Before baseball, pizza, beer, movies and lobster.<br />
In 2008 I had seen a couple of movies about older guys making comebacks in their respective sports and this motivated me to get back in shape for tournament play .<br />
My love for the sport of tennis goes beyond winning matches.<br />
I love the training, I love the sights, sounds and smells when I am on or around a tennis court.<br />
I first hit a tennis ball as an innocent six year old boy on a clay court in Cincinnati,Ohio in 1967.</div><div>As a boy I dreamed of standing on Court Philippe Chatrier and competing on the beautiful crushed red brick for the world clay court title.<br />
In 1988 while playing on the satellite tennis circuit I was lucky enough to visit Roland Garros when I picked up my French Federation classification card to compete in French money events.<br />
I walked over with my tennis buddy Steve Cantor to check out Court Chatrier as it is now known. </div><div>Then I held my breath and imagined the feeling of being out there sliding, slicing and hitting heavy topspin with that days best players.<br />
As we walked back to the Metro station I had a visual image of returning to compete at Roland Garros to motivate me in all my practice sessions while in Paris at The University Club and Luxembourg Gardens.<br />
When I returned to New York with renewed confidence I won two USTA-Eastern Men's Open events on red clay. </div><div>Sutton East Tennis wasn'y Paris but it still felt very good to be the last man standing at two straight events on the red dirt.</div><div>
Before moving to New York City I viewed the US Open at Forest Hills like some sort of fairy tale place.</div><div>In 1975 I sat glued to a chair in my buddy Matt Bloomfield's house while Jimmy Connors battled his way to the finals at Forest Hills on the green Har-Tru clay after they switched from grass in 1975.</div><div> Only to lose to the Spanish clay master Manuel Orantes.<br />
I never really imagined that I would stand on let alone play a match on the famed Stadium court at The West Side Tennis Club in New York City.<br />
It was the second round of The N.Y.State Men's Clay Championships.</div><div>My partner was a local teaching pro that I beat up on in sparring sessions at The Midtown Tennis Club in New York City. We faced a formidable tandem in Chris Garner and Howard Endelman. Garner had been an All American at Georgia and turned pro the year before with wins over Rafter, Kafelnikov and Todd Martin. Endelman was a top 200 ATP Tour doubles specialist.<br />
The one game we did win was on my serve where I literally had to scratch ,claw and fight for every point.Over the next twenty years I competed on the grass courts at The West Side Tennis Club 7 or 8 times and loved every second of every match.</div><div>Grass was not the easiest surface to play on but in the same way my brother looks for a challenge by going to a remote spot on the globe be it Mount Everest or Papua New Guinea.</div><div>Grass is my New Guinea (minus living in mud huts and avoiding headhunters).</div><div>Especially when you have to adapt your game to the nuances of tennis' original surface. Low or no bouncing balls.<br />
Getting into a permanent squatting position works your core in ways you cannot imagine.</div><div>Try doing that for a week or two!<br />
As you warm up for a match and gaze out at the Stadium that held many legendary epic matches on one side and the beautiful main building on the other you can get weak at the knees and there were moments when I would look over in disbelief .<br />
So in the summer of 2008 I entered a series of events in addition to competing on my USTA men's league team .<br />
The first two events were against college opponents that were around 25-30 years younger than myself . After not playing in a tournament for 3-4 years it felt great to be in the mix . Hitting the ball cleanly, grinding out points and feeling the fatigue in my lungs and legs .<br />
My third event was on the fabled grass at West Side . I arrived early for my match to take in the surroundings and ready myself for my match.</div><div>A junior player that I knew Grant Wagman warmed me up for what would be my final match.<br />
It felt great to be on the grass again after a few years away .<br />
My friend Lloyd Emanuel had run an event at West Side for many years and then a few years back (unfortunately for Eastern tennis) the tournament was cancelled.<br />
My opponent had never competed on grass but was a good 15 years younger than me and it seemed a much better ball striker .His lack of grass court experience helped me gain an early lead of 5-2 in the first set until he figured out the unique grass bounce .<br />
After that the battle ensued for the first set. It was ended in a tiebreaker which I lost and then he won the second set and the match .After it was over I looked across to the main building and turned to look at the Stadium and felt a bit of sadness that I would have to wait until next year to compete on the turf at West Side again .<br />
That was June 24th and less than one month later my life as a tennis player would end for what seemed like a lifetime.<br />
I never did get to hit a tennis ball at Roland Garros ....... only in my dreams.<br />
But I will always have the memories of the special moments I spent at West Side etched in my mind .<br />
Memories of the soft blades of grass ,the majestic beauty of it's Tudor clubhouse and the stadium where some of my sport's greatest matches have taken place.<br />
Next week I will return to The West Side Tennis Club in Forest Hills to compete at the USTA 40 and over championships.<br />
So I get to check one more line off my bucket list.<br />
It would be great to think that I have the physical prowess to compete for the title but....after July 20th, 2008 I feel blessed just to hit on the grass courts one more time.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F2zlfd4h4AE/YE5fwiU3-sI/AAAAAAAAF2U/-sd9oGRTaAAowD5zVFcY_62MGe7ymPNlwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/image1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F2zlfd4h4AE/YE5fwiU3-sI/AAAAAAAAF2U/-sd9oGRTaAAowD5zVFcY_62MGe7ymPNlwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/image1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Press clipping from the NY Daily News after winning the Prince USTA/Eastern event on red clay in January 1989. In February I defended the title by winning the second event at Sutton East on the red clay. Not Roland Garros exactly but had a good win over a higher ranked player Edmond Plass in the semifinals in straight sets 7-6, 7-6.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kZkl13Ezvvw/YE5ftXtGE3I/AAAAAAAAF2Q/WGeEc650pNEPYEMHY9JKCDwBXbHP3ue3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/image0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="678" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kZkl13Ezvvw/YE5ftXtGE3I/AAAAAAAAF2Q/WGeEc650pNEPYEMHY9JKCDwBXbHP3ue3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/image0.jpeg" /></a></div>With Zach Jonas at the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center/ US Open National Playoffs in 2012<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: left;">From USTA/Eastern Website:</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"Fred Weiland, 51, of Mamaroneck, N.Y., was a former tennis pro in Port Chester, N.Y., and was injured in an accident four years ago. His doctors told him that he may never play tennis again, but he was determined to return to the courts. Through training and practice, he has healed and decided that the US Open National Playoffs was the best way to get back to his love for tennis; this event was Weiland’s second tournament since the accident.<br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Coincidently, in the first round, Weiland faced 18-year-old Zachary Jonas, of New Rochelle, N.Y. During the match, Weiland felt that Jonas looked like someone who had attended his New Rochelle camp years ago. The two opponents soon realized that they indeed had a history. For Jonas, the match brought back great memories of playing in that camp. And for Weiland, it brought him a sense of pride to see a young player that he once taught play so well years later.<br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">In the end, Jonas defeated his former coach 6-0, 6-2, but both found happiness in finding each other and Weiland was satisfied returning to the game against someone he helped along the way."</div><br /></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-59914196310976619422012-01-26T09:11:00.000-08:002014-01-01T16:22:06.882-08:00My road back to Baseball<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2009 Hat Day</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="161" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-roJLCkxZj70/TyF7VXyWXnI/AAAAAAAAAX0/fsvXJfXX_c4/s200/Mattsfirsttriptotheshow.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad threw out the first pitch at my kids first trip to "The Show" in Cincy</td></tr>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0V7rb3x-ORk/TyF7wCvgVnI/AAAAAAAAAX8/IQwxynBrCqg/s1600/0402091425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0V7rb3x-ORk/TyF7wCvgVnI/AAAAAAAAAX8/IQwxynBrCqg/s200/0402091425.jpg" width="200" />New Yankee Stadium first practice with Mike Aronstein</a></div>
Ever since I was introduced to the great sport of baseball by my dad and brother I have loved to be a part of everything surrounding the game. <br />
When I was younger though my dad and I came to the mutual decision that focusing on tennis would be my best path to athletic success. So at the age of nine or ten I gave up on my dreams to one day pitch for the Big Red Machine. <br />
I never regretted moving away from baseball towards tennis.When I reached the finals of the Cincinnati boys city championships in 1973 I knew that decision was the right one. <br />
Having spent nearly all of my adult life playing, coaching, and living my tennis dream. Getting to travel through the United States, Europe and the Caribbean would not have been possible without all the time spent on a tennis court. Through my years as a tennis pro I have played in over fifty <br />
Pro-Am's. Some have been non-competitive events where we the pros rotate partners after a few games or a set. Some have have been knock down dragged out battles for prize money for the pros and big prizes for the amateurs.<br />
In 1985 I played in my first pro-am event in Mount Kisco, New York. I was living in New York City and playing as many tournaments as I could on the USTA satellite tour as well as the USTA-Eastern men's circuit. I was lucky enough to be paired with the number one ranked over fifty senior player in the USTA for the pro-am. We cruised through the two day event and I got my first paycheck as a player.<br />
It was two hundred bucks. For the next twenty three years there were many tennis matches that kept me chasing after rankings and some dollars. During this time I also spent many hours on the tennis court as a coach which kept me in shape and ready to pursue a dream that I had abandoned as a young boy.<br />
My son son began playing baseball when he was three or four. While I was spending hours on the tennis court and working six days a week my kid was at our house pounding wiffle balls out of the pitching machines that he had received as birthday presents from his friends and family,<br />
Then his sister and babysitter would take turns pitching batting practice to him where he would slam the wiffle ball over their head into our neighbor Grace's yard or into the street and careening down the hill of our cul-de-sac.<br />
On my one day off I was usually too tired to take him outside to play catch, hit tennis balls or any type of sport. I took him to a playground where I would usually sit on a bench and recuperate my sore muscles from six straight days of chasing down tennis balls.<br />
When my son got started in tee ball I noticed that he had pretty good hand eye coordination and he really loved the baseball experience. So I began to find time to play catch with him. I used a glove we had purchased for my daughter for softball. <br />
A few times in 2008 I even took him to a cage and pitched to him. It was during this time that I bought a package for the Yankees for their last year at the old stadium. My kids were both Mets fans so I also bought a package for them to Shea Stadium before the move to Citifield.<br />
My wife called it " My sentimental journey through baseball history". <br />
It was a great experience to attend many games during that spring,summer and fall in both stadiums even though my loyalty was to the Pinstripes and still the Reds.<br />
My son had his eight birthday on the date of a Yankees-Orioles game and twice during the game his name flashed across the scoreboard at Yankee Stadium. I'm not sure if that was the night he decided to become a Yankee fan but that's the story I tell everyone I know.<br />
It was more likely that after the Mets collapsed at the end of 2008 for the second year in a row and failed to get to the postseason that my boy gave up on his team's chances at returning to avenge their 2006 ALCS loss. He had gotten tickets to the NL Division Series if the Mets made it in that year.<br />
The last day of the season they had a chance to make the playoffs with a win.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Yankee Stadium first practice</td></tr>
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The next day he became one hundred percent Yankee blue. Just look at his room now with it's Yankee blue walls and Yankee Fathead decals.<br />
As 2009 rolled around we along with many people were extremely excited about the new baseball palaces in New York.<br />
With both my kids and my friend Mike we attended the Yankees first practice. A few days earlier my son and me had sat in the rain at Citifield to watch Georgetown play St. John's in it's inaugural game.<br />
I had subsequently retired from tennis so there was plenty of free time on my hands to play catch with my son and catch up on all the things I had missed in my kids lives since my daughter was born.<br />
I even got to help coach in little league that season. We got a package at Yankee Stadium to attend eleven games. During that spring I started throwing a baseball more than I had done in the previous forty years combined.Once would have been more since I never had picked a baseball up since I was a kid. When my son got selected by his teammates to the All-Star game I got to coach the team. Over the next year we played catch many times and I pitched batting practice as well. <br />
We got to see a few post season games and were in the Bronx to witness the Yankees win their twenty seventh title. First time witnessing in person a team that I supported winning a championship<br />
was pretty amazing.<br />
I had been to some World Series games in Cincinnati but the Reds won their titles on the road and when they lost in 1972 to the A's I did see in person the agony of defeat in losing a Game 7.<br />
As a tennis player I have lost 3 city championship finals, two state team championships and a match that decided who would be ranked number one in the USTA-Eastern section im my age category.<br />
Not a great feeling ending up on the short end but I play for love of the sport and the results are a product of that passion to compete.<br />
The New York Giants win in the 2008 Super Bowl inspired me to always fight hard and never give up on your dreams as it had come at the tail end of my dad's seventy eight day stay in the ICU and hospital step down facilities that nearly took him from us. The Giants were road warriors that year. My dad was our warrior as he bravely fought back against Myasthenia Gravis.<br />
The Yankees were warriors of the walk off pie in your face win in 2009. They always battled and never gave up. Even during their tough losses there was much to learn from them.<br />
In 2010 my son joined a travel team and baseball moved front and center into our daily lives. We still spent some time in the Bronx watching "our Yankees" but since his travel team played all year long it required more time spent practicing the skills to become an elite player and it limited our focus on the Yankees and more onto his baseball.<br />
His team won two titles that season and he had begun working with a local pro player that coached him on his hitting, fielding and pitching skills.<br />
Chris Vasami was arguably the best baseball player to ever come out of Westchester County. He attended Notre Dame after being named as on of the top fifty national prospects in his senior year at Mamaroneck High School in 2004. He had transferred to Elon University where he was All-Conference. He was surely on his way to big things in Major League Baseball. He could hit a baseball over four hundred fifty feet. He had a fastball in the mid-90s and he also spent time as a catcher. Chris got drafted by the Colorado Rockies in the 39th round and settled into their farm system where he was used primarily as a catcher.<br />
During his time with the Rockies (4 seasons) he put up some good numbers as a hitter but in 2009 during spring training he was hit in the hand by a pitch. His season was over and upon his return to the team in 2010 he was released since they had filled his slot in his year away from the game.<br />
He never gave up on his dreams and was now pitching in the Independent League for the Newark Bears. The manager of the Bears is Tim Raines who may one day very soon be enshrined in Cooperstown. Also coaching him is Ron Karkovice who spent twelve seasons in the Bigs as a catcher.<br />
My son and I immediately bonded with Chris. Chris is young enough to be my own son but after spending time talking with him it became apparent that he has knowledge and maturity well beyond his years. My son and Chris have spent many hours crafting his swing. Improving his fielding and throwing skills as well. It was during these sessions with Chris and his pursuit of his goal to get to <br />
"the Show" that I started to wonder what it must feel like to be on the field in a pro baseball game.<br />
I love being a fan and spending time at Yankee Stadium but I wanted to experience the game as a player. <br />
In 2011 we got to witness our friend Chris pitch many games for the Newark Bears. The Bears were at one time the Yankees minor league team. After each game we would talk or text and discuss how the game went that day. <br />
For my son to see his coach standing on the mound in a professional game inspired him to work harder than he ever had to improve his skills so that maybe one day he would be the guy out on that mound. Over the summer we changed our usual practice routine. We would normally go to the batting cage where I would just pitch to him. He would hit great in practice and in a game he had days when he would get one or two hits and other days no hits. I guess that's the norm in baseball. But as a tennis player it has always seemed hard to understand how not hitting the ball every time and still being considered successful is accepted.<br />
I had competed against guys that served in the 120-130 mph range and beaten them so hitting a <br />
95 mph fastball didn't seem that fast. Let alone a little leaguer throwing it in the 50 mph range.<br />
How ignorant can one person really be?<br />
Pretty darn ignorant is what I was!<br />
On rainy days we used to go under this big bridge in our town where they have paved areas and some practice walls next to a park that has four tennis courts. There are two areas for practicing. One has tennis backboards and the other side has a mini track for kids to run or skateboard.<br />
We chose the track side and on one wall we noticed that someone had painted an outline of a person on the wall that had a rectangular box for a strike zone. So someone had obviously played baseball under there before. About fifty feet away was the other wall so I found a spot that would serve as a pitching rubber about four feet from the wall. We decided that instead of doing batting practice that we would play a simulated game. We would each get two innings at bat. There were five panels on our side of the bridge. If the ball hit the ceiling it was a foul ball. If you hit a ground ball and it reached the middle three panels before being fielded by the pitcher it was a single. If it was hit as a line drive and it hit the bottom half of the wall on the fly it was a double. If it hit the top half of the wall it was a triple and if that triple rolled back and hit the wall closest to the batter then it was a home run and dad was going to have to add some money to his son's allowance that week. I had not swung a bat in quite some time and I hit righty and also experimented as a lefty hitter similar to my two handed backhand in tennis.<br />
Righty or lefty I was hitting with little if any authority. I shortened my swing and started making better contact but my kid was hitting very well and when he got into a game for his little league and travel team his average went way up. I experimented with different grips as a pitcher and different arm angles. I practiced pitching out of the stretch and the windup. My son's pitching control improved also and he got into some games for his team as their closer. In one game he only had to throw one pitch to end the game. In another he got them out of a jam with two runners on base. It wasn't always perfect. One game he walked the first three guys after the coach of the other team told his players not to swing until they got a strike. After seven or eight fastballs that missed he threw a strike. He was frustrated because he felt that he let his team down. His team was winning 11-3 so not wanting to give the other team a chance a new pitcher was inserted and he threw slow perfect strikes that the other team's boys watched pass by them at the plate not knowing when to swing. Their coach had made them so scared to swing and make a mistake that they all froze up. By the way that team was in last place and never won a game the entire season. <br />
The coach had them practicing three or four days a week and doing intensive drills and the kids had stopped coming to practice. Baseball is supposed to be fun. I guess when your coach doesn't realize that and only focuses on winning not fun then it's time to check out mentally.<br />
So over the course of 2011 our games under the bridge continued and I really felt like I wanted to play baseball. Sometimes when I was sitting in my seats at Yankee Stadium I would cheer for the boys in pinstripes and say to myself, " self.... I want to be out there doing that. Be on that mound."<br />
So as summer turned to fall and started edging towards winter my son's travel team once again won their league championship in mid-November. It was two weeks after the World Series ended and I was a bit sad that baseball was officially over until the spring. Well at least games were over. There was still my son's team workouts and those with his coach. But our time under the bridge was over until spring. As Rogers Hornsby said, "People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring."<br />
I didn't want to have to stare out that window.<br />
I had been told by my friend Mike that on his fortieth birthday in 1990 that his wife had given him a great birthday present. A week at the New York Yankees Fantasy Camp. One of his coaches was his favorite player Mickey Mantle. He spent a week hanging out with Ol' number 7. <br />
I heard how he hit a ball all the way to the wall in deep center field and Mickey winked at him as he cruised into second base and said, " Nice hit kid". Pretty cool!<br />
I had spoken to two or three guys from back home in Cincinnati that had gone to the Reds Fantasy Camp. One guy goes back every year and also pitches on a team for players fifty and over in Ohio.<br />
A Yankees beat reporter that I follow on Twitter was attending the November Yankees Fantasy Camp and giving updates. It sounded like a great experience. Aside from him talking about the long line of players that had to see the trainers for an assortment of injuries that middle aged men not accustomed to sprinting ninety yards and throwing from deep in the outfield to hit a cutoff man or diving at shortstop to keep a ball from getting through the gap into center.<br />
So I emailed the camp director Julie to see if spots were available to get me into a Yankees uniform for my shot at playing in " The Show".<br />
Julie replied that a few spots were still left and so I registered online for my big league dream.<br />
If it were only so easy for my friend Chris Vasami. But he may one day wear an actual MLB uniform. I can only pretend. So I filled out my forms for registration and indicated that I wanted to be number 54. My son's number and also the number of the great Hall of Famer Yankee <br />
Goose Gossage.<br />
So I started training the week before Thanksgiving for my journey to Tampa. I went to hit off a batting tee every other day as a righty and as a lefty. Fifty swings on each side. Some days more.<br />
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I took a bag of balls spread them out along a fence and did a running drill where I would sprint to a ball stop turn and fire it into the soft toss net about forty to fifty feet away.<br />
I stood on the bullpen mound at our high school where the boys team had won back to back state championships in 2008 and 2009. I set up a tee at home plate at my sons suggestion and placed a ball on the tee. I trudged back to the mound sixty feet and six inches way and took my bag of fifty baseballs and took aim at the ball on the tee. At first that sixty feet seemed like a mile. Especially since the distance we played at under the bridge was forty six feet which is the Little League distance. We had always done long toss throwing of one hundred to one hundred fifty feet. But being precise from sixty feet ain't no picnic in the park.<br />
I experimented with different grips and arm angles. I practiced pitching out of the stretch and windup.<br />
One day I asked my son to bat with me pitching from the mound on the actual field and had him put on his catching gear and get used to seeing a catcher behind the plate.I was usually ready for a nap after most of these workouts.<br />
I was able to knock the ball off the tee a few times and hit my son's glove with good accuracy.<br />
Oh by the way I forgot to mention that his allowance got bigger in those weeks where he went on the field with me to pursue my dream. He even yelled at me like a real coach as he threw me ground balls and pop ups, he told me if I missed a ball I had to do push ups or run a lap. <br />
People running on the track surrounding the field must have laughed as they saw an eleven year old barking out commands to his middle aged student.<br />
On the weekends when I went to the high school field to hit into the soft toss net off the tee I always saw a local kid in the batting cage that had been drafted by the Yankees in the fourth round of the 2011 draft. For the last couple years we had gone to the cage at the high school and had seen this boy and his dad spend hours doing hitting drills. We always said hello and watched with awe as he hit with incredible precision and power. He looked like every second in the cage with his dad was fun.<br />
He was living his dream. He had turned down a full scholarship at Fordham to play for the Yankees organization. I'm sure getting a good signing bonus helped convince him to play baseball. <br />
He was also probably wondering why a middle aged guy was there hitting off a tee on a cold fall afternoon.<br />
I was thinking that live pitching and hitting off a tee were not the same so I started going to the indoor cage two times a week and realized I had some work to do. I usually hit 160 balls from the pitching machines. Eighty pitches lefty and eighty righty.Starting at 50 mph and then moving to 65mph. My hands hurt pretty bad on the 65mph but eventually as my hands got tougher they hurt less. <br />
I also went to the gym with a new purpose. Increasing core strength was my goal. Swimming helped my upper body core. I started playing squash which is mostly short sprints, lunges and squats that helped my legs and fast twitch muscles react better. It is a great cardio-respiratory workout as well.<br />
I know some MLB pitchers that like C.aptain C.runch cereal that might benefit from playing this game.<br />
No names though (see above initials).<br />
I found this balance board thing in the gym that I used for thirty minutes every other day while drinking a cup of coffee. Then added some light dumbbell weights while on the board and simulated a pitching motion. Or a batting stance. As my week in Tampa approached I felt extremely excited and felt as if I had done everything in my power to prepare for the Big Leagues.<br />
Then I said goodbye to my family and packed my bags for my trip to George M. Steinbrenner Field and the Yankees complex. <br />
With my goals set as 1. being to be able to get a batter out as a pitcher and 2.to get a hit into the outfield and 3. to stay out of the trainer's room the entire week I set out on my journey to "The Show".<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TbEr983UmTk/TyF9jDlqkaI/AAAAAAAAAYk/_l0gW-TBjQ4/s1600/1009091740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">Freddy Sez<img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TbEr983UmTk/TyF9jDlqkaI/AAAAAAAAAYk/_l0gW-TBjQ4/s200/1009091740.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lDF1EymjIv8/TyF80_EdnOI/AAAAAAAAAYU/2IjtC614VDc/s1600/1101091442.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">My wife in the cage<img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lDF1EymjIv8/TyF80_EdnOI/AAAAAAAAAYU/2IjtC614VDc/s200/1101091442.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c7HrYgU6gzY/TyF8pD6SHkI/AAAAAAAAAYM/AQVczXt3tH4/s1600/0829092154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">Some of my first tennis trophies<img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c7HrYgU6gzY/TyF8pD6SHkI/AAAAAAAAAYM/AQVczXt3tH4/s200/0829092154.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AsVRUvhU7uM/TyF7D1BjL5I/AAAAAAAAAXs/LFQxWE0EJaY/s1600/Matts+first+TSC+game+2010+at+Randalls+Island.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AsVRUvhU7uM/TyF7D1BjL5I/AAAAAAAAAXs/LFQxWE0EJaY/s200/Matts+first+TSC+game+2010+at+Randalls+Island.jpg" width="200" />My son's first travel game</a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W3IJT2y4HoQ/TyGHX98YXtI/AAAAAAAAAZU/DtqqsCXIZ14/s1600/squash+with+Jannito.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W3IJT2y4HoQ/TyGHX98YXtI/AAAAAAAAAZU/DtqqsCXIZ14/s200/squash+with+Jannito.JPG" width="200" />Jannito,my squash partner</a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HOS9j8xYpxY/TyGG3q0zoYI/AAAAAAAAAZM/R1lf7LYJZfo/s1600/Matt+Duran+and+Matt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">Matt Duran and my son<img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HOS9j8xYpxY/TyGG3q0zoYI/AAAAAAAAAZM/R1lf7LYJZfo/s320/Matt+Duran+and+Matt.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_B3uL1N1ECs/TyGIaXVRHMI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/kBYplhXXX5c/s1600/2009+World+Series+game+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_B3uL1N1ECs/TyGIaXVRHMI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/kBYplhXXX5c/s200/2009+World+Series+game+6.jpg" width="200" />Game 6 2009 World Series</a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-idDjVLCKnmo/TyGISMK_tGI/AAAAAAAAAZs/TLdGGK26YFA/s1600/Grandma+Grandpa+Weiland.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-idDjVLCKnmo/TyGISMK_tGI/AAAAAAAAAZs/TLdGGK26YFA/s200/Grandma+Grandpa+Weiland.png" width="158" />My Grandpa playing baseball with Grandma Dorothy</a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YoQV_7iHzk0/TyGIE9h0SeI/AAAAAAAAAZk/dcnF02npxVM/s1600/chris-vasami+newark+bears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">Chris Vasami<img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YoQV_7iHzk0/TyGIE9h0SeI/AAAAAAAAAZk/dcnF02npxVM/s320/chris-vasami+newark+bears.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FnJz1Rx5VL4/TyIKElZzvsI/AAAAAAAAAaM/OMH5Ife7Hac/s1600/0125001149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FnJz1Rx5VL4/TyIKElZzvsI/AAAAAAAAAaM/OMH5Ife7Hac/s200/0125001149.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KFx6E5jBkNs/TyIKQDmNBYI/AAAAAAAAAaU/p1om_IxIbPA/s1600/matt+and+buddy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">My son having a catch with Yankees reliever Buddy Carlisle<img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KFx6E5jBkNs/TyIKQDmNBYI/AAAAAAAAAaU/p1om_IxIbPA/s320/matt+and+buddy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DKv-pE8F2yQ/TyQryHiB7YI/AAAAAAAAAac/sVQWW1yMXhE/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">My daughter on the field at a Reds game in Cincy<img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DKv-pE8F2yQ/TyQryHiB7YI/AAAAAAAAAac/sVQWW1yMXhE/s320/photo+(1).JPG" width="238" /></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-62573641829810854502011-05-21T20:58:00.000-07:002011-05-21T20:58:25.557-07:00<a href="http://savethechildren.org/">savethechildren.org</a> Save The Children<br />
<a href="http://wish.org/">wish.org</a> Make A Wish Foundation<br />
<a href="http://rmhc.org/">rmhc.org</a> Ronald Mcdonald HouseUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-12582419676417422732010-12-09T22:48:00.000-08:002011-05-24T09:09:24.198-07:00Our time together as Champions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TQHMfUNP0VI/AAAAAAAAAUk/sLuLAxnaFAw/s1600/1978+whhs+tennis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TQHMfUNP0VI/AAAAAAAAAUk/sLuLAxnaFAw/s200/1978+whhs+tennis.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1978 Returning Varsity players</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TQHMUqpD7gI/AAAAAAAAAUg/UwPgJsU773g/s1600/whhs+letter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TQHMUqpD7gI/AAAAAAAAAUg/UwPgJsU773g/s200/whhs+letter.jpg" width="200" /></a>It was in the spring of 2010 I think when I got the very bad news that my high school friend and teammate<br />
Craig Kurtz had died . All the memories of our youth together rushed through me in that moment.Craig was with my brother and me in 1989 when I celebrated my engagement to my wife.<br />
We drank Champagne and laughed and over the next twenty years maybe we spoke one other time.<br />
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</tbody></table>Craig always made me laugh and reminded me to never take myself too seriously.There were times that we didn't see eye to eye.<br />
That's to be expected.But we always were able to move forward.<br />
Craig made me a better athlete and tennis player.We pushed each other pretty hard on the tennis court and sometimes off of it over the years.<br />
It had been 31 years since we celebrated our graduation from Walnut Hills High School and the culmination of four years as Greater Cincinnati and Southwestern Ohio's best high school team in our sport.Our varsity squad had gone to the final four at the Ohio Boys State Team event four straight years. Craig and the other four year letter winner in our grade Dan Katz had been with me every step of the way.<br />
I reflected over the next few days on how lucky I had been to be a tennis player and part of a team that had been so special.Every year our coach would predict a state championship for our team.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City Champions 1976-79</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Most tennis people in Cincinnati didn't even pick us as favorites to win our hometown title.<br />
It seemed on paper that our crosstown rival Princeton High School was the better team.They also had a large indoor tennis facility directly across from their campus where they could have easy access to free walk on junior court time.They had private coaches.They were like the Yankees and we were a bunch of ragtags,misfits and ne'er do wells!<br />
But every season the boys from Walnut would figure out a way to win our big showdown at their tennis complex.One year there was even a parent from the other school that was so enraged that we won that he challenged one of our players to a fist fight. Good times good times.We all laughed at the outburst and were aware how parents can ruin the sports experience for their kids very easily.<br />
We at Walnut were not exactly the model for a successful high school championship caliber team.<br />
The fact that our coach knew nothing about tennis totally worked to our advantage.We always looked at our time on the tennis court as fun with our friends.We never felt obligated to play tennis.Obviously we wanted to win as badly as the next guy.When we were on the court we practiced with intensity and still enjoyed the experience.<br />
Coach Moore and later Coach Cowit understood that tennis is an individual sport but we had to come together as a team for the common goal of winning at least 3 matches against the other school.<br />
Since many of us on the team spent a considerable amount of time off the court together we really knew every one's inner workings and what made each guy tick.<br />
I have been married almost twenty one years and my wife knows very well why and how I do what I do. <br />
By our senior year of 1979 there were quite a few guys that could read me as well as my wife can today.<br />
In the spring of 2010 one of those guys was taken away from my life. <br />
We learn so much about our character through sports.Winning,losing,highs and lows.The great expectations of glory.The crush of humiliating defeat. The joy of playing and competing against ourselves as much as others.<br />
In the years 1976 to 1979 there was one thing that we will always have to remember our time together.....<br />
.........."We Were Champions"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-89740006883605256912010-10-14T21:49:00.000-07:002014-01-01T16:16:54.427-08:00Richard A.(Dick) Weiland(aka Dad) taught me to love baseball<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad threw out the first pitch on kids first trip to the "Show"</td></tr>
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I had a dream last week of Pedro Martinez standing on a towering mound throwing an inside pitch at my body and as I backed away so as not to get struck by the pitch my bat swatted at the ball and I hit it over the fence in my parents back yard and into the cemetery.I went over the fence to get the ball back and some ghosts from the graveyard chased me all the way back to my door and I screamed for my mommy!<br />
Then I woke up and my heart was beating like a drum and I lay still for a very long time and remembered it was the morning of my fiftieth birthday. and then I fell back asleep .....relieved that it was only a dream. <br />
If I ever make it to a cornfield in Iowa in the afterlife then maybe I would get to take on Martinez and go yard on him without getting chased away by a spirit then again maybe not.<br />
But in the present tense....<br />
"Oh Lord give me the strength to get through extra innings ............. or a three set tennis match that could last for over four hours".<br />
I have made that statement many times in my life.<br />
When I was a little boy I wanted to be a Cincinnati Redleg.<br />
My dad took us to plenty of games at Crosley Field and Riverfront Stadium where we witnessed the metamorphosis of some guys into a unit collectively known as the Big Red Machine.<br />
You do not spend time around my dad, Dick Weiland and remain clueless about the game of baseball.<br />
To my dad baseball is more than a game.It is a religion.Maybe not as holy as an actual organized religion but nevertheless it was presented to us as a sacred ritual.The "us" I mention being my brother Dave and my sister Jeanne.<br />
We were inundated with stats,strategies,scouting reports.<br />
Analysis of every move made by the manager and front office were presented to us many times and the afternoon Cincinnati Post was picked apart for news on dad's beloved Reds.<br />
So through osmosis my brother Dave (now a Giants fan),my sister Jeanne(still a Reds fan) and myself (now a Yankee fan) gained a great amount of insight into the inner workings of the game.I also remember that many of those games we sat on the third base side.Sometimes in left field but rarely if ever on first or in right field.<br />
My dad is a lefty is my only thought on this one.<br />
Dad had pitched in college at Williams and was an acquaintance of fellow Williams student and sports fanatic<br />
George Steinbrenner.They had a mutual friend named Pete Smythe.<br />
I really believe like many sportsmen my dad would have loved to own a baseball team.<br />
He chose real estate,law,lobbying and has all along followed baseball with that same fervor.<br />
I have heard that he has on occasion spoken to the management of his favorite team to suggest player moves or trades but I will not go as far as confirming whether or not this is true.<br />
After I moved away from Ohio I lost that voice in my ear.<br />
"Go the distance"? "If you build it he will come"? "Ease his pain"? ......Nope not that voice.<br />
My voice said," follow your passion in life and find something you really love because you are going to do it every day".It was my dad's voice.<br />
The voice spoke wisely and I did follow my dream.But things do change in life.By choice sometimes and other times by circumstance.<br />
It's really not how hard you can hit.It's how hard you can get hit then get up and keep going at it .....<br />
going forward.<br />
So here it began in March of 2008.It was spring training in Florida and my seven year old son and I were off to our first ever experience that was setting the stage for a memorable year of baseball when both New York teams were ending their runs at their old stadiums and rebuilding new temples for future generations of baseball worshipers.<br />
My son and daughter at the time liked both teams in New York (even though I was edging them towards the Yankees) and I took it upon myself to allow them to see as much baseball as my busy work schedule would allow.I bought partial packages to both the Yankees and Mets with one of the games at Shea being a "Subway Series" .<br />
So our "Journey of Sentimentality " as my wife called it had begun.One of the games was scheduled on my son's eighth birthday in the Bronx and I had arranged to have his name on the scoreboard two times during the game.<br />
Our seats for both stadiums were on the left side.Yankee Stadium at third base. Shea between third and left field foul pole.Dad's influence has rubbed off apparently.<br />
Every visit to games in the Bronx or Queens was like turning a page to a book that you really did not want to finish.<br />
So many things that I connected to had happened at both of these buildings.<br />
Pete Rose fighting the Mets in 1973 at Shea.Seeing the Reds on television as they swept the Yankees in 1976 to win back to back titles.Moving to New York and witnessing the Mets unlikely comeback against Boston in 1986 at Shea Stadium. Seeing Ohio native Paul O'Neill. a champion with the Reds in 1990 move to New York and win multiple titles as a Yankee.Cincinnatian David Justice become a World Champion in Yankee pinstripes. Don Zimmer, the bench coach for the Joe Torre Yankees was a Cincinnati guy.There is a feeling of pride when someone from my hometown or from Ohio makes it under the the bright lights of New York City.<br />
Hey, I'm a simple midwest boy tryin' to make it in the big city.<br />
In 2001 after the 9/11 attacks I witnessed along with the rest of America as our President bravely walked across the field as we held our breath and prayed for his safety with snipers on the rooftops protecting him as he threw out the ceremonial first pitch in the World Series.Baseball helped to ease America's pain even if only for a few hours.<br />
It sounds so damn simplistic that a game could help to heal our souls.<br />
The Yankees lost in the 2001 Series and we as Yankee fans were heartbroken by the loss.<br />
But it was only baseball after all.........just a game.<br />
Our friends,family,neighbors and fellow New Yorkers and Americans had suffered an unspeakable tragedy a month before and this Series brought us together as a nation. Baseball was the safe haven of my youth on the sandlot fields in Ohio......actually it was a yard or an empty lot.<br />
To me and my friends it was Crosley Field or Riverfront or any place where the big league Reds shined<br />
This is where I wanted to spend my free time in 2008.Honoring these memories with my family on my <br />
"Sentimental Journey".<br />
We went to Shea to witness the final "Subway Series" game of 2008 where my kids proceeded along with the many Mets fans in attendance to drown out the cheers of Yankee fans myself included.<br />
The series always brings out an amazing mixing of families and friends that have sworn allegiance to their separate teams but can remain mostly civil. Unlike when the Yankees play Boston or the Mets play the Phillies.Those can be bitter contests although compared to soccer(football) hooligans nothing compares.<br />
The Yankees ended up losing the game but both of my kids on that day especially my son swore their allegiance to the Bronx Bombers.<br />
It became obvious as September arrived that both teams would have a limited chance to make the playoffs.<br />
So we bid farewell to both Stadiums and looked forward to renewal in 2009.<br />
All along I talked to my dad about his Reds and their revival.<br />
My dad inspired me to share some special moments with my kids to pass on his knowledge and passion for the game.<br />
Last year I was lucky enough to take my kids to both new baseball venues in New York.<br />
My son and I were even able to witness the Yankees in some playoff games culminating in a Game 6 victory in the World Series.<br />
It was a defining moment for both of us.Seeing your team fight through a tough year and win it all in front of your eyes is beyond any words.<br />
When my high school tennis team won four consecutive Cincinnati and Ohio sectional championships on our way to the state championships it was pretty damn close.I wish my daughter was there as well but her dedication to her field hockey games prevented her from witnessing the playoffs in 2009.<br />
Her team went undefeated last year and it didn't seem right to miss a game or practice to go see another team play a game(even if it is the Yankees) and I also promised her that in 2010 she would see the Yankees first game if they made the playoffs.<br />
Last week we witnessed Game 3 of the 2010 division series against the Minnesota Twins as the Yankees swept with a 6-1 victory.It was a special night.<br />
The next night I watched on television as the Reds got swept by the Phillies.I really felt empathy for my dad as well as all those friends and family in Ohio.<br />
They waited fifteen years for a playoff game and then got whipped by the perennial kings of the National League jungle (pre SF Giants) the Phillies.<br />
I still feel bad and haven't called him yet.<br />
Dad has invested a lifetime of passion and enthusiastic energy in his Redlegs.I am sure it stings a bit.<br />
That old familiar refrain "wait til' next year"comes to mind.<br />
Cubs fans know what I am talking about.<br />
So as my team embarks on their next step towards postseason glory I hope I will not utter that previously mentioned refrain.<br />
But as my wise ninety year old coach Bob Ryland would say,"Fred.... tennis or in this case Baseball is like life.Just when you think you got something it can vanish in a split second.Never,ever take anything or anyone for granted." Believe me Bob these days I don't. Life like baseball is too precious. <br />
So to my dad Richard A.(Dick) Weiland<br />
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Thank you for everything you have given to me.Thank you for your time, your wisdom and<br />
best wishes next year for your Cincinnati Reds.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandpa Fred loved baseball too</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-28344111867149360442010-07-27T08:33:00.000-07:002011-12-08T05:56:12.205-08:001973....Red Powell,Billy Magnus and the Oneida County Mad Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TE30hC8WbsI/AAAAAAAAARw/QxA1ZQde76c/s1600/camp+golden+eagle+brochure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TE30hC8WbsI/AAAAAAAAARw/QxA1ZQde76c/s200/camp+golden+eagle+brochure.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>As a young boy I got shipped off for three summers along with my older brother Dave who went for many summers more than me to northern Wisconsin to Red Powell's Camp Golden Eagle in Woodruff.I had been a frequent visitor there as a young boy since I was four.So when my time came to follow in Dave's footsteps to camp it was a pretty big deal for me.<br />
My good friend Josh Harkavy spent the first two summers with me at Golden Eagle and we shared a love for tennis and basically anything that involved sports.In our second year we were paired with a new kid who was from our hometown and the new kid and I got off to a rocky start when I came in our room and discovered that someone had taken my candy off my bed and eaten it.I don't need to explain the value of candy to a young boy of eleven.I<strike></strike> might have "accidentally" dropped his guitar on the ground and we had to be separated by the other campers and staff.Eventually the other boy Billy Magnus and I ironed out our differences and became fast friends.He was a great athlete and had a sense of adventure that carried me along on some journeys that I can alternately laugh,shake my head and wince at how things could have gone from bad to worse. <br />
When looking back I now realize that some things that we do in our younger years defy logic and directly put us in harms way.<br />
As a parent I hope my kids exhibit better decision making and don't sneak away from camp to go to A&W for root beer and burgers.Or sneak out of Hebrew school at Rockdale Temple in Cincinnati and turn off the electric everlasting Holy light (we may burn for that one).Or decide to drink whiskey and lemonade in the back of their brother's car before camp lunch.Or smoke a cigar after camp lunch. My friend always had some very unique ideas about how we could make the days more exciting.<br />
Many times I did not go along with his plans especially if they interfered with my tennis or a couple other sports.But there is one particular moment that will always stand out in my mind when I remember Billy.<br />
It involved incredible bravery,absolute lack of fear and excuse the expression here folks: BIG BALLS.<br />
It was a rainy stormy Sunday night at camp .A counselor arrived to tell our large group in Cabin number ten which held about fifteen boys ages twelve and thirteen that it was reported on a local radio station that a prisoner had escaped from the Oneida County lock up and was spotted in a neighboring town.<br />
We as a group fired off many questions and were told to stay inside and keep our flashlights next to us at all times and go to the bathroom in groups.We were obviously flipping out.Ten to fifteen minutes passed and the counselor gave us another update.The inmate was spotted on the main highway near our camp.It was at this point that I went into my trunk and grabbed the large six inch pocket knife that I had bought at an Army-Navy store in Cincinnati the week before camp.I held the knife in my hands as I sat in stunned fear along with my fellow campers and my bunk mate for the second straight year Billy.As we sat there discussing our safety,our last few moments alive ,our fears of dying without knowing the company of a good woman a gruesome face pressed up against our window and we all screamed as loud as a whistle at a factory at quitting time.<br />
Billy reached over and without any warning grabbed the blade from my hand and headed out the back door of our cabin to confront and possibly hunt the escaped mad man.The rest of our cabin sat stunned as Billy bolted after the poor schmuck he was chasing.Imagine the fear of the counselor dressed in a Halloween mask that had attempted to scare the ever loving piss out of some young tween kids and instead encountered one with the crazed bravado of a Marine raiding the beaches at Normandy.Billy could run like the wind so I can only imagine the other guy whose life was in danger must have sprinted away as if he were running through a<br />
haunted cemetery at midnight.<br />
Billy came back with the knife a few minutes later and had not caught his prey however he had earned the respect,admiration and loyalty of his fellow campers.<br />
Over the years I occasionally ran into Billy on my visits to Cincinnati.<br />
A few years back he passed away and I felt like part of my childhood had died along with him.<br />
I never had the chance to tell him how much I admired him for his bravery,his sense of humor,his athleticism.<br />
He made me push the envelope on and off the athletic fields.He made me realize that it's okay to take chances and fail as long as you can learn from the failures and in the long run this has helped make me a better person.<br />
I also think of him and laugh as I see him running out that door scaring the crap out of the counselor at Camp Golden Eagle.......Thanks Billy and rest in peace.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TE31Dx-IF3I/AAAAAAAAASA/B5kOuh0MAUc/s1600/camp+cge+shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TE31Dx-IF3I/AAAAAAAAASA/B5kOuh0MAUc/s200/camp+cge+shirt.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TE30sQXWEeI/AAAAAAAAAR4/90P7AlYIDpM/s1600/golden+eagle+trophies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TE30sQXWEeI/AAAAAAAAAR4/90P7AlYIDpM/s200/golden+eagle+trophies.jpg" width="200" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-48407341116628316672010-07-15T10:35:00.000-07:002012-10-17T09:24:35.492-07:00Travels with MomIn October of 2003 my mom died and it was her desire to give myself and my brother and sister each four urns that we could take on our next four vacations and scatter the ashes.<br />
When all was said and done we were each given one urn by Weil's Funeral Home in Cincinnati in a very fancy pink cloth box with Chinese lettering and drawings.The remaining ashes were scattered in the gardens at Weil's.<br />
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As I left Cincinnati with my family I packed away mom's urn in my luggage and thus began the journey of my mom and the dilemma of where to put my portion of my mom's remains for all eternity. I took mom on our first family trip to Miami in February of 2004.I contemplated spreading mom's ashes on Collins Avenue where we had gone as kids on winter break.Maybe even outside Rascal House deli where we went for legendary over sized sandwiches .Or the tennis courts at Haulover Park where we as a family spent our afternoons with our friends the Browns.<br />
Nope.I wasn't feeling the connection in Miami.Sorry mom.<br />
Then that summer we went to the Chesapeake Bay .Mom took the trip and I pondered the right spot to empty the urn but as much as mom would have enjoyed the salt air and beauty of the area it wasn't a place that felt special to me for the purpose of my mom and "eternity".<br />
Eventually I thought that maybe I would be driving down the street and a light bulb would go off in my head and I would grab mom's urn open it up and spread the ashes and it would make me feel as if I had done my part to help my mom rest in peace as in the movie "Stealing Home" with Mark Harmon and Jodie Foster.Mark Harmon carries the urn everywhere until he realizes the perfect spot is a pier on the Jersey shore where Jodie Foster's character had spoke about fondly.<br />
<br />
So I took her urn and stuck it in the back of my already overstuffed SUV.Between the tennis rackets,shirts,shorts and other assorted stuff that I am known for hoarding in my car I placed mom and we set about on our journey.Mom went skiing in the Poconos,she went to the Bahamas.I decided that since we both loved the Bahamas that that would be the place where she would end up.I opened up the case and took out the urn and attempted to open it up......The damn thing was sealed shut! I consulted an urn expert who told me that some funeral homes seal the urns.Should I break open mom's ashes?We went to Italy and France. Then finally I thought I had figured out the perfect spot.On the mantel at our ski condo in the Pocono Mountains.Mom would have a mountain view.Mom would have peace and quiet.Solitude.For the last five years mom had found her resting spot behind our fireplace.<br />
Then last week as I ventured out to the condo on the way to Williamsport to drop off my son off at baseball camp at Little League International I opened the door and the heat from the hottest week ever in the Northeast made wish we had some A/C pronto.As I went to open up a few windows and put on a fan I glanced over at the fireplace that we would not be needing on this balmy weekend.<br />
I caught a glimpse of the case with the urn.I walked over and put it next to my overnight bag.<br />
Now it is back where the journey began in the back of my car.<br />
Although I am not sure if mom will make every trip with me I know that she will always be there with me and my family in spirit.She was an adventurer and was not meant to be stuck on a mantel and then blend in with the scenery.I am sure that some people will say that I have to let go and move on.<br />
Everyone has their own way of dealing with a loss. It's not a tennis match or a baseball game.<br />
It's my mom.So our travels will continue and someday I may find that special place that mom really loved more than anywhere else.<br />
Or maybe she just loved going to a lot of places with her family in tow and we will take her with us?<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TD9NUmjFkZI/AAAAAAAAARg/-5eF8aAQ0f8/s1600/dave+and+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TD9NUmjFkZI/AAAAAAAAARg/-5eF8aAQ0f8/s200/dave+and+mom.jpg" width="119" /></a></div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TD9LV3QoyhI/AAAAAAAAARI/wJl0zruZPQ0/s1600/DCP_0739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TD9LV3QoyhI/AAAAAAAAARI/wJl0zruZPQ0/s200/DCP_0739.JPG" width="200" /></a>(left photo is mom with my bro Dave)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-74487973934826051732010-06-14T21:32:00.001-07:002023-02-16T17:53:14.475-08:00Lessons learned from "Swooping Hawk" a.k.a. Dad ....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBb6k7VKBpI/AAAAAAAAAPw/Slh00n6kvGk/s1600/weiland_E2.0.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBb6k7VKBpI/AAAAAAAAAPw/Slh00n6kvGk/s200/weiland_E2.0.jpg" width="188" /></a></div><span _msthash="243425" _mstmutation="1" _msttexthash="8264716291"><span _istranslated="1" _msthash="11230206" _mstmutation="1" _msttexthash="11505949" style="font-size: large;">I am sitting at my computer working on a USTA Boys 18 L1+ singles tennis event in October 2007 that is taking place later in the week when I get....... the call</span>. <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">My sister sounds distraught. Our dad Dick Weiland is at 78 years old a bundle of nonstop energy. Dad works 7 days a week and sleeps about 4-5 hours per night. He is a well-known lobbyist in Cincinnati, Ohio.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Dad had been involved in a car accident late in the summer of 2007 that was bad enough that he needed a hip replacement. Dad like most old school guys of his generation never really complains about being in pain because it is not their nature to do so.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">My sister informs me that a few days ago dad had taken a fall while on the steps of the Capitol building in Columbus, Ohio.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">She had wanted him to see a doctor to get checked out.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">After persistent prodding from my sister and my cousin Dr. Mike who was my dad's doctor, he will seek some further medical advice.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">He is not doing well. After being admitted to the hospital he starts going downhill rapidly and with a high fever and infection and as well as some respiratory complications Dr. Mike pushes to get him in the ICU.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">That is when I get.... the call. Dad is in bad shape.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Dad is on life support and may not make it through the weekend.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">I go to work and speak to my bosses Dale and Angela.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">They both tell me to drop everything and get back to Ohio. Leaving the tournament in the hands of my co-workers Dave and Lars I book my trip for the next morning. It is hard to imagine a world without my dad.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">My Mom passed away almost exactly four years to the day before dad is admitted to the hospital. Upon landing at the Cincinnati Airport (actually in Kentucky) I head straight to Christ Hospital. My brother is also on his way from California.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Dad is alert although can't speak since he is on life support and breathing with help of a machine. But he scribbles stuff on pieces of paper and although most stuff is not legible his mind is still working, and I learn my first lesson from him. One he has taught me many times.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Even when you are in the worst possible situation in life don't dwell on your misfortune...... keep moving forward..... always..... keep moving forward.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Then out of the blue a Hasidic Orthodox rabbi walks into the room making his rounds of the Orthodox Jewish patients in the hospital. He walks in and we exchange pleasantries, and he inquires about dad's Hebrew name. The three of us a have no idea what his Hebrew name might be. We ask dad but he does not respond. The rabbi asks if we are Jewish.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">We ignore his rude comment, and he leaves. Then dad scribbles on the paper. We try to decipher the note. It looks like Swooping Hawk?</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Then he scribbles again. His camp name at Camp Kawaga in </span><br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Woodruff, Wisconsin in the 1940s.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">The three of us erupt in laughter. Dad smiles. I have just learned lesson number two.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Keep your sense of humor..... even when the worst possible thing in the world is happening to you. Try to keep smiling.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Over the course of the next 48 hours I see my Dad fight for his life in an ICU room and when it is time for me to fly back to New York I know that he is going to win the battle.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Dad has always taught me that actions speak louder than words. Some people talk the talk but Dad walks the walk. He looks me directly in the eye when I tell him that I love him and I know the feeling is reciprocated as it is for my brother and sister. On my next visit to see him a few weeks later Dad has been moved out of ICU and his room is plastered with cards,flowers,pictures and letters. One is from the President of the United States. After speaking to many of his close friends I am beginning to realize that Dad is fighting so hard to get better because he is a man on a mission. He has lived his life to help other people. He is not about wealth or fame . He is about fighting for what he believes in. He is not about feeling the need to be liked by everyone.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Swooping Hawk makes it out of the hospital after 78 long days.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">A long time ago Camp Kawaga gave a kid from Ohio a native American name and from this grown-up kid I have gotten my final lesson.</span> <br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Never ever give up. Always fight for what you believe is right. Being the best you can be in life is all you can really do and........ try to smile. </span><br _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" /> <span _istranslated="1" _mstmutation="1" style="font-size: large;">Dad,Dicky,Richard...... thanks for being you and for being a great Dad.</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBcB12kc-qI/AAAAAAAAAQI/KuOWCz4LFc0/s1600/kissing+dad.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBcB12kc-qI/AAAAAAAAAQI/KuOWCz4LFc0/w320-h203/kissing+dad.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBcCOTENF-I/AAAAAAAAAQQ/JbtkGxq3Bnk/s1600/dadwith+3kids2007.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBcCOTENF-I/AAAAAAAAAQQ/JbtkGxq3Bnk/w320-h213/dadwith+3kids2007.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBeH4vAN1HI/AAAAAAAAAQY/grry9fYLQgA/s1600/3+weiland+kids.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBeH4vAN1HI/AAAAAAAAAQY/grry9fYLQgA/w320-h256/3+weiland+kids.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBeMD0HzOKI/AAAAAAAAAQw/sU91hICQcIA/s1600/dad+and+gwb.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBeMD0HzOKI/AAAAAAAAAQw/sU91hICQcIA/w320-h240/dad+and+gwb.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBeLbTD0nmI/AAAAAAAAAQo/V4z41gyUi-w/s1600/dad+with+bush+senior.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TBeLbTD0nmI/AAAAAAAAAQo/V4z41gyUi-w/w320-h213/dad+with+bush+senior.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-24945114279925657912010-04-27T08:03:00.000-07:002011-12-08T06:24:56.401-08:00The SS Weiland and a 3 hour tour to the old ballgame<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zBj3VP4tNwk/TuDIaXwFWGI/AAAAAAAAAXk/qWKLg2OvLhY/s1600/Olivia%252CFred+and+Mick+the+Quick+Rivers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zBj3VP4tNwk/TuDIaXwFWGI/AAAAAAAAAXk/qWKLg2OvLhY/s200/Olivia%252CFred+and+Mick+the+Quick+Rivers.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zNKYrqoBZI0/TuDIS03DFdI/AAAAAAAAAXc/csrgJlqY6iE/s1600/US+Open+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zNKYrqoBZI0/TuDIS03DFdI/AAAAAAAAAXc/csrgJlqY6iE/s200/US+Open+2011.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TAUk8iutlFI/AAAAAAAAAPg/DaseQlADPzs/s1600/Yankees+first+practice2009April.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/TAUk8iutlFI/AAAAAAAAAPg/DaseQlADPzs/s200/Yankees+first+practice2009April.jpg" width="151" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/S9b9LGeAPPI/AAAAAAAAAOg/GHMrFyW1wiw/s1600/scan0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/S9b9LGeAPPI/AAAAAAAAAOg/GHMrFyW1wiw/s200/scan0001.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Since the days I began attending sporting events as a kid one thing that I have noticed is the large amount of time spent not actually 100 percent focused on the event. Be it hoops,tennis,hockey,baseball,football,field hockey,soccer,softball and the list goes on.There is one common denominator at every sporting event I have attended......ME! So I say to all those people looking to possibly accompany me to a prospective game. WHY? Is the game that important? Remember here folks that going to the ballpark will require you to sit and talk to ME for three long hours.Think again.Sit at home watch six episodes of Seinfeld or Everybody Loves Raymond and imagine me sitting next to you..Me in your ear.Me regaling you with tales of my past glories.Me eating Cracker Jacks and drinking Diet Coke with no ice. Me reaching for the Purell bottle over and over.Me taking pictures of you that may end up on Facebook or be sent somewhere into cyberspace.Get the picture yet? I am a lot to handle for three hours.Not counting the ride to and from the stadium! I would think twice before I accepted an offer from ME. God bless my wife for sticking with me for over twenty years plus the dating year and a half.That is a long game! We are in like the third or fourth inning of our marriage. It may go into extra innings if I am lucky.<br />
But getting back to the day to day.As I sit here and ponder my next outing to a game I think there may have to be a criteria list that I come up with for you to follow.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--aXL8bIiUaA/TuDEubwyROI/AAAAAAAAAW8/nktSjYhkqa4/s1600/1104091808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--aXL8bIiUaA/TuDEubwyROI/AAAAAAAAAW8/nktSjYhkqa4/s200/1104091808.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vj3TTUubAW0/TuDDebd6MkI/AAAAAAAAAWs/LBzW5_Um6Z0/s1600/0406081553.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vj3TTUubAW0/TuDDebd6MkI/AAAAAAAAAWs/LBzW5_Um6Z0/s200/0406081553.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_dA7A6N5Crw/TuDC-xNalWI/AAAAAAAAAWk/jvgN-qSBa0M/s1600/Mattsfirsttriptotheshow.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_dA7A6N5Crw/TuDC-xNalWI/AAAAAAAAAWk/jvgN-qSBa0M/s200/Mattsfirsttriptotheshow.png" width="200" /></a></div>Can me and said invitee converse on a variety of subjects? Food,baseball,politics,women,kids,beer,beach vacations,cars,New York life,comedy and comedy films,wives,parents,tennis,old girlfriends(or boyfriends),pizza(not included in food topic),money,job issues,sleep issues,cellphone issues,computers..... Facebook,texting,email stuff oh and the game that is unfolding in front of our eyes.I would say that currently my nine year old has steadily been winning the golden ticket to accompany me to more games in the last year than any other ? What is the word I am looking for? LUCKY? ....UNLUCKY?<br />
I am not great company folks but he has not noticed yet because enough other things are happening at the game. Loud music,video tributes,rowdy fans,cheering and greasy food have all kept him distracted up to this point.My cool factor is still there but fading fast with him.<br />
So if I call you,text you or send you an SOS to take a trip to the old ballgame with me in the near future then run through your mental check list of things we may have in common and balance it out against the list of pros and cons of spending over half a good nights sleep on my private island.<br />
If the scales tip in my favor then welcome aboard the SS Weiland.If you see Gilligan,the Skipper or Mr.Howell then run for the exits.<br />
If you see Mary Ann or Ginger then you are watching too much old TV and need an intervention.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FZ1mG2f8sT8/TuDGscGJF4I/AAAAAAAAAXU/tBqACxAG8qk/s1600/April+2009+1st+day+at+New+Yankee+Stadium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FZ1mG2f8sT8/TuDGscGJF4I/AAAAAAAAAXU/tBqACxAG8qk/s200/April+2009+1st+day+at+New+Yankee+Stadium.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>It's a LONG three hour tour you are not soon to forget.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-68079708072974298832010-03-22T21:34:00.000-07:002013-03-21T14:23:43.782-07:00From the Elkus hoop to the mean streets of NYC and lessons learned from a 9 year old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In my dream I am passing the ball to my buddy Andy Elkus ...or Matt"Boomsy" Bloomfield as one of them shoots a three pointer from the farther reaches of the Bloomfield-Elkus shared driveways in our teen years.<br />
Our team wins a three on three game and we all celebrate before we go in to someone's house to raid the refrigerator.Or we play a rematch. The best of times and the worst of times were competing on the fields of play in my North Avondale. Man I miss those carefree days and they miss me right back.<br />
At an earlier age(10 or 11) I remember being very competitive. Whether it was shooting hoops with my big brother Dave or all my boyhood friends in North Avondale at the Elkus house or at the JCC ,playing some other sport with a ball in the lot next to Stevie Brown's house or on the tennis courts of my youth. Being handed a ball with or without a racket at first was an incentive to not only have fun with my friends but a great way to get exercise and release the stress of a tough day at school. Some where along the way around 5th grade I think the focus was on winning as opposed to just the joy of playing the sport. That took many years to re-capture.I also looked up to my cousin Josh who was an all state football player,world class wrestler and a guy who always competed with class and sportsmanship as did my brother a Division 1 college tennis player at Georgetown.<br />
Two great role models.<br />
My expectations had been raised in tennis at age 10 when I reached the quarterfinals of the Cincinnati Center Tennis Championships.<br />
It was all downhill from there.<br />
For a long stretch of time after that every time on the field of battle be it hoops,baseball,soccer,street hockey,table tennis or real tennis the goal was to win.<br />
It was not pretty when I did lose..... just ask my friends or my big sister Jeanne.<br />
Jeanne was a good athlete and consistent tennis player but not born with the competitive gene that my brother and me inherited from our parents.<br />
After getting to the final eight at the Center tournament I was handily beaten by my sister at our club and I remember the court,the weather conditions,the clothes I wore that day.<br />
Ask my sister what she remembers and it will most likely be my poor behavior on the court. <br />
Tantrum is not a word I like to hear to this day. As a father and tennis coach I have witnessed my share of meltdowns over the years. Is this my payback?<br />
As a veteran tournament director I have seen over the top behavior from kids,coaches and parents.<br />
Changing scores ,bad line calls,illegal coaching and many instances of players attempting to win at all costs.<br />
Many people will look the other way.It is not in my DNA to take that approach.<br />
Recently I witnessed my son playing air hockey and pool at our house against one of his young friends.<br />
The other boy began to cheat and rather than stepping in I let him work it out on his own.<br />
In the semi-final match of a tennis tournament back in my youth my Dad witnessed a boy attempt to cheat me. I was winning by such a wide margin that it didn't really bother me.I was kind of surprised that Dad stepped in to defend me.I love my Dad and know he was looking out for me.<br />
My son let the boy continue his practice.In spite of the open cheating my boy came back to win the game to five until his friend proposed extending the game to ten to give him a further chance of winning(reminded me of myself in my youth)after my boy got to ten the other boy proposed they play to fifteen at which point I became my Dad and walked up to the table and told the boys the game was over.<br />
The next day I asked my son about his friends behavior the day before.He blew me away with his answer,<br />
"my friend gets upset when he is losing so I figured Dad that I would let him cheat because I didn't want to see him get upset." My son is a better man than me.<br />
I would probably still be at the table months later debating......well loudly debating the tactics used against me.<br />
There would have been no game extensions to ten or fifteen.<br />
Re-matches? Yes.Always a rematch....and another.<br />
Living in New York City taught me to fight harder for everything,to stand my ground and to be true to myself.<br />
I learned the art of teamwork on the back streets of Cincinnati.In New York I learned to get on and off a subway without getting manhandled.<br />
In Cincinnati I learned to set a pick and love a friend like a brother.In New York I learned that true friends are few and far between so treasure them.<br />
In Cincinnati I learned that cheating is wrong and if you get caught that there are consequences so don't do it.<br />
In New York I learned that just because there are many more people in the dog eat dog big city it doesn't mean everyone lies and cheats.Even in politics!<br />
I also learned that whether it be on the hoops court with Andy Elkus and his big brother Roger or on the tennis court with Josh Harkavy the best lesson I ever learned about competing was given to me by a nine year old boy with the same last name as my own who loves Baseball and many other games and smiles with sheer joy every time he is on the field whether practicing or in a real game.<br />
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Let us all experience that joy in every sport we "play".<br />
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Photos from my archives or DoctorDave.smugmug.com my big bro Dave in photo above with cousin Josh<br />
the world's greatest personal trainer.....really!<br />
http://fitness-inspiration.com/ is Josh Salzman <br />
http://www.rappingprofessor.com/ aka Boomsy <br />
<span id="goog_1269316965185"></span><span id="goog_1269316965186"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-7117603166699030712010-01-03T18:56:00.000-08:002012-10-12T11:25:07.215-07:00mommy why is the doctor chasing me?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was 1964 or 1965 and we were going to see Dr.Bernie Gillman for our checkups and shots. .As I am writing this my left arm is aching.But for some reason when we entered the small office on the corner of Section and Reading Roads in Cincinnati's Roselawn neighborhood we were told that his partner and fellow pediatrician Dr. Jerry Rauh was covering for Dr.Gillman that day.<br />
We had no problem with that as my mom and dad were friendly with the Rauh's dating back to their childhood .<br />
As we waited I played with the toys .<br />
Going to the doctor had become old hat to my siblings and me.We were always taking some sort of medicine for sore throats or viruses.I had asthma and chronic bronchitis that was not helped by the fact that my mom was smoking two packs a day of Pall Mall unfiltered cigarettes in our presence.Years later she told me that on nights when I would be in bed wheezing with the vaporizer going full steam ahead that she would be sitting in my room reading and smoking Pall Mall's the whole time.That was obviously before any surgeon general's warning labels were introduced about the ill effects of tar and nicotine.<br />
Back to Dr.Rauh pronounced like the ow in ouch.<br />
Then the nurse ushered us into the room for the checkup.<br />
It was all going pretty well.I stuck out my tongue said "AHHHHH".Dr.Rauh listened to my breathing with his cold stethoscope.Did the reflex test with the rubber triangular thing .Checked my ear ,nose and throat with the light on the portable microscope thing.Made me drink some liquid for polio I think.Pricked my arm with some 4 pronged thing for a tuberculosos tine test.Then pulled out a needle possibly a tetanus shot.<br />
This is basically when all hell broke loose.I saw the needle then willed my 4 year old body off the table and ran out of the checkup room screaming.The doctor stunned didn't know how to react my mom followed.<br />
The nurse hearing the commotion entered the fracas.I was heading for the front door but someone shouted out to the nurse to ,"Block the door".I turned to my right and headed for a table in the opposite corner of the waiting area.The adults were trying to coax me out but I was pretty damn agitated and not budging.Eventually the table was moved out and I think kicking and screaming I was brought by force back into the checkup room where against my will(arm still throbbing here) I was administered the vaccine.<br />
There is also the possibility that Dr.Rauh had my mom re-schedule additional shots for the next week when Gillman was back in town.I can only imagine the reaction of other kids and parents in the waiting area.<br />
Not something to boost their morale heading in for their visit with Rauh.<br />
I probably owe Rauh a drink or two if I ever run into him back in Ohio.I am sure he had a couple that night after my hijinx that day. Eventually I had to come to terms with my fear of needles when allergy shots were given to my siblings and me weekly by our Mom on orders of an allergist and the results of his scratch tests.<br />
A few years back I had to take my daughter for blood work at age 4 and remember holding her down as the lab tech stuck her with the needle.There would be no running of the bulls that day in the Smith Kline lab in Rye Brook ,New York. On my sons visit at age 5 to get his checkup he looked the nurse in the eye with a cold stare and stated "I am not afraid of needles".The first two shots went down pretty well.On the third a tear formed in his eye and he had a pained expression on his face but he faced his fears head on and that is really<br />
what I took away from the experience.In my mind it was much worse than I what the reality of the shot was actually.<br />
This past year I had to have three surgeries ,countless MRIs and multiple cortisone injections .Remembering my son's brave statement to the nurse helped get me through the anxiety.<br />
I took my son to one of my doctor's appointments last year and upon seeing the doctor pull out a large needle to inject me with cortisone he started laughing.The doctor and I were both a bit surprised.<br />
"Dude why are you laughing?",I asked. He replied,"Cause you always see me get shots now the tables are turned".<br />
Should I make a run for the door? <br />
I rolled up my sleeve and held out my arm and took my shot.<br />
Dr.Rauh that one was for you..........
Dr Gillman passed away years ago......Dr. Rauh passed away this week I will miss them both. Many nights my mom would call them at home and they would stop by our house to help steer all three sick kids on the road to recovery.
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-57987012030814202692009-12-12T15:07:00.002-08:002021-02-06T08:30:36.178-08:00From Tony Trabert to Bob Ryland...... my tennis heroes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SxqCMvVQaII/AAAAAAAAAKA/81AtcIWLqZk/s1600-h/bob_and+fred+at+2008+Open.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SxqCMvVQaII/AAAAAAAAAKA/81AtcIWLqZk/s200/bob_and+fred+at+2008+Open.jpg" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/Sxn67TH0glI/AAAAAAAAAJw/H_TFGJFZ2L8/s1600-h/tony_trabert.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/Sxn67TH0glI/AAAAAAAAAJw/H_TFGJFZ2L8/s200/tony_trabert.jpg" /></a></div>It was sometime in the late 60's I think at the Armory Field House at the University of Cincinnati(UC). My dad had told my brother Dave and me that we were going to see his old high school mate Tony Trabert play in an exhibition match .I don't remember any of the match. But after it was over dad brought us up to the court to meet Tony. As Tony reached out to shake my hand I remember dad telling me not to wash my hand because I was shaking the hand of a legend. I knew very little about tennis history or it's greatest players other than Rod Laver and the ones I saw on television.<br />
Marion Anthony"Tony" Trabert was a graduate of Walnut Hills High School in 1948.My dad Richard "Dick" Weiland was class of '47 at Walnut. Tony won the state high school championships 3 times while at Walnut.<br />
He went on to UC where he won the NCAA title in 1951.After this it was onto the world stage where in 1955 alone he won 3 of the 4 major events .The French,Wimbledon and US championships.<br />
Okay enough facts and numbers.I had been playing tennis for a few years and meeting Tony was a life changing experience for me.Hitting against the backboard or hitting with my neighborhood buddy Josh Harkavy took on new meaning. Josh was a lefty and tactically very smart with great quick hands. Josh had that tricky lefty serve and I would imagine I was Trabert fighting hard to win points against the two-time Grand Slam year to year champion Rod"The Rocket" Laver.<br />
For me every time on the court with Josh was a victory for us righties.My dad is a lefty so I had to keep this fact on the down low.<br />
Maybe Josh thought I was a bit overly competitive.....I was that way at everything.In 1972 Josh (unseeded) made it all the way to the finals of the Boys under 12 city championships.<br />
I will give his coach some of the credit.But competing against myself,Stevie Brown(see earlier writings) and Jeff Zinn (google Penn State men's tennis) toughened Josh up for his run to the finals.<br />
So Josh "Laver" Harkavy had done it.A few years prior to this my big bro got to the finals in the under 12 and under 14 divisions.Trabert from Walnut Hills had won Wimbledon!, Dave got to the city finals, Josh 'The junior rocket" as well . <br />
I practiced even more against the wall on the back of our house.Tony won a bunch of imaginary championships in the spring and summer of 1972-73 in my backyard.<br />
I did get to the Boys under 12 final in 1973 only to see a familiar face across the net....Stevie Brown.<br />
See the entry "Searching for Stevie Brown but finding Bob Ryland " to get the rest of that story. <br />
I have heard it said you learn more from your losses than wins. Ask Tony Trabert about that one.<br />
He is a world champion and learned how to channel adversity into ultimate success. <br />
I know after losing a match I usually work five times as hard to make sure it never happens again.<br />
Stevie were you dreaming Trabert dreams like me? Even into my mid-teen years I remember as I would practice and compete that I would imagine what it was like to be Tony.I really never saw him play save that one exhibition. I never saw his technique but my dad kept the bar high by mentioning Tony whenever I got a little too over confident. Had I won a state title dad would remark. No, I would reply .I would go back out to the wall to bolster up my strokes.<br />
After my move to New York I went into the tennis business as a full time coach.It was in New York that I met Robert "Bob" Ryland at the Midtown Tennis Club where we both worked as teaching pros . <br />
If you google Tony Trabert you will see that there are many entries on the great champion from Cincinnati.<br />
The International Tennis Federation has an event named after Tony.There is a sweater named after him! Tony has been on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Tony was the lead commentator for CBS' US Open coverage for many years . Tony worked incredibly hard to achieve his titles and all the recognition that came along with them.Tony was inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in 1970.<br />
Bob Ryland traveled a similar but much different road. If you google Bob Ryland you will see my website set up for Bob and a couple entries about Bob from NBC-Philly and the Arthur Ashe Tennis Center.<br />
Bob worked every bit as hard as Tony growing up. Bob's dream was to be able to compete on the world stage in tennis. He had the skills but his skin color got in the way. Bob's mother was black and this was enough to keep him out of the whites only genteel sport of tennis.<br />
Bob won the Chicago boys high school prep title in 1937 and was the finalist in the Illinois High School championships in 1939. Then it was on to college for one year before he entered World War Two where Bob served in the Army Air Corps special services. In 1945 Bob was stationed at Selfridge<br />
Two times Bob won the American Tennis Association championships. The first time Bob was champion there is a picture of Bob with his proud father looking on. It reminded me of the photo of Arthur Ashe with his father after he won the 1968 US Open and his proud father embraced him.<br />
However there would be no opportunities for Bob or any black tennis champions to compete at Wimbledon, the French or the US championships. Eventually tennis opened it's doors to the black players.<br />
Althea Gibson and Arthur Ashe are very recognizable names that have transcended the sport of tennis.<br />
Bob Ryland? The Jackie Robinson of tennis ? I guess so. Sad that Bob has to be referred to as the Jackie Robinson of tennis.<br />
That's right Bob Ryland was/is the first black professional tennis player.<br />
Bob was not allowed in to the US championships until he was well into his 30's as an amateur player.<br />
He lost in the first round of his first tournament ever on grass.<br />
Bob kept competing while working his day job at the post office and practicing with the great Pancho Gonzalez. In 1959 a promoter named Jack March made history in Cleveland,Ohio when he selected Bob to compete in the World Pro Championships at the age of 39. Most tennis pros have already packed it in and are off playing golf by the age of 39. Bob eagerly competed in his second opportunity on the world stage.<br />
He did lose that match but by helping to break down the color barrier in tennis he had won so much more.<br />
In 20007 the International Tennis Hall of Fame(ITHF) hosted an exhibit at the US Open called "Breaking the Barriers". Bob was included in the exhibit.<br />
His picture was featured in the center of the exhibit and he was interviewed for a documentary for the exhibit.<br />
As the two week event drew to a close theere was a cocktail party to celebrate the exhibit.<br />
Mayor David Dinkins gave a short speech. As I surveyed the room I noticed that Tony Trabert was seated near the front door. My two tennis heroes in the same room ! Tony was representing the Hall of Fame in his role as President of the ITHF.<br />
If I could have only gotten these two great champions together then my night would have been perfect.<br />
A short while after the presentations were over I noticed that Tony was heading outside to make his way to the Ashe Stadium. I introduced myself as Dick Weiland's son. I had met Tony the previous year with my son at the Open but I am sure that he meets many people. I mentioned my dad was sick and Tony showed genuine concern for his classmate from Walnut. That was where our discussion ended. I regret not bringing Bob and Tony together.<br />
After the exhibit closed I filled out a form to nominate Bob for the Hall of Fame. Many great champions have been blessed to be inducted into our sports Holy Grail.<br />
It is now 2009 and I have a distinct feeling that Bob will never ever be enshrined in the Hall at Newport.<br />
Bob is 89 and it seemed as though 2009 was the perfect year since it was the 50th anniversary of when he broke the pro tennis color barrier.After the list of inductees was published I noticed no Bob on the list. I was told by someone at ITHF that he 2010 was a possibility. Will Bob's day ever come? To be excluded from the sport because of skin color during his playing days was hard enough. Now is the time for all the honorable members of the selection committee at the ITHF to do what is right and place Bob into the Hall of Fame.<br />
I looked over the list for 2010 and Bob is still not there.<br />
If not now then when?<br />
Bob is a proud man. Since the day I met him he has always told it like it is.As Bob would say ,"that's the way it is Fred". I asked Bob if he was ever bitter that he never got to prove himself in the big leagues of tennis.<br />
No he said," not bitter". This was as much a loss for the sport of tennis as it was for him.Now is the time to make amends. So to my two heroes let's get together on this thing. To fellow Walnut Hills High School Alum Tony Trabert and the ITHF selection committee I say, "do what's right".<br />
Tony my hero.... make me proud.<br />
To my coach,mentor and friend Bob Ryland I say, " keep the faith".<br />
From the wall in back of my old house in Cincinnati I started dreaming of tennis greatness. Although I personally never achieved those heights it is now my dream that another can reach the summit.<br />
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It was early in 1973. I was a part of the Sunday basketball leagues at JCC in Cincinnati.I only remember one other player on my team.....Mark Goldman . I was all of 5 feet tall and probably 90 pounds. Goldy may have been a bit shorter and a bit bigger. I remember what he lacked in speed and mobility he made up for with good hands. Although I lacked speed as well . I could play good defense because I wanted to win to a degree that I would do whatever I could to keep the man(boy) I was guarding from getting open. I was also used to competing in tournaments as a tennis player so whether it was long hours practicing or just spending hours on the court playing matches but I put a tremendous amount of pressure on myself to win every time I competed.<br />
Right now I want to apologize to every single guy that I have competed against or played on a team with in my entire life especially Goldy. Maybe not everybody but definitely Mark Goldman.<br />
Goldy died on Saturday November 28th ,2009 over the long Thanksgiving weekend. Just a few weeks back he called me to catch up on our lives.The last time I had seen or spoken to him was 25 plus years ago . It was probably during my time as a Sammy at Ohio State University.<br />
Keith Gud my roommate was most likely hanging out with us that night at a bar on High Street .<br />
Good times were had by all. <br />
<br />
But quite a few years earlier Goldy experienced my competitive personality firsthand on that winter day in 1973. Our team was down by 7 points with somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 seconds on the clock.<br />
Maybe it was extremely unrealistic to think we would come back but I did especially because as a 12 year old sport fanatic I was generally unrealistic in my expectations .I still thought the Reds would win a World Series.I had just witnessed them fall short a few months back.Seeing Pete Rose fly out to end Game 7 against Oakland was a heart breaker but .....those guys never gave up.<br />
( see 1975-76 World Series Trophy on Pete Rose Way)<br />
For some unexplained reason as Goldy our point guard brought the ball up the court he decided it was the right moment to set up at half court and take a "Hail Mary" ....wing and a prayer shot. Goldy's shot was not close and the other team got the ball back and eventually time ran out .<br />
I flashback to the scene in The Bad News Bears when Tanner Boyle angrily snarls at Timmy Lupus after he drops an easy fly ball.<br />
Now mind you Goldy was no Lupus. Goldy had skills.Lupus not so much.at all.<br />
I remember yelling at Goldy .There may have been some four letter words.It is entirely possible that a 5 foot curly haired kid who weighed 90 pounds lost his temper enough to squarely punch a shorter stockier point guard.<br />
Unaware that the said point guard had a mouth full of braces.The ensuing mayhem that took place on the first court at JCC must have looked ridiculous to all in the gym .Goldy was chasing me all over the gym.He was pissed.<br />
I was pissed. I don't remember if he caught up to me.<br />
One of us had a good sized cut on his finger.The other one a sore mouth .Eventually we made up and the season went on .We did not win the league that year.<br />
When I spoke to Goldy during the 2009 MLB post season I had no idea that a few weeks later he would be gone forever.He wanted to get a group of guys together from the old JCC for a game of basketball or softball.<br />
We talked for somewhere between 30 minutes and an hour and I think he had to go because he was on his way to referee a football game. He seemed to really enjoy the job .Plus he had a ticket broker business.<br />
Goldystickets.com .During the Yankees playoff run I was on his site daily checking out his tickets and also thinking of possibly selling my seats through his website.<br />
Goldy and I had connected through Facebook. I had asked him to post some pictures on his page.<br />
He eventually did post some of himself. Sure he had gotten older like the rest of us but It was good to see him as a grown up man.<br />
I know he had taken some knocks lately in his life and been through a tough divorce .But he was taken too soon .He still had so much to offer.Let us not ever take our lives for granted.Goldy's death has further reminded me to "seize the day".<br />
I still laugh when I think of Goldy chasing me through the gym at JCC. Obviously not funny at the time but now 36 years later it ranks up there in my most memorable and humorous moments .<br />
Goldy if I could right now I would pass the ball to you anywhere on the court see you set up at and heave the shot and pray for a swish or bank shot then celebrate with you as if we had won the NBA title for the Cincinnati Royals or the Bearcats of U.C.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-69985017846045515282009-11-24T07:01:00.000-08:002012-10-12T11:08:02.664-07:00Goodbye to SalLast Sunday night with my wife and our 9 year old boy I went to see our friends Sal and Angela <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Zavaglia</span><br />
Sal has been ill for the past few years with cancer.My son has always looked up to him like a 3rd Grandpa.<br />
In 1995 when our daughter was but a few months old we were looking for a caregiver to help us out with our new baby.The <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Westchester</span> Child Care Council referred us to Angela . When we visited Angela to interview her as a prospective babysitter we knew right away that we had found the right person to help us raise our child.Angela offered us food,espresso,home made wine.It was a warm family atmosphere.<br />
Angela was referred to as Nonna by the kids she cared for.Nonna is the Italian word for grandmother.<br />
The kitchen is the center of activity in their home. Olivia our daughter quickly picked up the culture and language of her own Italian great- grandparents through her time spent with the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Zavaglia's</span>.<br />
Sal and his son Tony ran a landscaping business and would spend their lunch hours with Angela,Olivia and her friend who I will call "Eve".Olivia and Eve became good friends at Nonna's.<br />
Nonna and Sal's grandchildren visited from Canada and helped with Olivia and Eve.<br />
Over the first 6 years they became our family.Olivia got bigger and did not require a caregiver yet we would still find time to bring her to Nonna's.Then our son was born and we started the cycle all over again. Our little guy became attached to the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Zavaglia's</span> and Sal would teach Matt about gardening and show him all the cool gadgets that they used in their landscaping business.<br />
Nonna watched over Matt and Olivia with love and affection for the past 14 plus years.<br />
Sal taught me how to make homemade wine. Sal also took me to Arthur Avenue in the Bronx.<br />
The Bronx' Little Italy is a great place to shop for espresso,bread and cheeses from Italy.<br />
I would say about fifty percent of my knowledge of Italian cuisine was given to me by my wife Sandra <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Spinelli</span> and her family. The other fifty came from the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Zavaglia's</span> .<br />
Sal is from <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Gioiosa</span> in the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Calabria</span> region of Italy on the Ionian Sea .Nonna grew up in the next town.<br />
From Italy to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Larchmont.</span> <br />
<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Larchmont</span>.......home of Wall <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Streeters</span> . Home of the head of the US Treasury Secretary<br />
Tim <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Geithner</span>....Joan Rivers.....Lou Gehrig.....Norman Rockwell and our friends Sal and Nonna.<br />
My son and my wife went up to the family room where Sal had been sleeping in their home .<br />
Nonna told Sal that Matt our boy had come to see him .Sal reached out his hand for Matt and then my son hugged Sal.<br />
Later that night at our house Matt could not fall asleep.He tried laying down with my wife but was still stirring.Then came down while I was watching Sunday Night Football.<br />
I asked him if something was on his mind and walked him back up to his room .<br />
As I tucked him in to bed he told me he was worried about what we were going to do if Sal died.<br />
He started to cry. His whole body was shaking as he imagined a world without Sal.<br />
When his crying subsided we spent some time talking about a similar talk I had with my mom when I was an eight year old.I had imagined life then without my parents and I remember feeling overwhelmed with sadness and fear.My mom helped to calm me down.Now it was my turn.<br />
Mom passed away six years ago and when she died I felt the sadness of my eight year old self return.<br />
As the week went on our world returned to it's normal routine. Late Thursday night as I was headed to sleep I noticed on our phone's caller ID that Nonna had called at 12:45 p.m. Thursday.It was too late to call their house so I figured that I would call in the morning.<br />
I hoped it was Nonna taking me up on my offer to drive her somewhere or to pick up some stuff from the store. On Friday morning as I walked by the answering machine next to our computer I noticed a new message. I pressed the play button and my worst fears had come true.<br />
Nonna was weeping her way through the message that Sal had died.She had taken the time to call us in her darkest hour.<br />
Matt had woken up especially happy yesterday and I could not bring myself to tell him that his Sal was gone.I let Sandra know. Olivia had been without her cell phone for 10 days due to a bad battery.I had gotten it replaced by Sprint finally and handed it to her Friday morning.To a teenager being without their phone for a day is like a day of detox .Being without one for ten days is like detox boot camp<br />
I didn't want to wipe the cell phone elixir euphoria off her face. But she had to know since her friends at school knew the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Zavaglia's</span>.When Sandra told her she was very upset.At school she did run into Sal and Nonna's next door neighbor and they commiserated about Sal.<br />
Picking my son up at school was difficult .He was so happy and I knew that in one moment with one sentence sadness would be brought into his world.<br />
I turned off the radio and put on some James Taylor." Winter,spring ,summer or fall .All you've got to do is call and I'll be there.You've got a friend".<br />
It calmed my nerves. As my wife and daughter puled up to our driveway I knew Matt was about to to be saddened.It was best that we were all together .Matt took the news hard .Who wouldn't?<br />
Last night we went by their house to drop off some food and spend time with their family .<br />
I think Matt saw how Sal's family although very upset by his loss was still able to laugh and love each other and life would go on.Matt laughed a little .He cried some too. As we left their home he clutched my hand and we made our way home .He kept Sal's rosary card with him all night.Staring at his picture.<br />
To Sal our dear friend. We will miss you. As your rosary card stated ," You are not gone but merely in the next room. When we speak of you we know that you will be with us always".<br />
Rest in eternal peace.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-45050023632016379022009-11-07T06:50:00.000-08:002011-05-24T09:11:25.627-07:00The Big Red Machine,Bob Shreve and a dead barber.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SlUO03ILiBI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/mK1OFpl-fQ4/s1600-h/shreve.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356203633141319698" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SlUO03ILiBI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/mK1OFpl-fQ4/s200/shreve.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 200px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 125px;" /></a><br />
I don't really remember whether it was 1971 or 1972.My hair was kinda big though .My dad was raising money for the Kid Glove game that benefited little league baseball in Greater Cincinnati.I was allowed to be the bat boy for the celebrity game before the Reds played the Indians in an exhibition game.Celebrities included local D.J.s and TV news anchors and Bob Shreve of the Past Prime Playhouse.A late night staple on Channel 19 that showed "B" movies along with Bob and his cast of shtickmeisters to fill air time on late Saturday nights.I was assigned to hand out bats in the Cleveland dugout.I knew that across home plate as the game went on were some of the members of "The Big Red Machine".Every time I stepped out onto the field I looked up in awe at the huge stadium that would be the home of 3 World Series Championship teams.<br />
I approached Bob Shreve with a bat and told him how I loved watching his show every Saturday.He told me how much fun they had doing the show and was very appreciative of my compliments.<br />
I have no memory of who won the game.But after it was over I was allowed into the Reds dugout.As I crossed home plate I got a huge lump in my throat.I stepped down into the dugout and can only say that it reminds me of the scene in the movie "Field of Dreams" when Ray Kinsella sees all the players on his corn field and starts realizing they are some of the legends of the game and he is in total awe.I had a baseball,a glove,and a Bick ballpoint pen(Sharpies?) and as I stepped down into their special sanctuary I silently walked up to each and every player that was milling about.Bench,Perez,Morgan even Sparky ,the manager .I really wanted Pete Rose but he was too busy being interviewed by a few reporters so I kept my distance.As my time in the dugout came to a close I heard a loud voice calling out to me from a few feet away,"Hey kid come 'ere".I turned to see Davey Concepion sitting on top of the bench between a few players.He was motioning for me to come over to him.I hurried over to him to see what he wanted."Hey kid?", he asked."Yes Mr.Concepion?",I replied quizzically.He scratched his head with his voice loud enough so many of the surrounding players could hear him."I was being set up and didn't even know it.Me innocent,in awe of the greatness surrounding me had no idea."Kid let me ask you a tough question?",he prodded with a somewhat thick Spanish accent as he reached toward my 'fro of curly hair.<br />
"Did you barber die?".The dugout erupted in laughter.I think I laughed.I didn't answer him as much as I remember myself being in awe of all these guys who were my heroes sharing a laugh with me even if it was at my expense.<br />
Life went on after that day and I took my signed ball and glove home and instead of placing them in a case to save for the rest of my life.I continued using the glove.The ball I don't remember what happened to that artifact.I still collect baseball cards and memorabilia but the true memories are in the experiences not in a piece of paper or a ball but in your heart and mind.<br />
Being the butt of a joke for one of the greatest teams that ever played the game of baseball and witnessing them compete in all those games in the 70's will stay with me forever.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-89506225747132766382009-10-12T18:53:00.000-07:002012-01-23T14:23:26.184-08:00Sauce me dang it !!!<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/StSegM8SNHI/AAAAAAAAAGI/Y2pn_aRO7vk/s1600-h/da%27bomb.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392108929936405618" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/StSegM8SNHI/AAAAAAAAAGI/Y2pn_aRO7vk/s200/da%27bomb.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 200px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 150px;" /></a><br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/StSdauuQEYI/AAAAAAAAAGA/_cVoNqvDRGY/s1600-h/Chipotle+table.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392107736413507970" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/StSdauuQEYI/AAAAAAAAAGA/_cVoNqvDRGY/s200/Chipotle+table.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 150px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></div>Somewhere deep in my brain is burned an image of an egg roll from The Mandarin Chinese restaurant on Reading Road in Cincinnati,Ohio.Before I learned how to speak or walk in 1960/61 I had sampled the cuisine of far off Asia right in North <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Avondale</span> my home "hood".<br />
But the reason egg rolls are stamped in my psyche are because on one such occasion before me and my attentive Mom sat a dish of hot mustard that my parents would mix with the sweet duck sauce to give the rolls the "heat with the sweet" flavor so popular with today's chefs. I screamed and wailed at my Mom and kept pointing at the Yellow pungent sauce. I was relentless in my infantile efforts to savor the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">concoction</span> that looked like some sort of succulent pudding in my young innocent eyes.<br />
At this point Mom could have gone in a few directions with my boorish behavior.She could have moved the sauce away from me,moved me away from the sauce,handed the sauce to the waiter to get it off the table.Mom went in a fourth direction.<br />
Look I think that it was safe to assume that after a rather long day of mothering 3 young kids Mom deserved a cocktail or five. Especially those fruity kinds that are on the menu with bright pictures of each one and little pink umbrellas and plastic palm trees or pelicans floating in them.Maybe a chunk of pineapple or some shaved coconut.As I sit here writing this I am being transported to the beach in the Bahamas for a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Pina</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Colada</span> with a float of 151 rum on top or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Caribe</span> Coconut rum.<br />
................Reggae interlude................. swaying palms,........... a dang coconut just hit me in my head.............Okay back to the story.<br />
Mom handed me the spoon filled with the MUSTARD! I screamed and wailed as my sister Jeanne described it to me recently as ,"Strong enough to shake the Great Wall of China ".<br />
I got some water and maybe even a bit of sweet sauce to deaden the painful burning sensation that had taken over my infant mouth.The meal went on as usual.I think my Dave who was watching the mayhem asked my mom if he could get a drag off her cigarette and was cashing in on her being slightly stressed from my screaming and a few cocktails .Mom relented big bro puffed and luckily Family Services did not come into the home to investigate.My brother and I survived.He never smoked another cigarette in his life and went on to become a cardiologist and played tennis for Georgetown University.He also ran in 3 or 4 Boston Marathons.My sister after seeing me in such pain went on to become a Nurse Practitioner. Two professional healers in my family.<br />
Oh well I never had a healing calling .I did however become obsessed with all things at 5 alarm chili heat level.The more spicier the more attractive.At 12 my brother took me to a taco shop for my birthday.I ordered one with the hottest hot sauce on the menu.On the first bite I knew the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">habaneros</span> had won but after drowning my tongue in Pepsi I finished the hell hot taco and never looked back. Over the years I have become somewhat of "foodie" specialist of hot sauces.For our wedding my friend Dan Katz gave us 30 hot sauces that he schlepped from New Orleans to New York City . Best gift ever .......for me.Dan had of course witnessed me once guzzle an entire bottle of Tabasco sauce at Chili Time Restaurant in Cincinnati after a night out with the boys.Hot sauce really has a use in almost every meal.I keep a bottle on the table in our kitchen.Plus a jar of chipotle powder.Every once in a while my wife moves it back into the cabinet where it does not belong.<br />
It may seem trivial to be writing about a condiment.<br />
Passionate love affair is a word that I don't easily use to describe most anything so work with me here people.When I travel around the USA or overseas I make it a point to always visit a food market on the first day to familiarize myself with whatever different foods and beverages are consumed in that locale.<br />
Blah blah beer,wine,snacks and hot sauce .My wife went on a business trip a few years back to Mall of the America in Minnesota.They had a hot sauce shop. She approached one of the clerks and asked which was the spiciest hot sauce for sale.<br />
The clerk reached for the key to a cage where under lock and key the hottest of all <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">hotties</span> was locked up to protect the innocent amateur hot sauce shoppers/tourists from casually strolling in to gander at the cute short thick bottle with the nuclear bomb caution label.<br />
The clerk warned her to use it sparingly.He mentioned that a man had died from ingesting a spoonful of the potion which contained an infusion of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">habanero</span> peppers.They basically strain out all the ingredients except the oily essence of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">habanero</span> peppers."Use a toothpick",he suggested.<br />
Recounting this advice to me my wife truly seemed concerned for my physical safety.So I went into the cabinet and retrieved a toothpick.<br />
I slowly dipped the toothpick into the bottle and pulled it carefully out of the bottle and towards my mouth.I had even placed a beer as a chaser next to me in case the heat was too great for even my mouth to endure. As soon a the tip of the toothpick hit my tongue it felt as if<br />
Mount Haleakala had just erupted in my mouth.Wanting to be a man I would not really let on that I was in pain.I took a sip of beer and did not swallow.The beer inside my mouth would help put out my tongue.It wasn't working! Maybe a Chinese fire brigade would have done a better job? Peanut Butter,Ice cream,Milk,Yogurt all would have worked better but I am a man so a beer is a bit more macho.Tequila or Whiskey even more so. In my head I was screaming for my Mommy. The same Mommy that many years before had handed me the spoon of hot Mustard and sent me down this long,dark path to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">capsaicin</span> Hades.<br />
Had I not learned at the tender age of zero not to play with fire? Apparently not!<br />
I am sure when I told this tale to my Mom that she delighted in being the one to introduce me to<br />
all things spicy.<br />
A few years back I went looking for that bottle and could not locate it anywhere in our home.<br />
I can only imagine some unsuspecting friend or family member without the benefit of a lock and key pouring <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Da'Bomb</span> on a Taco or some other culinary delight.<br />
My daughter has recently become enamored with my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Chipotle</span> sauces and I feel somewhat proud that a Red Hot Chili Pepper torch has been passed to a new generation of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Weiland's</span>.<br />
As I reach over to pour some heat on my food I take a bite and a tear comes to my eye.<br />
Is it the nostalgia of seeing my daughter follow in my footsteps (food cravings) or is it because this particular <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Habanero</span> is burning my mouth,nasal cavities and eyes .<br />
A bit of both I guess .Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-85484332666210616042009-09-29T01:30:00.000-07:002011-09-14T20:10:32.542-07:00Deep Below West 10th Street Chapter One<div style="text-align: center;">This is one of those things that really is very hard to convey to the reader.If you have ever seen the video from SNL, "Lazy Sunday" you can see the front of my apartment at the beginning of the video (I will post the link to Lazy Sunday at the bottom of the page).</div>This was no ordinary city dwelling but a subterranean cave. The cave at 207 West 10th Street was my first real apartment in New York City(5 1/2 years). Through a rental service I did a short trial stay in a 5th floor walk up apartment for 2 and a half months where the guy who lived there was off doing opera in Italy.I had 2 roommates that grew up together in Connecticut. Mark was a sort of Keith Hernandez/Tom Selleck looking guy. Linda was older than Mark and to me she had an older sister vibe. Linda had split up with her boyfriend Brendan or as her friends nicknamed him "The Arena" after the Brendan Byrne Arena.Now known as Continental Airlines/Meadowlands Arena.They would get stoned and then hook up.We lived above a Korean grocery and First Wok Chinese restaurant at 78th Street and 3rd Avenue.Roaches had taken over the kitchen and I was afraid to turn the lights on at night cause they would scatter in all directions.With no A/C in my room that had one tiny window facing a wall in an alley I was roasting in the August heat of a concrete jungle.My window fan blew hot air.Two cold showers a night did not really help. But hell I was living in New York City and I would endure the heat,the roaches,the fornicating stoner roommates .Whatever NYC threw at me I could handle it.I survived living in the biggest frat house at Ohio State so co-existing with 70 -80 people was second nature.<br />
As my trial period was coming into it's final few weeks I started to search for other options with the rental service Roommate Finders.One thing that I really wanted was to live in Greenwich Village.My first night ever in New York as a tourist was spent with my boyhood pal Phil Napoli walking the streets of the Village.The streets were teeming with life ,...........and bars .Coming from Cincinnati,Ohio I had never experienced a place anywhere that prepared me for the Village.Not visiting my brother and sister at Georgetown.Not even the nightlife on High Street at Ohio State where my big bro was in med school.<br />
So the rental service gave me some names and phone numbers.Normally I remember every minute detail but I think that some of the places I checked out were so bad that I have blocked them out or made no impression at all.But when I walked into Mike Skaar's office on the opposite side of 10th Street I knew I had found my new home.Mike and his business partner Jerry were very welcoming and un-business like.I had spent part of that summer before moving to New York on August 15th working as a rental agent in my cousin David's apartment complex Clifton Colony by the University of Cincinnati.I was learning the ins and outs so to speak of the rental game.I also realized that being honest and basically nice to people made my days more enjoyable and made it easier to get clients.Mike and Jerry were not bullshit artists.Mike showed me across the street.He explained that Jerry and himself had been hippies.Jerry I think was a schoolteacher.They bought this 6 story building and many of the tenants were students.Many were from Scandinavia.Mike was from a Swedish background.On the basement floor they had converted an office space into 7 bedrooms of varying sizes with a patio out back that had some trees and 1 hour a day of sun kind of like in jail when you get an hour in the yard.The smallest cave was about the size of a small walk in closet.Twin bed on a platform with drawers underneath and no window.The biggest room was in the back and had a queen size waterbed built into a platform and A/C in a window facing the back patio .Because it was below street level there was no sunlight.It was a cave like existence.The closet cave rented for 250/month.The waterbed cave was 500/month.My cavemmates were from all over god's green earth and from all walks of life.Nuns,Vietnam Vets, Marines back from the Mideast conflict in Lebanon,Divorcees,Alcoholics,Video techs.<br />
Japanese,SouthAfricans,Italians,Danes,South Africans escaping apartheid,Long Islanders!Then there was me a simple innocent kid from Cincinnati, Ohio.<br />
My first night on 10th Street was October 31st.The Village hosts a massive Halloween parade every year with upwards of a million people taking to the streets to either march in the parade or join in the revelry.It was around 8p.m. when I ventured out to have dinner and not realizing their was a parade going directly in front of my house I stood there for a full hour staring at the men that were dressed in drag on the street in front of my building.It was like going to a runway show at Fashion Week except this one was choreographed like a lavish Broadway show and it had no real women.I guess that in my rush to live in the Village I had not researched or really gone west of Seventh Avenue....ever!So I didn't realize that Christopher Street which was one block south of 10th Street was the hub of the gay community in New York City.I can use an old cliche here when I say that I had friends that were gay,frat brothers that were gay,my mom was an actor/writer/director and many of her co-artists were gay.<br />
I ended up looking at it this way.There were plenty of women in New York and in my immediate vicinity I would have little or no competition in meeting them except.............. maybe from my lesbian ex-girlfriend from Ohio but I am saving that story for my next chapter.<br />
<br />
Two links<br />
1. Google maps link below: windows below sidewalk to left of entry door were mine.Stairway going down to the left of the windows was our front door.<br />
<a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?q=207+west+10th+st.10014&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&split=0&gl=us&ei=Bc-xSp-0JZivtgfZ8pmSCA&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=title&resnum=1"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">http://maps.google.com/maps?q=207+west+10th+st.10014&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&split=0&gl=us&ei=Bc-xSp-0JZivtgfZ8pmSCA&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=title&resnum=1</span></a><br />
<br />
2. Lazy Sunday video :<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEum4kO88LE&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEum4kO88LE&feature=related</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-24776256185399256452009-09-27T09:24:00.000-07:002013-03-21T14:33:52.960-07:00The Jew and the Wasp<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/Skk9yofjXJI/AAAAAAAAAEA/4Fsyzq2knno/s1600-h/rockaway+hunt.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352877572179057810" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/Skk9yofjXJI/AAAAAAAAAEA/4Fsyzq2knno/s320/rockaway+hunt.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 77px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 100px;" /></a><br />
So here it was 1999 and I was competing in my usual round of summer tournaments on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">USTA</span>-Eastern men's circuit.I had done pretty well in a grass court event at Forest Hills making it through the first 3 rounds to get into the quarterfinals and facing one of the top seeds.<br />
I had lost to a highly ranked player Ed Perpetua but felt as if I could at the least win a round or two in the National grass event at The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Rockaway</span> Hunting Club which is the oldest Country Club in the USA.I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">noticed</span> on the tournament form that the matches began on......<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Yom Kippur.</span> Holiest day of the year for my people.They were giving <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">exemptions</span> to Jews to play on Sunday before the tournament began.I was going to be away that weekend and in my tennis mind the option for me was play on Monday(the holy day).It <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">seeme</span>d logical to me to act as if the the day of atonement would survive without me.My ancestors from Poland,Russia,Lithuania,<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Nelsonville</span>,Ohio and Cincinnati were not there to tell me to stay home,pray,fast,eat later,put away my rackets!My parents were in Ohio so it was up to me to decide how to live my life.I chose to play tennis.My opponent Randy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Vigmostad</span> had world class skills.I fought as hard as I could but that wasn't enough to beat this guy.I got 3 games in 2 sets.I had played Randy 13 years earlier and got 1 game in 2 sets so! I did better?.................<br />
I still got my ass whooped.After my match my friend Chris <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Gilroy</span> asked me if I wanted to grab a bite in the clubhouse of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Waspiest</span> country club in the good old United States of America on Yom freakin' Kippur the holiest of all Jewish Holy days.You know what I figured I had already broken the sin barrier so........I went for the gusto.I didn't only have lunch.I had the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">friggin'buffet</span> lunch.All the goddamn food and drink that I could eat.I had a burger(no bacon) and I think I had a second helping.Dessert....I had pie.After <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">stuffing</span> my face I went back with Chris to the courts and helped him <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">warm up</span> for his next match.I grabbed a soda from a cooler by the court and popped it open and took a sip.I went back to continue the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">warm up</span> and after ten more minutes Chris went on his way.I noticed a yellow Jacket on my soda can and I shooed it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">away</span> and grabbed the can to guzzle the sweet nectar.What I felt next was akin to getting stabbed in my throat.Another wasp was inside the can and I swallowed the little S.O.B.! My friends who were with me <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">court side</span> thought I was joking.I went into the locker room and stuck my finger down my throat to extract the stinger.Mark Harrison one of the players gave me a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Benadryl</span> which I quickly swallowed in case my throat closed up.I started guzzling water to flush out the wasp.I sat at the tournament desk for a half hour so they could monitor me in case I stopped breathing or swallowing.I have never been shot or stabbed but this seemed like it was pretty close to that pain level.When I got in my car I kept drinking water and had to pull off the highway a few times to find a bathroom.I picked up my daughter at daycare and still could not talk.I could whisper.When I got home and I explained to my wife my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">dilemma</span>.Dinner at my cousin Martha's was in an hour to break the fast.I could lie.I could call in sick.I could tell the truth.The truth shall set you free.I opted for the truth and a martini or five to dull the pain.We ate.We laughed.We reflected.One guy wanted to use my story.Sorry dude it is all mine.On the holiest of Jewish holy days a Wasp taught me a lesson in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Waspiest</span> place in America. Have I played tennis on Yom Kippur since then? Did I go develop full leg cramps once a few years after because I did two and a half hours of hitting lessons without eating or drinking?<br />
......No comment.<br />
Nowadays on the holiest of days I rest,I pray,I reflect,I wait to eat and slowly ,cautiously sip that first Martini (with 3 olives) and I remember to laugh..............even about my friend..... the Wasp.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-42620590855108408192009-08-10T15:35:00.000-07:002011-06-20T12:45:58.536-07:00My grandmother taught me how to hitchhike...my dad helped too!<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SsAcbWlaCCI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/lpY-uHLmuRY/s1600-h/BIG+O.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386336410579634210" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SsAcbWlaCCI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/lpY-uHLmuRY/s200/BIG+O.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 134px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SoHYTlb7KUI/AAAAAAAAAFI/wuJA-q8q3C8/s1600-h/mom+and+mamoo.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368810061780691266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SoHYTlb7KUI/AAAAAAAAAFI/wuJA-q8q3C8/s200/mom+and+mamoo.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 118px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
It was the summer of 1968 and we had just finished playing tennis and swimming .My dad and I went for a walk in our neighborhood.About 7-8 minutes in to the walk and probably realizing that I may not be up to the task of completing the 1.6 mile loop to the top of Rose Hill and Beechwood Avenues in Cincinnati's North <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Avondale</span> my dad proposed an alternative.<br />
Dad said if I stuck out my thumb that soon enough someone would drive by .They would stop,ask where we were headed and take us home safely.<br />
Hitchhiking tip #1....it is easier when you know the people that give you the ride.<br />
It helped that this was the same neighborhood and streets that my dad had grown up on as a young boy.Basically everyone knew everyone.<br />
So we stuck out our thumb at the first car that passed and as promised by dad our ride was secured.Another time my dad's hitchhiking/negotiating skills got us a ride home from an NBA game in Cincinnati.For some reason I do not remember.Broken down car, no snow tires,empty gas tank?Oscar the" Big O" Robertson was coming out of the game and dad approached the big guy. It turned out my mom was in a dance class with his wife and this translated to a connection and we hitched a ride in his <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">MGb</span>.My brother and me contorted into the back seat for the better part of 15 minutes.<br />
Hitchhiking tip#2....make sure there is ample room in the car for you to sit (not in the fetal position)Tip # 2A......asking people you don't know but can convince them you do to get a ride is acceptable and in my mind hitchin' a ride after all.<br />
So I began to delve deeper into the hitchhiking phenomenon that had entered my consciousness.I sought out advice from a higher authority.There was no Ask.com or Google to consult.No hitchhiker blogs or forums.Like the one I read about in the Sunday NY Times travel section on August 9<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Th</span> 2009.The source was .....Grandma Emma Pastor a.k.a. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Mamoo</span>.<br />
She probably had been doing it all her life.Growing up in Cincinnati without a car I can imagine <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Mamoo</span> sticking out her thumb when rides were scarce and money for the trolley was scarcer.<br />
As a teenager she had told me on a number of occasions how she went to this place or that place."But <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Mamoo</span>",I would say,"You don't drive".Then she would fill me in on her M.O.(modus <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">operandi</span>).She would spot a neighbor getting into their car and as they pulled away <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Mamoo</span> would stick out her thumb.Once at her destination she would <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">find her</span> unsuspecting ride home.She would start up a conversation with someone she had sized up in let's say the supermarket.Then as she checked out she would watch them as they left the store and then go towards where their car would exit the parking lot and then her hitching digit would protrude.<br />
At the time I thought I had the coolest Grandma in the world.I never really had to use my thumb since I had a car,a bike,my parents.I also found that when stranded I would use it as an opportunity to train for my tennis by running to any destination.After moving to NYC in the 80s I frequently walked or ran everywhere.Which leads me to the next bit of advice.<br />
Hitchhiking tip #3......getting rides from strangers may be hazardous to your health.<br />
In 1989 my Grandma <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Mamoo</span> passed away and with her she took all of her great stories of life and growing up in Cincinnati.Tales of renting real estate to hippies during the late 60s.Working with a guy named Alvin <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Youkliss</span>(Great-grandpa of the fiery Red <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Sox</span> player Kevin..Go Yankees!) tales of my Grandpa Roy going hunting and fishing with gangsters.Her tales of romance from boyfriends before my Grandpa Roy(<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">oversharing</span>?),life during the Great Depression and two World Wars.<br />
Which leads me to this next conclusion.....................<br />
Hitchhiking tip #4...........write down all the stories that are told by engaging older relatives.Once they leave this earth you can't ask them to retell their tales.<br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana,Tahoma,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-decoration: none;">All Photos � 1950-2007 <a href="mailto:drdave5@sbcglobal.net">David S. Weiland</a>. All Rights Reserved. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-32484932364989544262009-06-21T04:28:00.000-07:002012-01-23T14:26:17.764-08:00Welcome to the "Jungle".....Bob's jungleWhen I moved to New York my coach Bob Ryland would speak at great lengths about how he played tennis at "The Jungle".It was a proving ground where many young players mixed with older more experienced players.Sitting on the benches between the sets of courts you could pick up a game or sit and listen to players games get verbally picked apart by other bench squatters.I did end up spending a limited amount of time at the jungle in Harlem on Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard.Most days I spent practicing were at Midtown Tennis Club or East River Park along the FDR Drive(Bob's jungle).I became the king of the FDR jungle in the mid 80s.Eventually I stopped going altogether.I began traveling to many tournaments that took up the better part of a week and weekend.Country club tennis as Bob called it was not a breeding ground for tournament players.The public parks are where Bob"made his bones" as a tennis player even practicing with the legendary pro Pancho Gonzalez in the L.A. public parks .Getting to Bob's jungle was not easy.Walking there meant going through Alphabet City which was notorious for drugs and crime.Public transportation to Bob's jungle was not a great option .Bob actually had a pre-game ritual which at first seemed crazy until I realized that the foot bridge to his jungle had been knocked out by a car.The ritual involved crossing 6 lanes of the FDR highway and somehow avoiding getting grazed by a car doing 65mph.It was that or walk a half mile north to the next bridge. So I chose to Bob's path .Once safely on the other side there was a mix of relief and adrenaline pumping nausea that reduced the time needed to warm up on the court before a match.I guess that is a bit of an understatement.Who needs the running of the bulls in Pamplona to get your heart racing?Once there I was greeted by a crazy mix of Lower East Side tennis nuts.It was like West Side Story meets West Side Tennis Club.I have to say as I sit here that I miss the eclectic aura of Bob's jungle.Families barbecuing next to the courts playing loud music on boom boxes blasting Salsa music.Junkies and homeless people coming up to the fence to beg for money or smokes.Seaplanes landing in the East River.Subways rumbling overhead.Boats,cars,motorcycles and helicopters rocking my senses.When I went out of the city to play in a tournament it was very hard at first to concentrate without any noise.I missed the Riff Raff!<br />
Midtown Tennis Club's rooftop courts were noisy(especially at rush hour)but Bob's jungle was bedlam.I don't miss holding my breath to pee in the bathroom.I miss the guys selling flavored shaved ice off a cart.Sour sop and Guanabana were my favorite flavors.My strokes got fine tuned on the cracked courts at Bob's jungle while I played my favorite sport to the rhythms of a Latin beat .I miss seeing a husky,beer bellied tall guy named Juan Baez chain smoking then going out to kick some young guys butt with his slice and dice routine.Angel (do not know his last name) was another guy that was every bit as talented as any guy I saw on the Satellite tour but had possible(?) drug issues.He regularly beat up on me when I first arrived on the scene.In 1986 I beat another tough guy from Bob's jungle named Jose in the finals of the park championships and felt a bit like Kung Fu snatching the pebble from his master's hand and leaving the Dojo for good.Under the noisy Williamsburgh Bridge I made my tennis bones on that day.After that day I rarely made it back to cross the FDR. I heard Juan Baez died of a heart attack while playing on the courts at Bob's jungle.Eventually they fixed the foot bridge so the FDR dash was no longer needed. Bob moved uptown.I moved out of Manhattan altogether.Now years later it all seems like a dream.<br />
<br />
Get Bob Ryland in the International Tennis Hall of Fame<br />
BobRylandWorldTour.ComUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-7672212534422307712009-06-20T17:57:00.000-07:002011-05-24T22:11:22.450-07:00Standup 101 to Seth Schultz' Pips on Sheepshead Bay,Brooklyn<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SioK_QIwyUI/AAAAAAAAACs/b-1wtEb8xPA/s1600-h/pips+comedy+club.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344095989608270146" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/SioK_QIwyUI/AAAAAAAAACs/b-1wtEb8xPA/s200/pips+comedy+club.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 82px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
A few years back I woke up in a cold sweat.A recurring dream that left me wandering through the halls of Walnut Hills High School in Cincinnati jolted me again.In the bad dream I had not finished a test in Algebra and therefore was denied my diploma.I think Mr.Iacobucci would probably laugh if he knew his class still torments me.How did I overcome my weekly hellish nightmares of being mathematically challenged?Therapy?Prescription drugs?Crawling in a dark hole clutching my blankie and sucking my thumb while shivering in a pool of sweat until I let out a primal scream and force the overly cranky old man two houses away to call 911 again !I searched deep in my soul to find a way to let go of this gut wrenching feeling.The answer it turned out wasn't very complicated.Make fun of myself.Accept my faults in a very public way.Others had made fun of me with ease all my life.So...what was so tough?<br />
Ever since I saw Chevy Chase deliver zingers on Weekend Update on Saturday Night Live I was sold on the art of delivering a good one liner even if the bulls eye was pointed directly at me.Growing up in Ohio I never realized how many bitter,sarcastic people there were in the world.Then I migrated to New York.Bitterness and sarcasm are worn as badges of honor in New York.Bitter? Not me a simple country boy from Ohio.<br />
I followed Don Rickle's comedy act from as far back in my life as I can remember.On my parents honeymoon Rickle's even picked on my dad when they were seated in the front row.Poor dad!I had been on stage since starting as a 5 year old in a play called 'Weather or Not" dressed as a Native American boy with my buddy Chris Kraus for Kay King's Mini Mummers theater troupe then onto doing musicals and theater classes in high school were challenging and fun.Doing plays also kept my actor/director/writer mom happy about my involvement in her craft.I was never ever really the class clown .Although I could deliver some one liners when necessary and once even lifted a Weekend Update bit for a performance in a theater class. My teacher Marlene Schmalo was unaware of the source and encouraged me to follow the comedy trail.I didn't listen to her.But growing up in Cincinnati there must have been something in the water because I had heard of about 8 or 9 guys I knew of that felt compelled to try their hand at stand up comedy.I saw one guy that I had played in a boys tennis tournament on Comedy Central(Tom Agna)then another younger kid from my high school on David Letterman(Bobby Tessel).If they made it to the big show then couldn't I make it?I know that the general route on the road to success as a stand up comic(my math nightmare therapy) begins with open mikes.Performing in front of fifteen mostly jaded pissed off other wannabe comics and maybe 3-4 real customers is not a great way to spend a cold Tuesday night in Brooklyn's Sheepshead Bay section where a rowdy drunk tries to walk on stage and grab you .Or being the final performer of the night in a "juice" bar with no one watching you but the waitresses .But performing in a sold out night club on a Saturday night in New York City's Greenwich Village and "killing" the room is a great night.Believe me that the high you feel is possibly better than any feeling in the world.Getting to the point where you do "kill" a room requires a lot of the lonely nights as I mentioned above.Also taking the time to develop some material that you can use in your "set". When I moved to New York I went as a spectator to two comedy clubs on a semi-regular basis. The Comic Strip and Comedy Cellar were my destinations for a night of laughs .I also accompanied two friends of mine to some open mike nights.I wondered what it would be like to be up on stage doing stand up. I had been on stage as a high school actor so I was not intimidated being in front of a large crowd of people .Being funny was another matter entirely.In the winter of 1994 I noticed that New York University offered a class in stand up comedy through it's Adult Education program . I had seen Punch Line" with Tom Hank's and Sally Fields. Sally's son was in our class he said the movie made him want to do stand up a few weeks later he dropped out!One guy in particular that I talked to a lot in class was Rich Guzzi.He was an energetic fast talking guy from Long Island and he had some pretty good material.He also started doing open mikes before the class final had taken place.Rich kept me motivated to spend time writing and be prepared for our big night.I have played tennis matches in front of a few hundred people .Performed in plays in front of 500 .Given speeches in front of up to two thousand .Compared to getting up in a dark club in front of 100 people those other events paled in comparison .Many of us were very nervous.Some guys had a drink to calm their nerves.I was nervous that a drink might make me forget ...everything!One guy Lou even taped his "set"list to the stage floor in big letters .When I got up there and did my set I remember looking out and seeing my family,friends and co-workers in the crowd.I calmly delivered my "set" and remember people laughing.I have a videotape to prove it.Then it was over and I had that drink .Best Corona I ever had .We all celebrated at a bar after the show and then parted ways to go out into the world of comedy and life.<br />
Rich Guzzi mentioned an open mike at a place called Pips in Brooklyn .Pips was known as the first comedy club in America. Seth Schultz was the owner and the club's Master of Ceremonies .He was also a great guy that took us under his wing.Over the next year Seth helped me develop material and confidence in my ability to become a comic. Seth let me show up 2-3 nights a week to perform.I looked up to him like an older brother.It hit me like a bomb shell when Seth announced he was selling Pips.After he sold the club he moved to L.A. and I never saw Seth again in person.I looked for other places to perform and feel as comfortable flexing my comedy muscles but none will ever be as special as the small club on Emmons Avenue.I even went Pips after it was sold but without Seth it was not the same.Seth made it onto an episode of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" with Larry David.He made a film about his friend Andy Kaufman from "Taxi" fame.It was assumed that big things were going to happen for Seth.He died a couple of years ago.I did some auditions at comedy clubs in Manhattan and worked out of a cabaret club called "Roses Turn".The atmosphere was low key and unpredictable like Pips.My wife got to see me on a night when performing to a full house I "killed".I was happy that my life partner had witnessed a room full of strangers laughing at my stories(mostly about us)and I did not drop any f-bombs in my act.More and more I realized I wanted to spend my spare time with my family so I packed it in.It has been over 10 years since I got up on stage to do stand up.Wait!That sounds like a confession in a 12 step program!Kids,work,being a devoted husband and too many late nights all contributed to the demise of my comedy "journey".I don't really recall the last time Algebra woke me up quivering and screaming "IACCOBUCCI" in the middle of the night.So I guess comedy cured my night terrors?<br />
And to my friend Seth who is up in God's country.Thanks for the smiles!How can I ever repay you buddy?<br />
Fred"Wildman"(my stage name)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5358666828914019906.post-39232522058469168162009-05-15T22:27:00.000-07:002012-04-24T19:28:42.049-07:00Searching for Stevie Brown but finding Bob Ryland<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/Sg5R-OoICII/AAAAAAAAACU/LkyLoB7j6GE/s1600-h/192646182-M.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336292738000750722" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LeUJwYTK-J8/Sg5R-OoICII/AAAAAAAAACU/LkyLoB7j6GE/s200/192646182-M.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 134px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
1976 is a year I will never let slip away from my memory.It was when I turned 16 and got my driver's license and independence.1976 was a year in which I went to see the movie “Rocky” with my tennis buddy Stevie Brown that inspired me to dedicate myself to fitness/tennis and never giving up on my dreams .<br />
“Rocky” had me getting up before school every morning to run a 1.6 mile loop around my Cincinnati neighborhood .I even went so far as to ingest the raw egg diet of Mr. Balboa before many of those early morning training sessions..<br />
I joined a gym and did weight training every other day .<br />
Stevie Brown and I were headed in opposite directions on the tennis court in 1976.Stevie with his smooth classic strokes was the star of our high school team.<br />
Me with the mentality of a brick wall was content to hit balls until my opponents either got bored ,frustrated or just plain angry with my ability to return every ball sent my way until the cows came home.<br />
My defining moment in tennis was in 1973. Reaching the finals of the boys city championships .It was a dream I had envisioned since my brother had done it twice .<br />
I never dreamed of winning .Getting to the finals was the “vision” .<br />
That is where Stevie entered the picture ..On the other half of the tournament was a name I didn’t bother to look for or expect to lock horns with at all .<br />
I beat a cocky kid in the quarters named Andy Porter who was talking about who he was going to play in the next round in the car ride to our alternate match site .As if beating me was a foregone conclusion .Only problem for Andy Porter was I wanted to win the damn match more than him .<br />
The guy I faced after Porter was a pushover .Then came trouble with a capital "T"(or "S")<br />
A year younger and about a half foot shorter than me . Stevie Brown kicked my butt .<br />
I was not cocky .I didn't assume I would beat Stevie .I had achieved my goal of getting to the finals just like big brother Dave .<br />
In 1976 I had let that memory fade pretty far away .Rocky was calling out to me .<br />
Stevie now Steve was on his way to leading our high school team to the city and state championships.I was drinking a lot of raw eggs and humming the Rocky theme “Gonna Fly Now”.<br />
Many years had passed and I don’t really know what happened to Steve. "Rocky” was still around in some shape or form (or Rambo).I was working at Midtown Tennis Club in New York and noticed an article on the wall about Bob Ryland who was a pro at Midtown.<br />
The headline “Arthur Ashe’s dream : to beat Bob Ryland “ hit me like a sledgehammer .<br />
The article said Bob was the first black professional tennis player .<br />
Jackie Robinson of my sport ....sledgehammer again !<br />
After a few weeks I got up the courage to ask Bob to hit with me .I should have kept my mouth shut.<br />
It was the most torturous one hour of tennis I ever encountered .Bob only hit the ball that day with sidespin on both forehand and backhand .If I did get in position to hit a shot it was out of sheer luck .<br />
Like Micky the trainer in “Rocky”made him chase a live chicken all over the yard Bob’s shots were like hundreds of chickens and with each missed shot my frustration boiled over .<br />
I yelled at him to," play tennis like a man" .He laughed and continued to torture me with his sidearmed missiles .<br />
After that I asked Bob to help coach me for some USTA men’s events .<br />
Bob’s answer was “NO” .<br />
He mentioned an event in Brooklyn that I should enter on an indoor linoleum court.<br />
Not the tennis I grew up with in O-H-I-O.<br />
That court was faster than greased lightning and I lost 6-0,6-0 to a guy named Michael Clarke.<br />
I pretty much begged Bob on the subway ride home to help me get some game.<br />
Bob finally agreed as we passed under the East River and back to the safety of the slow clay courts at Midtown Tennis .<br />
One day as I was relaxing before teaching junior groups Bob walked by me with a tennis ball hopper filled with 100 balls . “Let’s go”, he said and motioned to the court.<br />
I jumped up and quickly followed the “Master” onto court 3 .<br />
Bob then proceeded to hit balls to the farthest reaches of the court and simply said ,”hit the ball as hard as you can”.<br />
I did and 100 balls and 10 minutes later I was gasping for air and sweating profusely.<br />
I limped off to teach my class that day .Over the next few months Bob repeated that drill and added other drills along with some sound technical advice .<br />
Since most of my lessons were hitting lessons I could practice Bob’s methods .<br />
Most of the pros at the club could not understand my desire to play and train in my free time since I was already working seven days a week.<br />
I was searching for my defining moment. Where are you Stevie?<br />
1985 was a year in which I lost eighteen first round USTA men’s matches.Ouch! Bob’s advice was simple ,”hit the ball hard and don’t be afraid”.<br />
Winning was never discussed .Losing was not hitting the ball hard .I obliged.<br />
That all changed when I accompanied Bob to the US Open to see Bruce Foxworth .<br />
Bob was helping Bruce get through his early round matches .<br />
Bruce was a cool customer on the court .He listened to Bob and was winning against some big name guys .<br />
As we left the grounds one day I mentioned my desire to get to the Open as a player .<br />
Bob shook his head ,”maybe one day ...keep hittin’ the ball kid “.<br />
Stadium Tennis Center in the Bronx.In the shadows of Yankee Stadium is where my defining moment emerged .<br />
Bob gave me a simple strategy ,”hit the ball down the middle of the court”.Down the middle until my opponent got bored , frustrated or angry with my ability to get every ball back in play until the cows came home.<br />
My opponent was Michael Clarke of the earlier 6-0,6-0 linoleum smashfest at my expense .<br />
This time with Bob in my corner the score was 6-1,6-1 for me.<br />
Maybe 1973 was not my defining moment in tennis . Steve Brown had moved on to bigger and better moments and I guess that I had as well .<br />
I have heard it said that you learn more from losses than from your wins.<br />
I learned to fight harder . To train harder and develop a more complete game .<br />
I learned that in my first year of tournament play when I lost seventeen times in the first round of USTA-Eastern men’s events .I thought about quitting many times during that year .Each time I lost I would speak to Bob and his first question would be ,”when is your next tournament ?”.<br />
I never said to him ,”I quit” .<br />
Instead I started entering tournaments in groups so after one was over I would be ready to move right into the next event .<br />
Bob had the discipline of a champion and his mindset was rubbing off on me.<br />
Not just in tennis but into all areas of my life .<br />
If you think like a champion and train like a champion then eventually you will become a champion.<br />
I spent many years searching for a way to erase the loss to Steve Brown.<br />
In 2009 and many years removed from that loss in 1973 I am now honored that I could compete against my friend in such a meaningful match .<br />
I never found a way to erase that loss but instead I found a tennis legend that changed my life .<br />
In 1985 Bob Ryland helped me to look beyond Steve Brown.......and Rocky.<br />
Arthur Ashe's hero when he was growing up was Bob Ryland now I know why.<br />
<br />
<a class="yss_save_1242453890980" href="http://tennisfame.com/" mce_href="http://tennisfame.com" type="1"><img alt="Bob Ryland with Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe and Arthur Ashe in 1986 at Midtown Tenni" class="yssDKImg yssImg yssImgE yssAstImg_itemGuid.4977e845842227.99605413_604X400 yssImg_allowZoomIn yssDKImg_alignNone yss_save_1242453890980" height="150" mce_src="/yahoo_site_admin/assets/images/bob_with_the_Ashes.20193326.jpg" src="http://bobrylandworldtour.com/yahoo_site_admin/assets/images/bob_with_the_Ashes.20193326.jpg" width="228" /><img align="right" alt="2008 Open" class="yssDKImg yssImg yssImgD yssAstImg_itemGuid.48c80e1df05552.60540581_600X400 yssDKImg_alignRight yss_save_1242454147501" height="152" mce_src="/yahoo_site_admin/assets/images/bob_at_2008_us_open.253111523_std.jpg" src="http://bobrylandworldtour.com/yahoo_site_admin/assets/images/bob_at_2008_us_open.253111523_std.jpg" style="text-align: right;" width="228" /></a><img align="left" class="yssDKImg yssImg yssImgE yssAstImg_itemGuid.48e59bad1b5d13.77469224_2448X1632 yssDKImg_alignLeft yss_save_1242454071662" height="245" mce_src="/yahoo_site_admin/assets/images/2007_ata_at_the_us_open_028.275211316_std.jpg" src="http://bobrylandworldtour.com/yahoo_site_admin/assets/images/2007_ata_at_the_us_open_028.275211316_std.jpg" style="text-align: left;" width="368" /><br />
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