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My bus trip from Kansas City to St. Louis, I knew, would my last with Megabus. I had exhausted their midwestern and northeastern routes on the baseball road trip of a lifetime; a tear. To get to Cincinnati, Ohio from the Gateway City, I had no choice: Greyhound. Or, as I like to call them: Not Megabus. And my ride was scheduled at a most-convenient 3:20 am.

This much I know: the St. Louis Greyhound station at 3:00 am on a Friday morning is not the happiest place on earth. Far from it. Instead, the station serves as a reminder that the airline industry, as much as we might complain about it, is not, in fact, pure and unrelenting evil. Frankly, the Greyhound station is depressing; any and all of them. Because nobody around you is looking forward to their ride. Everyone, it seems, is waiting for a bus they hope will never arrive.

Yet thousands of people ride Greyhound across the continent every day. Because, without a doubt, you can't beat their fares. I am living proof, having paid only $50 to be whisked east to Ohio. There's also no doubt that travelling the great United States of America on (mostly) wheels has been an incredible and eye-opening experience. The people are, well ... let's just call them interesting. Enough to make you pray to the baseball gods that the bus you're travelling on isn't full, and that the empty seat next to you will remain just that.

But it isn't all bad, the Greyhound, no. You see, if it weren't for that motel on wheels, I'd never be able to say I visited, for a half hour, Effingham, Illinois; our 5:00 am first stop en route to Cincinnati. (Seriously, there's a place called Effingham.) Or beautiful downtown Indianapolis, Indiana, where I arrived at 8:30 am, and transferred buses for a 9 a.m., two-hour journey to "The Nasty Nati," to see the historic Cincinnati Reds.

Great American Ball Park

Now that's a name for a ballpark, folks. So patriotic; America and baseball. So poetic; baseball and America. So perfect.

Or so I thought, until I was informed that Great American Insurance Group owns the naming rights. Ugh; talk about having the wind knocked out of your sails. Great American is paying the Reds $2.5-million a season until 2033 to fool thousands of innocent baseball fans like myself; the power of the almighty dollar.

You'll find her, Great American Ball Park, on the banks of the Ohio River, in downtown Cincinnati. And unless you're staying at a city centre hotel within walking or taxi distance, you're driving. Because Cincinnati never finished building her subway; its tunnels sit abandoned and unused. Fret not; there's ample parking. My friend Priya and I came in from north of the city and found a spot down the road from the ballpark, in a lot next to Paul Brown Stadium, home of the Cincinnati Bengals, for only $10.

With some time to kill before first pitch, we set off to find a watering hole, and we found one; we did good. The In Between Tavern is the spot, and you'll find it at the corner of 3rd Street and Sycamore Street, directly across the street from the stadium. Beer was $5 a bottle, and the patio was packed. Not only with Reds fans, but with even a couple of fellas from Toronto, who drove down that morning to take in some St. Louis and Cincinnati action. My Blue Jays hat, as always, was their cue to say hello.

You'll never guess who they were sitting and having a drink with, though: the United Kingdom's entire population of baseball fans; all three of them! They were there in Cincinnati, on their own baseball road trip of a lifetime, having already visited Chicago, Kansas City, and St. Louis.

I couldn't believe my luck in meeting the UK lads who had travelled so far - much, much farther than I - to watch the game they love, and the game the rest of their countrymen couldn't care less about. That's passion. And there we were, all seven of us, Priya, a Torontonian still at heart, the only one able to call herself a Cincinnati resident. Baseball, baby; it brings people together.

I know one of the guys, who goes by leeinUK here in the comments, has, obviously, been reading Stealing Home. Thanks, mate. Spread the baseball gospel far and wide.

Come For The Baseball, Stay For The View

Fourteen dollars buys you a seat upstairs in the aptly titled "View Level" sections. We were in 519, row L, just about parallel with home plate. While I'd read a few horror stories about Great American Ball Park, how architects ripped its design, and called it a missed opportunity for a riverfront stadium, I couldn't help but be enamoured by the view. I thought it was downright charming. Beyond the bleachers in right field: the Ohio River, a boat sailing slowly by. And beyond the river, the rolling hills of Newport, Kentucky. If I had an easel, a paintbrush, and some paint, I'd have had no choice but to create a masterpiece. I was inspired.

While nothing in particular about Great American Ball Park blew me away, most every seat in the upper deck comes with a view. So, there's that. Whether you're looking out at the river, or are in the bleachers with downtown Cincinnati in the distance, you won't be disappointed by what you see beyond the field. On the field, as always, there are no guarantees. That's the beauty of baseball.

1869 To Infinity

The Cincinnati Reds are Major League Baseball's oldest franchise, going strong since 1869. That's a lot of history, and it's celebrated at 100 Joe Nuxhall Way. Speaking of Nuxhall, the former Reds pitcher and broadcaster's famous call - "Rounding third and headed for home." - is emblazoned on the northern wall of Great American Ball Park. Now that's a tribute. You get a great view of it from In Between Tavern's patio.

Nuxhall's also got a statue outside the ballpark's main entrance, along with Ted Kluszewski, aka "The Big Klu," Frank Robinson, and Ernie Lombardi. What's different about Cincinnati's statues is that they're all playing baseball together; an imaginary game. Nuxhall is pitching to Robinson, with Lombardi kneeling behind the plate. "The Big Klu," his massive arms and biceps too big for his jersey's sleeves, waits on deck. It's rather brilliant. And definitely different.

The four players share more in common than just being Reds legends. They all played at Crosley Field, the diamond the Cincinnati Reds called home from 1912 until 1970. And the main entrance to Great American Ball Park, Crosley Terrace, is an ode to Crosley Field, sloping left field terrace (think of the hill in centre field in Houston) and all. Again: brilliant. You can't walk into the new stadium without going back in time and going through their old one.

On an aside, the Reds' really old home, from 1902 to 1911, was named "Palace of the Fans." How's that for a slap in the face to capitalism? Love it.

When you enter Great American Ball Park, you're greeted by The Mosaic, two massive depictions of two famous Cincinnati squads: the 1869 Red Stockings, and the 1975 Big Red Machine. You know what I want in Toronto? Two murals of the 1992 and 1993 Jays squads. Larger than life. And, if it isn't too much trouble, a mural, or a statue, of J.P. Ricciardi. Fine; Pat Gillick can have one too.

Actually, my light bulb just went off. You know, the fake one, above your head. The Blue Jays can put the aforementioned Ricciardi statue in their new Toronto Blue Jays Hall of Fame, built inside what used to be Windows Restaurant. Yes!

The Big Red Machine

The Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame, on the southwest side of Great American Ball Park (that name is really getting on my nerves; what a farce), is apparently one of the best in the business, and costs $10 to visit. I didn't make it out there, though. I was with friends on the Cincinnati stop of #TBRTOAL, and their company was a pleasant change on my journey. I've got to save something for next time, right?

That doesn't mean, though, that I'm not utterly and absolutely enthralled by the history of the Cincinnati Reds. Because I am. Especially The Big Red Machine, the nickname given to the Reds team that dominated baseball from 1970 to 1976, winning back-to-back World Series titles in 1975 and 1976.

They were before my time, those incredible Reds teams. While I've always been familiar with Carlton Fisk's epic home run for Boston, off the foul pole in the 1975 World Series, I had no idea it came against the Reds. I had no clue just how special the 1975 Fall Classic was. Thanks to this trip I've been able to dive head first into the baseball history of so many teams, and, on a couple of overnight bus rides, thanks to my BlackBerry (bless you, Mr. Jim Balsillie; someone, give that man a hockey team!) I learned all about what happened in October 1975.

Baseball fans of my generation, did you know about the 1975 World Series? Cincinnati versus Boston? Ranked the second greatest World Series ever by ESPN? If you did, why in God's name hadn't you told me about it?

Seven games. Games 2, 3, and 4 decided by one run. Ninth inning rallies. Extra innings. It had it all, especially Game 6, where the word "dramatics" doesn't do justice to how the Red Sox staved off elimination. Boston, trailing 6-to-3 in the 8th inning, with two runners on base, sent Bernie Carbo to the plate to pinch it. On a 2-2 pitch, Carbo went yard, to deep centre field, in Fenway Park no less. A three-run shot to tie the game had just made him a Boston legend. Years later, Carbo would admit severe drug and alcohol abuse at the time of his incredible baseball heroics: "I was taking mescaline. I was taking cocaine, crystal meth, smoking dope and taking pills and drinking."

Carbo not only tied the game, but he set the table for Carlton Fisk, who hit one of the most famous walk-off home runs in baseball history in the 12th inning, off the foul pole above the Green Monster. I think we've all, when playing baseball, pleaded with the baseball Gods, and willed a ball to stay fair with our hands, the way Fisk did that night.

Momentum, after an epic comeback, was clearly on the Red Sox side. And by the top of the 4th inning of Game 7 at Fenway Park, the Reds, The Big Red Machine, were down three-nothing. But Cincinnati would not go quietly into the night; the Curse of the Bambino would live on for another generation. Two runs in the 6th. Another in the 7th. And, finally, the go-ahead run in the 9th. A 4-3 Cincinnati final, the game and the series, with legendary Pete Rose taking home the MVP honours.

Reading about the 1975 World Series is one thing, but I've got to watch it. My plan when I get back to Toronto is to rent the '75 Fall Classic on DVD. There will be popcorn. I'll also soon be picking up Joe Posnanski's latest, The Machine: The Story of the 1975 Cincinnati Reds. Can't wait.

GBOAT

Back to 2010. I've got to talk about Scott Rolen, the GBOAT; the Greatest Blue Jay Of All Time, as dubbed by the Blue Jays blogosphere (which is the best in all of baseball, by the way). And, yes, it took Rolen only 203 games in a Toronto uniform to earn that nickname. That's how much of an impression he left on us.

Cincinnati baseball fans are smart as they come; they know their baseball. And Bhavin, a die-hard Reds fan I met through my friends that night, was well aware of the man, myth, and legend now patrolling the hot corner in Cincinnati.

While Rolen went 0-for-4 while we were in the building, I think it's safe to say that while we may miss the hell out of him in Toronto, he's quite content in his new surroundings. Scott Rolen is back. With a vengeance.

In 49 games so far this season, Rolen has already belted 13 home runs, and driven in 37. In 115 games with Toronto in 2008, he hit 11 home runs and had 50 RsBI. At this pace, Rolen, at 35-years-young, is on pace to finish with the second-highest OPS of his career.

We loved Rolen in Toronto. For his professional hitting, and his sublime defence at third base. He was, or should I say is, a pro's pro; a leader, and a presence. In Toronto, we were okay with Rolen's power-hitting days having passed him by. We didn't mind. Because he brought so much else to the table. Well, he's found those power-hitting days again. The proof is in the sabermetrics.

Rolen's wOBA, his Weighted On-Base Average, the most effective way to analyze an individual hitter today, is an impressive .393. That's good for second among all National League third basemen, behind only Washington's Ryan Zimmerman (.430), and Tampa's Evan Longoria (.411) in the American League.

What's more impressive, and interesting to me, is Rolen's ISO rating. Isolated Power is, according to the Sabermetrics Library: " A measure of the pure power of a hitter. Or, if you prefer, how good a player is at hitting for extra bases." Rolen's ISO of .295 ranks second in the National League, and seventh overall in all of baseball. (Jose Bautista leads the league with a .337 ISO; Vernon Wells is sixth at .297. Rejoice!) For perspective, Rolen's ISO in 2008 with Toronto was .169. And in 2009, in 88 games with the Jays, it was .157.

The bottom line: Scott Rolen is back to being one of the most dominant third basemen in Major League Baseball. At 35. And I don't care what his UZR rating says (-1.0), he's still the slickest-fielding third baseman in the league, and slickest-fielding third baseman I have ever had the pleasure to watch.

Long live the Greatest Blue Jay Of All Time.

Cincinnati Fare

So many words, and nary one about beer. That ain't right. The prices in Cincinnati are more than decent; they're fantastic. A small draft beer costs you only $5. A large domestic draft: $7.50. And there was Molson Canadian on tap! If you're looking for a microbrew, Moerlein, brewed locally in the Nati, is on tap as well. That'll run you $8.50. And a hearty thank you goes out to my man Vikas, another Cincinnati-til-I-die gentleman, who treated me to one. Thanks for the Cincinnati hospitality, good sir. Was most appreciated.

Unlike Toronto, Cincinnati has a staple food: chili. So chili it was going to be. I went with the Skyline Cheese Coney, a hot dog topped with chili and cheese, for only $4. And I loved it. If chili isn't your thing, I heard the Montgomery Inn barbeque sandwiches are divine.

You'll find everything you need at Great American Ball Park's spacious open concourse. While we spent most of the evening in our seats up top (where we watched King Albert Pujols hit a home run), a stroll through the stadium revealed that it's one of baseball's better ones to walk around and watch the game. The scoreboard in left field is gigantic; one of baseball's biggest. The private party area in centre field is, of course, a river boat. If you're looking for a bar, check out The Machine Room; it's got a great patio that is essentially seats in foul territory in right field. And I can't forget the Power Stacks in right field, a tribute to the steamboats that patrolled the Ohio River many years ago. They launch fireworks when Scott Rolen and Joey Votto go yard.

And speaking of fireworks, if you're ever in Cincinnati for a Friday night game, stick around when it's all said and done, because they light up the sky above Great American Ball Park like it's the 4th of July. I'm a talking Benson and Hedges type display. They don't mess around.

4,256

I thought about chatting up some Reds fans about Pete Rose. But that debate is no longer a debate. Enough is enough. Let the man into Cooperstown, Bud Selig.

"I'd walk through hell in a gasoline suit to play baseball"

- Pete Rose

Amen.





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