This is Madness


Yeah you all should know what comes after that quote. Our good friend King Leonidas proceeds to Tae Bo the heck out of that Persian messenger and send him into the depths. As much as I would love to dedicate a blog to the 300 Spartans, that kind of madness is not what this post is about.

This Is March

You all know him, you all might love him. Jon Rothstein’s “This is March” tweets have become infamously famous(is that even a thing?) The reference being to the NCAA tournament and granted, March does have it’s fair share of madness with some of the biggest examples coming this year.

  • UMBC being the first EVER 16 seed to upset a 1 seed
  • Loyola-Chicago making it to the Final Four as an 11 seed
  • Sister Jean becoming the biggest international celebrity of the tournament
  • Plenty of buzzer beaters, massive dunks, etc.
  • St. Patrick’s Day

Yeah, one of those doesn’t necessarily fit in with the others, but the point is that March does have some solid examples of madness.

However if we look at the definition of madness that apply to this post it reads this:

  1. Extremely foolish behavior
  2. A state of frenzied or chaotic behavior

The madness I refer to is the beginning of Cincinnati Reds baseball. I have and plan to write about the Cincinnati Reds every single year(shameless plugs continue) because of how much I love the Reds and the city of Cincinnati.

“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”

Friedrich Nietzsche was not talking about baseball when he said these words, of that I am certain. Little did he know that when he said those words that they would perfectly describe the game of baseball. Some people think that I am foolish for loving the Reds so much when all they’ve given me is heartbreak thus far in life. I say to them they must not know true allegiance. Being a Reds fan isn’t necessarily about watching a winning team every year though.


It’s the nights at the ballpark with friends. It’s listening to Marty and Joe on the radio with Dad in the backyard and going inside to watch the game on Fox Sports Ohio when it gets too dark to keep tossing the baseball. It’s the God awful FSO commercials. It’s bonding over the team and the city with friends met 100 miles away from home. It’s Crosley field, Riverfront Stadium, Cinergy Field, and now Great American Ballpark.


It’s walking along the river bank before or after a game. It’s the first baseball team ever. It’s the 7th inning stretch. It’s perfect games, no hitters, and grand slams. It’s lemon chills, frosty malts, peanuts, Skyline, and that one vendor that sings about “IIIICCCCEEEE COOOOOOOOOOOOOLD Beer”

It’s 4192. It’s the Holy Grail on a gameday. It’s the Big Red Machine. It’s Johnny Bench, Ken Griffey Sr., Ken Griffey Jr., Barry Larkin, Tom Browning, and i’ll stop now because I could go on for quite a while.

Obviously being a Reds fan means that I want them to win. I want to beat the Cubs from Chicago, I want to sink the jolly roger from Pittsburgh, I want to empty the kegs from Milwaukee, and I want to crush the dirty birds from St. Louis. Please, beat the Cardinals.

Cincinnati Reds baseball represents everything great about the entire city of Cincinnati.

Granted there are aspects of the actual game that is being played in that 90′ diamond that skirt on the edge of madness.

  • 4 home runs in one game?? Yes it may have thrown me into a frenzy, but that is more history than madness
  • Going from first to home on a single? That’s just plain fast
  • Throwing 100 mph fastballs? Defying the laws of physics
  • Having the fastest player in baseball on your team but he can’t get on base? Maddening…not madness though
  • Thinking that one of the greatest hitters in the history of the game of baseball isn’t good because he walks too much(thanks twitter)? Okay, now that might be madness

But through all the things that can drive me crazy as a Reds fan, I will still be here each and every year. Anticipating Opening Day more than Christmas just like every Cincinnati-an does. Because Lord knows that the madness of rooting for the Cincinnati Reds will all be worth it once we hoist that World Series trophy, and the city of Cincinnati erupts not into madness, but pure euphoria.

Rounding Third, and Heading for Home.


Rounding Third and Heading for Home

Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now in the midst of the best time of the year.

Yes you heard me.

The Best Time of The Year.

As much as I love playing Christmas music any and all times of the year, I am not talking about Christmas.


Baseball season, Cincinnati Reds baseball…yes, the best time of the year.

A lot of people I meet have very similar sports alliances as me. I live in Columbus. There are tons of Buckeye fans. There are plenty of (sad) Bengals fans here as well. But the one sports alliance that always elicits a different kind of response is meeting a fellow Cincinnati Reds fan.

The thing is, a lot of people don’t really understand why I am as big of a baseball fan as I am. I am going to try and explain it, but I do not think this post will do it justice.

As much as this post is about the Cincinnati Reds, it is also about the game of baseball. It is a pure sport and I don’t really know what that means but it is the first thing that comes to mind when someone asks me about baseball. I hope that even though (hopefully) a lot of Indians, Cubs, and maybe even Yankees fans read this post, that they will appreciate the sentiment behind everything I about to say.

Baseball means that the weather is getting warmer. That I can go outside and toss the ball around any night of the week. It means that I get to spend time with my Dad, in the backyard, where nothing else matters but throwing another strike into his mitt. His mitt, that was always big enough to catch anything I threw his way.

“To some it’s just a mitt, but see that glove was him.”

It means getting to know the lightning bugs in the backyard because you were out a little too late throwing the ball. It was never too dark to stop throwing, but it was just dark enough to make you want to go inside and watch the Reds.

Baseball is a part of who I am, who I was brought up to be, and who I will always be.

It means that we get to make trips back to the ballpark. We get to eat the frosty malts, the lemon chills, the hot dogs, and of course the peanuts. But only the peanuts that are bought outside the stadium by the vendor on the street, because you got a bigger bag for less money. And if you don’t have a pile of shells at your feet at the end of the game, you did something wrong. Because even if the Redlegs somehow lost the titanic struggle, at least you had the crunch of peanut shells underneath your feet to send you away from the stadium.

It means walking through downtown Cincinnati, the Queen City. That walk certainly seemed like a long walk when I was a kid but it was really only a few blocks from the P&G lot down to the stadium. Fountain Square never looks more beautiful than it does on a day that the Cincinnati Reds take the field.

It means Skyline Chili. The smell of that chili means you are home, and smells especially good if you are on your way to the ballpark, glove in hand…ready for any foul ball that comes your way.

It means Crosley Field, Riverfront Stadium, Cinergy Field, Great American Ballpark.

It means turning two, 6-4-3, headfirst slides, Grand Slams, walk-off wins,  suicide squeezes, small ball, cans of corn, web gems.

It means picking up where you left off with good friends, talking with a friend you haven’t seen in years like they never left.

It means falling asleep on the boat at Lake St. Mary’s while listening to the Reds on the radio.

It means actually listening to AM radio!

“The Voice on the other end might as well have been God”

Ask any Cincinnati Reds fan who Marty and Joe are and I guarantee they have a favorite story of listening to that legendary broadcast crew. I will never ever forget the call that Marty made as Jay Bruce was rounding the bases bringing the 2010 Cincinnati Reds the National League Central title. Fist in the air, running the bases like second place will never be good enough. Joe Nuxhall will forever live on as a Cincinnati Reds legend not only because he was the youngest pitcher ever to play in the MLB but also because of his tear inducing sign off from the radio, for which this blog post is named after.

It means history, perfect games, no hitters, you name it. It has happened in Cincinnati. The Nasty Boys, Tom Browning, The Kid, The Mayor, Dat Dude, Joey Votto. Reds baseball means Charlie Hustle(That’s Pete Rose for the uninitiated). It means 4192. The best hitter of all time in the game of baseball, and he played for the Cincinnati Reds. It means the Big Red Machine.

It means winning.

Being a Cincinnati Reds fan means more than words can describe. I have a pride for being born in 1990 because the Reds won the World Series that year. As far as welcomes go, that has got to be the best welcome to the world any kid could ask for.

“And this one belongs to the Reds!”

Baseball is a peaceful sport. The sound of the ballpark on an afternoon is indescribable. In the moment those sounds are the only sound you will ever need to hear for as long as you live…and the crack of the bat is the perfect sound to jolt you back to life.


The fans in Cincinnati are the best in all of sports. All of sports…you heard me correctly. For a season in which we were picked to finish last, the loyal fans of Reds baseball just happened to set a record for the highest attendance at Great American Ballpark. That’s insane.

That happened on Opening Day in which in the city of Cincinnati is a holiday bigger and better than Christmas. It’s the one day where becoming a sardine in a bar (I’m talkin’ about you, Holy Grail) becomes something you look forward to, because you are there with thousands of your best friends. The entire city absolutely shuts down that day for a parade, and the Banks of the Ohio River becomes the mecca for baseball if not just for that one day. See below for proof.

Image result for Cincinnati Reds Opening Day at the banks

I think that life is a beautiful game to be played, and baseball is the perfect metaphor for this life. We all are just playing the game until the day that God decides to wave us in. Living like we are under the lights of the stadium.

Rounding Third, and Heading For Home