Who scheduled this trip?

We should have left days ago. I know this now. And we are still waiting on Nick. (Are you reading this or are you finishing your work?)

We'll be in Cincinnati on Sunday morning. I haven't been there since 2002 — the last year the Reds played in Riverfront. I can't wait to finally check out Great American Ball Park, which I have only seen on the TV and the Internet. My youngest brother, Dylan, and I had a great time when we made the trip out there to say good-bye to that grand stadium of symmetry that I spent so many wonderful, muggy days and nights at during the 1980s.

Dylan was born in Cincinnati but we moved to Connecticut when he was 3. I really wanted him to see a game in that glorious, albeit ugly, stadium that used to be home to Rose, Perez, Bench, Davis, Larkin, Rijo, Browning and Schottzie, former owner Marge Schott's Saint Bernard. The Astro-turf was gone but the smell was the same. The Reds lost both games to the Astros that August. But Dylan came home a winner. When he arrived he declined to have a Skyline coney. Instead, he got a coney — hold the Cincinnati chili. All that is is a hot dog, cheese and bun. For a native of Cincy to decline a coney is just weird. Of course the out-of-towners tend to think Cincinnati chili is weird: You either put chili and cheese on a hotdog or chili and cheese on spaghetti. But, unless you are the Mets TV play-by-play man Gary Cohn, you will find it to be one of the most miraculous culinary creations in America.

Well, I know Dylan has regretted that decision ever since the next day when I took him to our family's former Skyline haunt in Montgomery. After he had his first real coney, we ate Skyline for every meal but one breakfast at Perkins the rest of the weekend.

I now have what must be a similar feeling to what Dylan felt after he realized what he turned down our first night back in town nearly 10 years ago: We missed the coney eating contest in Fountain Square.

We'll have to make up for that, Nick.

Setting sail for Scranton, Cleveland, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh...

It started a few years ago when, on a Friday night whim. Three of us decided to go check out Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia. The Phillies were hosting the Reds that weekend. I have been a Reds fan since Eric Davis was in their farm system. But have lived on the East Coast — with many Yankee-fan friends — since the winter before Lou Piniella, Jose Rijo, Barry Larkin, Billy Hatcher and the Nasty Boys brought the World Series trophy back to the Queen City.

We left southwestern Connecticut early that summer Saturday morning, calling hotels on the way, until we found a good deal in downtown Philadelphia. We bought tickets off scalpers. Decent seats in the upper deck between home plate and third base. I found another former Cincinnatian in the stands. After pointing out my Reds hat to me, I was expecting a stereotypical Philly statement from him. Instead he told me of living in Cincinnati during the days of the Big Red Machine. He was wearing a Phillies hat. He said: "I'm cheering for the Phillies today but rooting for Reds."

Now, more than a few years later, Brian, Nick and myself are finally following through on our much talked-about baseball road trip. It is Friday, June 17, a little after noon as I write this in Brian's apartment in the Riverdale neighborhood of the Bronx, N.Y. Brian and I are awaiting Nick's arrival via Metro-North Railroad, before we head for the Tapanzee Bridge and Scranton/Wilkes-Barre, where we kick off the four-city, six-game tour with some AAA ball. The SWB Yankees are hosting the Indian's AAA squad, the Columbus Clippers, tonight.

On Saturday, we'll be heading to Cleveland for the Indians-Pirates game. Sunday we head to my former hometown, Cincinnati, where the Blue Jays will be (and I have not been since the last season the Reds played in Riverfront Stadium. We stay in Cincinnati for the Yankees' arrival on Monday — the game we planned this trip around. On Tuesday, we'll be headed to Pittsburgh for a couple games between the Pirates and Orioles.

Tickets are in hand, hotels are booked, maps are Google'd. Reservations for the Montgomery Inn Boathouse in Cincinnati are made. We just need Nick. I hope he's finishing his office work and not reading this.

I hope to keep this blog going through the trip to share the experiences and keep the memories.