My road back to Baseball

2009 Hat Day

Dad threw out the first pitch at my kids first trip to "The Show" in Cincy

New Yankee Stadium first practice with Mike Aronstein

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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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,
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.
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.
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.
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.
My wife called it " My sentimental journey through baseball history".
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.
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.
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.
The last day of the season they had a chance to make the playoffs with a win.

New Yankee Stadium first practice

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.
As 2009 rolled around we along with many people were extremely excited about the new baseball palaces in New York.
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.
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.
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.
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
was pretty amazing.
 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
"the Show" that I started to wonder what it must feel like to be on the field in a pro baseball game.
I love being a fan and spending time at Yankee Stadium but I wanted to experience the game as a player.
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.
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.
I had competed against guys that served in the 120-130 mph range and beaten them so hitting a
95 mph fastball didn't seem that fast. Let alone a little leaguer throwing it in the 50 mph range.
How ignorant can one person really be?
 Pretty darn ignorant is what I was!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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."
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."
I didn't want to have to stare out that window.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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".
 Julie replied that a few spots were still left and so I registered online for my big league dream.
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
Goose Gossage.
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.

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.
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.
I experimented with different grips and arm angles. I practiced pitching out of the stretch and windup.
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.
I was able to knock the ball off the tee a few times and hit my son's glove with good accuracy.
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.
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.
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.
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.
He was also probably wondering why a middle aged guy was there hitting off a tee on a cold fall afternoon.
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.
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.
I know some MLB pitchers that like C.aptain C.runch cereal that might benefit from playing this game.
No names though (see above initials).
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.
Then I said goodbye to my family and packed my bags for my trip to George M. Steinbrenner Field and the Yankees complex.
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".

Freddy Sez

My wife in the cage

Some of my first tennis trophies

My son's first travel game

Jannito,my squash partner

Matt Duran and my son

Game 6 2009 World Series

My Grandpa playing baseball with Grandma Dorothy

Chris Vasami

My son having a catch with Yankees reliever Buddy Carlisle

My daughter on the field at a Reds game in Cincy

savethechildren.org Save The Children
wish.org Make A Wish Foundation
rmhc.org Ronald Mcdonald House

Our time together as Champions

1978 Returning Varsity players

It was in the spring of 2010 I think when I got the very bad news that my high school friend and teammate
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.
We drank Champagne and laughed and over the next twenty years maybe we spoke one other time.

1979 Varsity

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.
That's to be expected.But we always were able to move forward.
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.
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.
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.

City Champions 1976-79

Most tennis people in Cincinnati didn't even pick us as favorites to win our hometown title.
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!
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.
We at Walnut were not exactly the model for a successful high school championship caliber team.
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.
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.
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.
I have been married almost twenty one years and my wife knows very well why and how I do what I do.
By our senior year of  1979 there were quite a few guys that could read me as well as my wife can today.
In the spring of 2010 one of those guys was taken away from my life.
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.
In the years 1976 to 1979 there was one thing that we will always have to remember our time together.....
                                   .........."We Were Champions"

Richard A.(Dick) Weiland(aka Dad) taught me to love baseball

Dad threw out the first pitch on kids first trip to the "Show"

Dad

Dad

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!
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.
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.
But in the present tense....
 "Oh Lord give me the strength  to get through extra innings ............. or a three set tennis match that could last  for over  four hours".
I have made that statement many times in my life.
When I was a little boy I wanted to be a Cincinnati Redleg.
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.
You do not spend time around my dad, Dick Weiland and remain clueless about the game of baseball.
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.
We were inundated with stats,strategies,scouting reports.
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.
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.
My dad is a lefty is my only thought on this one.
Dad had pitched in college at Williams and was an acquaintance of  fellow Williams student and sports fanatic
George Steinbrenner.They had a mutual friend named Pete Smythe.
I really believe like many sportsmen my dad would have loved to own a baseball team.
He chose real estate,law,lobbying and has all along followed baseball with that same fervor.
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.
After I moved away from Ohio I lost that voice in my ear.
"Go the distance"? "If you build it he will come"? "Ease his pain"? ......Nope not that voice.
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.
The voice spoke wisely and I did follow my dream.But things do change in life.By choice sometimes and other times by circumstance.
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 .....
going forward.
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.
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" .
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.
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.
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.
So many things that I connected to had happened at both of these buildings.
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.
Hey, I'm  a simple  midwest boy tryin' to make it in the big city.
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.
It sounds so damn simplistic that a game could help to heal our souls.
The Yankees lost in the 2001 Series and we as Yankee fans were heartbroken by the loss.
 But it was only baseball after all.........just a game.
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.
To me and my friends it was Crosley Field or Riverfront or any place where the big league Reds shined
This is where I wanted to spend my free time in 2008.Honoring these memories with my family on my
"Sentimental Journey".
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.
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.
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.
It became obvious as September arrived that both teams would have a limited chance to make the playoffs.
So we bid farewell to both Stadiums and looked forward to renewal in 2009.
All along I talked to my dad about his Reds and their revival.
My dad inspired me to share some special moments  with my kids to pass on his knowledge and passion for the game.
Last year I was lucky enough to take my kids to both new baseball venues in New York.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I still feel bad and haven't called him yet.
Dad has invested a lifetime of passion and enthusiastic energy in his Redlegs.I am sure it stings a bit.
That old familiar refrain "wait til' next year"comes to mind.
Cubs fans know what I am talking about.
So as my team embarks on their next step towards postseason glory I hope I will not utter that previously mentioned refrain.
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.
So to my dad Richard A.(Dick) Weiland

 Thank you for everything you have given to me.Thank you for your time, your  wisdom and
best wishes next year  for your Cincinnati Reds.

Grandpa Fred loved baseball too

Yankees,Reds,Giants

Riverfront Stadium

1973....Red Powell, Billy the Kid and the Oneida County Mad Man

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.
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.

Don’t need to explain the value of candy to a young boy of eleven.

So I 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 the Kid 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. 

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.
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.
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.
It involved incredible bravery, absolute lack of fear and excuse the expression here folks: BIG BALLS.

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.
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.
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.I

magine 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 and must have sprinted away as if he were running through a haunted cemetery at midnight.
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.
Over the years I  occasionally ran into Billy on my visits to Cincinnati.
A few years back he passed away and I felt like part of my childhood had died along with him.
I never had the chance to tell him how much I admired him for his bravery, his sense of humor and his athleticism.
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.
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.

Travels with Mom

In 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.
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.

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.
Nope.I wasn't feeling the connection in Miami.Sorry mom.
 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".
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.

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.
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.
I caught a glimpse of the case with the urn.I walked over and put it next to my overnight bag.
Now it is back where the journey began in the back of my car.
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.
Everyone has their own way of dealing with a loss. It's not a tennis match or a baseball game.
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.
Or maybe she just loved going to a lot of places with her family in tow and we will take her with us?

(left photo is mom with my bro Dave)

Lessons learned from "Swooping Hawk" a.k.a. Dad ....

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.
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.
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.
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.
She had wanted him to see a doctor to get checked out.
After persistent prodding from my sister and my cousin Dr. Mike who was my dad's doctor, he will seek some further medical advice.
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.
That is when I get.... the call. Dad is in bad shape.
Dad is on life support and may not make it through the weekend.
I go to work and speak to my bosses Dale and Angela.
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.
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.
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.
Even when you are in the worst possible situation in life don't dwell on your misfortune...... keep moving forward..... always..... keep moving forward.
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.
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?
Then he scribbles again. His camp name at Camp Kawaga in
Woodruff, Wisconsin in the 1940s.
The three of us erupt in laughter. Dad smiles. I have just learned lesson number two.
Keep your sense of humor..... even when the worst possible thing in the world is happening to you. Try to keep smiling.
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.
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.
Swooping Hawk makes it out of the hospital after 78 long days.
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.
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.
Dad,Dicky,Richard...... thanks for being you and for being a great Dad.

The SS Weiland and a 3 hour tour to the old ballgame

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.
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.

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?
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.
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.
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.
If you see Mary Ann or Ginger then you are watching too much old TV and need an intervention.

It's a LONG three  hour tour you are not soon to forget.