It was a Very Goodyear

By: Rich Walburg

Eleven women and me. 

At my workplace, I am diversity. 

Outside of the office, I have a wife, a mother and two dogs, all females. Sure, I have great guy friends, but I don’t see them with the regularity with which I enjoy time with women. 

That’s why I was anxious, in every sense of the word, to visit Goodyear, Arizona for my first Cincinnati Reds Spring Training. I had been invited to join a dozen men in the dry heat. 

Jesus and his 12 male friends had good chats in the desert, but even Christ was known to pull an Irish goodbye, hiking up the mountain for some alone time. And with all of those needy guys asking all of those meaty questions, it’s no miracle that Jesus stepped out of the boat. 

Just hours before the Spring Training trip, I was texting a friend also heading to Arizona. 

“Are you checking a bag?”
“Are you taking swim trunks?”
“Do you have travel-size sunscreen?” 

On a trip full of Tim Allen, I was Woody Allen. 

They are Buzz Lightyear. I am Woody. 

Allen. 

Minus most of the creepy stuff. 

Deplane. Deplane. 

Max & Erma’s pours a lot of Bud Light at 8:46 a.m. The airport refuge was our five-hour distraction from a delayed flight with a mechanical issue. Not an engine issue. Not a problem with landing gear. The latch on a galley cart was busted. 

The delay started as a paperwork issue that grew into a quick-fix and ended with us exiting the aircraft, two hours later, due to a kitchen fixture. We were going to miss an afternoon of sunshine and baseball due to the federal protection of Biscoff. 

The needed latch wasn’t available in Cincinnati. Thankfully, it was being flown in from Atlanta, presumably on the Wright Flyer. 

We arrived in Phoenix just in time to miss whatever game was happening at the Giants ballpark (known for its spectacular views) and decided to focus on basketball broadcast from another city onto our television. The RnR Gastropub in Scottsdale provided indoor/outdoor seating and a 180 square foot video wall.

We were joined in cursing cheering our Bearcats by four San Francisco fans. The ladies at the adjacent table were Gert, Gert, Gert and Marie.

Giving me a complex 

Near the Reds Spring Training facility is the Goodyear airplane graveyard, where aircraft are stored and stripped for parts. We stopped by to pick up a galley latch. 

The eighty-sixed 747s were along our drive to the Cincinnati Reds Player Development Complex. One of the guys on the trip is friends with the guy who was able to get us in touch with the guy who could get us inside. Access for the entire sounder!

You know the strange men who hang around little league fields, peering through the backstop fencing? That was us – only this wasn’t Rumpke Park. We were just feet from Votto, Castillo and Shogo. But even when Joey Votto is close, he seems so distant. 

Baseball players were doing baseball things. Some of them were talking to some of the others, likely sharing tales of pine tar, groupies and sunflower seeds. 

I shook hands with a grown man named Corky. 

Then, it was time to experience a real-live fake baseball game versus Milwaukee. Brewers fans were tailgating outside of Goodyear Ballpark, taunting us. 

“Hope you brought tissues, because you’re going to be crying when the Reds lose.”

After the Reds loss, we made our way to Roman’s Oasis – and no, we didn’t bring tissues, because ew. 

The Oasis, built in the catacombs of a one-story ranch, is spacious, dark and smells like your Aunt Viv’s cellar (not a euphemism). The self-described watering hole features cheap, cold six packs and a corral in the parking lot to tie up your horse. At midnight, you can send your camel to bed. 

Crispety, Crunchety, Peanut Buttery! 

As we were calling it quits for the night, we passed an inebriated guest shaking a candy bar at the hotel desk receptionist. 

“Do you like Baby Ruth?,” he grunted, swaying as he pointed the candy. 

“Do you?” 

“Do you like Baby Ruth?” 

The receptionist finally gave in. “Yes, sir, I like Baby Ruth – but you’re holding a Butterfinger.” 

Live Like You Were Dying 

Look for the window painting of a chimpanzee wearing a crown, smoking a pipe. That’s the Mojo Smoke Palace. Just to the right, its strip-mall neighbor is the Asian massage parlor, Country Spa. Based on its name, we can assume it offers a non-therapeutic exchange with a side of biscuits-n-gravy. 

What you want is to the left. The Mesa Drummer is a Mesa Arizona bar and grill,and our first destination on our last full day of the Spring Training trip. It’s where we wasted a few minutes and fewer dollars before heading to Hohokam Stadium for the Reds at A’s. The Miller Lites were cheap, and the burgers were cooked to order on a cooktop within eyesight, behind the bar. The Drummer is staffed by three women (likely named Linda) and one man (likely named Chad Everett). 

After the game, we were met by a Chevy Flex and our Lyft driver, Francisco. His radio was loud and letting us know that Francisco likes him some Tim McGraw. Unfortunately, for all involved, Francisco’s wife called , and called again – and because the phone was patched through the Flex’s Bluetooth speakers – she was announced by Siri every time. 

🔔 “My baby girl, smiley face, smiley face, smiley face.” 

After 11 missed calls, we were beginning to worry that Francisco’s wife had accidentally lopped off a toe. On the next ring, Francisco answered. 

🔔 My baby girl, smiley face, smiley face, smiley face 

“Hello.”
“No, don’t buy anything until I get home”
“I’m with riders, baby.”
“Just wait ‘til I get home.”
“Don’t buy anything.” 

“-- Call ended --" 

During the remainder of the ride, Francisco’s wife phoned 31 times.

🎶 I went skydiving 🎶 

🔔 “My baby girl, smiley face, smiley face, smiley face.” 

🎶 I went Rocky Mountain climbing 🎶

🔔 “My baby girl, smiley face, smiley face, smiley face.” 

THERE’S NO CRYING 

The biggest take-away from this baseball trip was how little it had to do with baseball. We went to three games in four days but used that time to share stories and hold court. Truth is, we drank more pitchers than we watched. 

There were tales of Pete Rose, Axl Rose, and the wife of a once budding Cincinnati politician. The latter may have been BS. 

The group was comprised of bar owners, homebuilders, broadcasters and plumbers. Many have been friends so long that they refer to each other with names from the childhood knothole field – Jimmy and Donny and Kenny. Others just had nicknames like Snorkel. 

While in Arizona, I learned through social media that my friend, Danny, had passed away at the age of 37. He had tremendous love for his wife, his children and his God. Baseball, beer and sunshine are great – but Love is first and always. 

I was apprehensive about a trip with 12 men, but what they showed me was their brand of kindness. Please don’t let them know that I noticed. 

They walked with me back to the hotel when I knew I had enough. They pointed out old stadia and boarded-up restaurants they used to visit, and they made sure I had my first-ever In-N-Out burger. I was included and it’s appreciated. That’s the special sauce. 

Someday, I hope you get the chance... 

🔔 “My baby girl, smiley face, smiley face, smiley face.” 

Follow Cincinnati on the road

By Betsy Ross

Got the itch to pack your bags, whether it’s for spring break or a long weekend? Lucky for us, there are several destinations with a Cincinnati connection that you can book, starting in just a few weeks with the Cincinnati Reds and spring training games in the Cactus League.

Head west to Arizona where you’ll find 10 stadiums, 15 MLB teams and warm sunshine. While the Florida Grapefruit League is scattered from the Gulf Coast to Atlantic and I-4 in between, you’ll find teams in Arizona are pretty much compacted into the Phoenix metro area.

Of course, while you’re there, take in great dining, shopping and golf, along with incredible sightseeing that only the western states have to offer. Get the Reds’ spring training schedule and check out places to stay and things to do at visitarizona.com/springtraining.

Nonstops out of CVG include a 6:45 a.m. Delta flight, 9:15 p.m. on Frontier or 4:46 p.m. with American and 7:40 a.m. on Allegiant. As flights are added and amended for spring training, check with your carrier to get the best time and price.

If you want to wait until the games count for real, the Reds play the Yankees at famed Yankee Stadium for a three-game weekend set April 17-19. Take in a ball game, then see a show on Broadway or just relax at one of the many famous restaurants in town. Want to travel to the game like a New Yawker? From Grand Central just off Times Square, take the #4 subway and follow the pinstripe-clad fans right to the Bronx and Yankee Stadium.

If the MLS is more your game, FC Cincinnati’s first month of its second big league season includes a trip to Toronto for a 3 p.m. match on Saturday, March 21. Toronto FC plays at BMO Field, located at Exhibition Place on Toronto's shoreline just off downtown. Watch superstar Jozy Altidore in action while you enjoy the cosmopolitan, European feel of Toronto.

Make it a sports doubleheader while you’re there and watch the Columbus Blue Jackets take on the Maple Leafs that night. Or, attend Toronto’s Comicon at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre, going on all weekend. Delta looks to be the fastest connection to Toronto, through Detroit.

Speaking of Detroit, you can go there in June for the North American International Auto Show at the TCF Center, running June 7-20, and stay for the van Gogh exhibit at the Detroit Institute of Arts, from Sunday, June 21, through Sunday, September 27.

The Detroit Institute of Arts was the first public museum in the U.S. to purchase a painting by van Gogh—Self-Portrait, 1887, which it acquired in 1922. To celebrate, the museum is organizing the first exhibition dedicated to the introduction and early reception of the iconic artist’s work in America.

The exhibition includes “Undergrowth with two Figures,” part of the Cincinnati Art Museum’s permanent collection since 1967.

Featuring approximately 65 of Van Gogh’s paintings and works on paper from collections around the world, “the exhibition will explore the considerable efforts made by early promoters of modernism in the United States—including dealers, collectors, private art organizations, public institutions, and the artist’s family—to introduce the artist, his biography, and his artistic production into the American consciousness” according to the museum’s website. Learn more about the exhibit and tickets at https://www.dia.org/vangoghinamerica.

Get ready for July’s Cincinnati Music Festival by taking a trip to New Orleans for the Jazz & Heritage Festival, eight days of music, food and fun from April 23 through May 3. The schedule isn’t out yet, but you can be sure it’ll be impressive. Find out more at https://www.nojazzfest.com/home/.

Save some room in your schedule for the Ryder Cup September 22-27 at Whistling Straits, Kohler, Wisconsin, a great opportunity to see this international faceoff at a venue within driving distance.  The best of the U.S. in golf, led by captain Steve Stricker, faces the European team and its captain, Padraig Harrington in this biennial golf competition. The official ticket drawing has closed for the event, but check secondary markets for packages. PrimeSport is the official secondary market provider--visit their site for availability.

Whether you’re into sports, culture or just a weekend getaway, there are several opportunities this year to take a break and explore!

Flying Pig Marathon ranked top in America

Cincinnati’s own Flying Pig Marathon has been ranked the number one marathon in America, according to a survey from an online running community.

BibRave.com, a website that connects runners with races, asked runners what their favorite marathons were in 2019.

Those surveyed ranked the Flying Pig Marathon the best, followed by the Missoula Marathon, the Walt Disney World Marathon, the Marine Corps Marathon, and the Boston Marathon.

Runners tell BibRave.com the Flying Pig Marathon is so detailed-oriented and it carries the pig-theme throughout the event.

Congratulations to the Flying Pig Marathon. You can get into the action for the 22nd annual Flying Pig Marathon weekend on May 1-3, 2020.

Travel to Nice: Never too early to plan your spring getaway

By: Betsy Ross

We may be wrapping up our travel plans for getting to grandma’s house for the holidays, but it doesn’t hurt to look down the road to plan a spring trip. If you’re searching for something a little more exotic, but still affordable, think about a flight to the French Riviera, where temperatures are moderate in the spring and the crowds haven’t quite made it to the beach.

Delta Air Lines gives travelers from this area a couple of options to get there: Take the direct to Paris’ Charles DeGaulle Airport then fly from CDG to Nice, or head to JFK and fly directly to Nice from New York. (if you’re really adventurous, fly to CDG, then take the train from Paris to Nice—it’s comfortable, offers drinks and snacks, and gives you a 5+hour ride in the French countryside to enjoy).

Nice is a great starting point for your trip with a number of hotel options right on the water. On our trip we stayed at the Hotel LaPerouse, a boutique hotel across the street from the beach with welcome amenities (pool, free breakfast) and within walking distance of shopping, sightseeing and nightlife.

Your first reference of Nice, of course, might be the truck bombing in 2016 along the Promenade des Anglais, the main walkway along the Mediterranean that took dozens of lives. It was, and still is, a popular destination for walkers, joggers and skateboarders, but now you’re as likely to see squads of armed police walking the Promenade as you are a mom with a baby stroller.

In spring, the beach won’t be as crowded, and neither will the streets. Cross the street from the beach and head northeast toward the Vieux Nice (Old Town) and you’ll be delighted to discover open air markets, arts and crafts booths, and delightful restaurants offering sidewalk dining. If you want touristy t-shirts, you can find them there, or if you’re looking for ceramic pieces, original artwork or a unique gift to take home, this is an excellent place to discover a one of a kind as well.

Festivals seem to pop up on a regular basis in Nice—when we were there, they were having their version of “Taste of Nice” with bites from area restaurants, a gourmet chef’s corner, music and entertainment just off the Promenade by the main Port de Nice.

If you’re into spectator sports, Nice’s Allianz Riviera Stadium was the site of early Women’s World Cup rounds in 2019. About a half hour north of the shoreline, it’s in an industrial area where, when we were there, an Ikea was being built. Home of soccer’s OGC Nice and rugby union club Toulon, the stadium complex also includes a restaurant called Memphis. That in and of itself isn’t memorable—what WAS memorable was the Big Boy statue out front. (Not OUR Big Boy, but Big Boy nonetheless)

As for dining, it’s everything you would expect from the French. Fresh pasta and seafood are the headliners, and of course, the wine selection is extensive. Some of the best meals we found were at small, family owned restaurants in the area around the Opéra Nice Côte d’Azur, a historical stop all its own. Fire destroyed the original building in the late 1800s, but it was rebuilt and reopened in February 1885 with a performance of Aida. It’s the principal home of the Opera, Ballet Nice Méditerrannée and the Nice Philharmonic Orchestra. 

Monte Carlo casino

With Nice as your home base, it’s less than an hour’s drive west to Cannes, a spectacular spot even without the film festival going on, or headed the other direction, about 30 minutes to Monte Carlo, both must-see destinations on your tour of the Mediterranean coast. (travel tip—you won’t get a visa stamp when you cross the border into Monaco—if you want your passport stamped to show off to your friends, you need to go to the Office du Tourisme of Monaco, just around the corner from the Monte Carlo casino)

Booking early enough in the spring (typical shoulder season of mid-March to April) will let you take advantage of lower rates for hotels and restaurants, before prices go up during the typical tourist season. In April, temperatures go from 15° to 20°C (around 60° to 68°F) and on average the wettest month isn’t until October. High school French isn’t so hot? Don’t worry, everyone scuffs by on rudimentary English. 

So let the spring break crowds fight for a place on the amusement park ride and head instead to the French Riviera, more affordable and easier to get to than you might imagine. You’ll have better vacation photos, as well!

Among the Fallen at Normandy for the 75th Anniversary of D-Day

By Sara Celi

Holy places can sometimes be hard to come by in the United States.

We rush around daily in a never-ending sea of skyscrapers, twisted highways, strip malls, and parking lots. If a building is over fifty years old, that sometimes qualifies as ancient. If a park appeared before 1930, we’re impressed it’s still around. If we stumble on a house with a historical marker, we often marvel at the upkeep and love required to keep it standing year after year. Forget about a lot of quiet spaces or reflective places. We’re lucky if our communities have a handful of those.

Perhaps that’s what makes the Normandy American Cemetery so striking. So stunning. And yes, in a way, so holy. It’s technically part of America, a hollowed place for WWII dead who will forever be remembered, but it’s also France, and a slip of foreign land along the English Channel where so many Americans took their last breath, all of them fighting for something larger than themselves.

It’s easy to wax poetic as you walk among their graves. It’s not hard to walk away feeling changed.

I visited on the 75th Anniversary of D-Day itself, a time of worldwide reflection about a cold, dreary morning in 1944, when the largest armada in history landed in Normandy after a choppy night a sea. The invasion was by many accounts the longest day of WWII, a fierce battle that left thousands of Allied forces dead, and devastated a critical point of the Nazi Germany’s Atlantic Wall in a place much of the leadership never expected. From here, the story goes, Americans, British, French, Canadian, Australian, and other Allied troops swept across France, liberating Paris a few months later and Berlin in the spring of 1945. D-Day is the exalted turning point of it all, the moment democratic loving countries stood up to Hitler and his hatred, making sure that the Western front would be just as hard for the Germans to fight as the Eastern one.

But that’s not the entire story.

The Normandy campaign didn’t go as planned. It got messy and complicated, almost from the moment the armada set out from Portsmouth, England. The weather didn’t cooperate. Troops got sick. People became afraid. The Nazis stationed in Northern France proved willing to fight hard and long, afraid a fate worse than death awaited them if they became POWs who might one day get traded to the Red Army in the east. The French people in Normandy paid a stiff price, with thousands of innocents dead by the end of that summer, collateral damage of the advancing and retreating armies. The full wrath of Nazi terror spread through the rest of France that summer, too, almost as an answer to the devastating D-Day invasion. In one village alone on June 10th, SS soldiers killed over 640 people.

Standing among the graves of the Normandy American Cemetery, you feel all of that and more.

Each headstone is meticulously carved. Each one polished almost daily. And each a testament to the appreciation of the dead.  The cemetery groundskeeper knows just how long the blades of grass should be and keeps it all trimmed with a military-like precision. As I walked through the rows, I never once saw a rogue clover, dandelion, or patch of crabgrass. At the American Cemetery, these things do not exist.

The day I visited held a mix of emotions.

As the world watched on the 75th anniversary of the landings, an official ceremony recognized not only those who died for freedom, but also those who made it off the beach alive. Several hundred WWII veterans gathered on a dais with President Trump, President Macron, their wives and other dignitaries for a program that stretched into two hours. A few who had not received the French Legion of Honor found it pinned to their chest, an enteral thank you from a nation that considers those who invaded France on behalf of the Allies just as much French citizens as they are citizens of their home countries.  Music, speeches, a twenty-one-gun salute, and air show of planes and patriotism topped off the bittersweet day.

I watched from a row in the back. While I cried throughout the ceremony, I wept the most during the national anthems.

Perhaps that shouldn’t have been a surprise. After all, I knew I’d feel something that day, that I wouldn’t walk away from it all without a pull on my heart. How could I? I’d have to be dead inside to not be moved by what I knew going in would be a ceremony that walked a tightrope between celebration, commemoration, and grief.

But for me, the most soaring moment came early on, as the collective body rose to sing the national anthems of both France and the United States. 

We don’t often gather to sing The Star-Spangled Banner. Save from the occasional sports game or parade, it doesn’t show up much.  People complain about the tune, mess up the words, and say they don’t understand why Francis Scott Key wrote the poem the way he did.  Moreover, in the last few years, even talking about the national anthem has ruffled feathers and caused offense as people debate our country’s past, it’s record on civil rights, and the realities that come with being citizens of a messy republic. It’s easy for many to dismiss the words in the anthem as hollow platitudes about something that never was and never will be. 

Not on that day.

First, the French people in attendance lent their voices to La Marseillaise, their own national song. It showed up in 1792, after the French Revolution spawned a war with Austria. The lyrics are a controversial battle cry, a call to the French people to unite against tyranny, to dig in when times are hard, and to never give up the fight for principles bigger than themselves. I’ll admit, as an American, I’d never paid attention to the words, and couldn’t remember when I’d last heard it sung. But on that shining, clear day, I heard thousands of French people lift the notes to the sky, and the words rang in my heart.

Then it was our turn.

For the first time in my life, I sang The Star-Spangled Banner in a foreign land. Even more, I did it with a few thousand strangers, among the graves of thousands more who never got a chance to sing it again in their homeland. My cracked, tuneless voice joined a chorus from every part of America—West Coast, East Coast, Midwestern, Southern, male, female, old, young, middle-aged, rich, poor, white, minority, immigrant, first generation, founding generation, religious, non-religious, Republican, Democrat, left, right, and center, all gathered together at the commemoration.

None of the usual categories mattered in that moment. Not one.

Instead, we were all Americans. All united in remembering those that pushed back against the devil himself, who peered into the gates of hell and didn’t budge. All struck for a moment in the realization that we might not enjoy our freedom of debate, our chance to make change, our individuality, and our deep tapestry of unique experiences if someone who came long before us hadn’t been willing to die for it.

Days later, I can’t think of a more patriotic moment at a ceremony.

Freedom is messy. It’s fraught. It doesn’t always work. But it’s also worth giving everything for, no matter how hard it might be. And the Normandy American Cemetery is one of the best places to remember just how noble the sacrifice is, just how meaningful the fight. Freedom lives there among the graves. And it never leaves. 

I’m told that even on a normal day, a day without pomp and circumstance, the Normandy American Cemetery still manages to impress visitors. Several people have told me that it’s a must see on a quiet Tuesday or a cold Saturday. No matter what time of year, the gravity of the price paid by those who rest there eternally is always felt. I have to say, I believe that statement. 

If you are ever in Normandy, this hallowed ground is a must see.