Sports with Mom and Dad.

 I've written blog stories about Jody and the Wolcott family (Eldred), the Crosby Mudhens (Alle-Catt Baseball), Olean fastpitch softball, Coudersport's drive to the '64 state basketball finals, Saint Bonaventure's Fred Handler (professor. basketball and baseball coach), Smethport High football and 45-50 other writings in the last two and a half years.

Most have three areas in common: 1) They take us back to the 1960-1980's) 2) The majority are sports related, but not all ("Was She Ever Really Here? plus the Eldred Twp. Elementary School and several fictional pieces) and 3) They are rarely planned, but bring forth wonderful memories of time past, bring peace, enjoyment and therapeutic value to me always and hopefully, some others at times.

I've mentioned my parents and family a few times, but never as the subject of one of my essays. That changes now.

Mom and Dad at one of the hundreds of baseball games they saw. My father is wearing a Saint Cloud HS (Fl.) cap- one of my many coaching/teaching stops along the way.

My folks did not have their names in the newspaper very often, were never on television or interviewed  on the radio.

When this piece is published there will be some who won't know them or me and wonder why they should spend a few minutes reading about them.

Maybe it's because they were good people and possibly their lives, that included following and supporting their sons in their athletic contests, might strike a chord for some of today's parents and grandparents.

Tony Pransky was born in 1919 in Pittsburgh. Dad, his parents, brother and five sisters moved to Mina (between Roulette and Coudersport) in his early childhood. 

Helen Nicklaus was one of nine girls growing up in Burtville, (between Port Allegany and Roulette), graduating from Roulette High School in 1943.

The Nicklaus girls with my grandmother, Emma and grandfather, George. My mom is in the back row, fourth from the left.

My mom saved some photos of Former Roulette Twp. Pupils. She wrote names under each picture, but many have faded away so I'm left with only a few, but I wanted to print as many as possible:

Top row-middle photo (Eunice Brown), the next two girls are Moshier and Tucker.

Second row- fourth from the right is a young boy, last name Howard.

Third row-middle photo is Betty Cox

Top row-second from the left is a young man named Smith and fourth from the left is a young girl named Baker.

Bottom row- The first girl on the left is my aunt, June Nicklaus (Kio), next to June is major league baseball player, Don Hoak and next to Hoak is Don Tucker followed by Margie Burt.

Second row, second photo is my aunt, Mary Nicklaus (Marinik). Third row, fourth from the left is a young girl named Morris.

NOTE: I wish I could be more definitive with the names and the exact year- I'm guessing the mid- 40's.

Dad served 49 months in the Army in WWII, spending the balance of his time in the Pacific Theater.

My father (in the passenger seat) and other Eldred area veterans in a Memorial Day parade.

He and my mother were married on August 24, 1946 and moved to the Larabee area of Eldred, just a mile or two south of town. They lived in Larabee for over 50 years, building a new home when I was five or six years old. 

Mom, Dad, my brother, Bill, Frank Jackson and Bob Keech worked on the new house while I drove around the yard on a go-kart my dad  made for me, safely wearing a football helmet.

My father never spoke much about his time in the military. He and I used to sit on the patio night after night, waiting for the sun to go down so we could listen to ball games, usually the Pirates or Yankees were the first games we could pick up.

I remember asking my dad how he could possibly sit outside for such long periods as a countless number of Allegheny River mosquitoes swarmed around us- eventually forcing me inside the comforts of our home.

He would tell me, "When you spend that much time in the Philippines, these mosquitoes here don't bother you that much."

My dad on his patio. When darkness rolled in, he would join me inside, usually sitting in my bedroom with a radio and strategically turning the dial to get the best reception. It was amazing, but our rural area encompassed by hills could pull in signals from Cleveland (WWWE), Pittsburgh (KDKA), KMOX (St. Louis), WLW (Cincinnati) and others. 

I fell asleep almost every night with a game on-especially when the Reds were on the West Coast playing the Dodgers. Bench, Rose, Concepcion, Perez and Billingham vs. Lopes, Garvey, Russell, Sutton and Cey. I never could stay awake to find out who won and since we didn't get a newspaper delivered until mid-afternoon, I had to wait a while to learn the final outcome.

When television cable access was established in our home area the cable cut off stopped by the American Legion Hall- less than a mile and a half from our home. 

Fortunately our family came to the rescue. My cousin, Ken, and his wife, Judy had a cable access television with chairs and a table in their adjoining garage. My folks had an open invitation to come down and watch major league games even if my cousins were not there. There were many nights that Judy and Ken came home to find my mom and dad intently watching the Braves' game from the comforts of their lawn chairs on a beautiful summer night. 

My father loved baseball so much it was hard for me to understand when my mom told me that when they were a young married couple and he would come home from work, he would turn off the radio almost immediately.

My mother would be listening to the World Series and my father had absolutely no interest in baseball or any sports back then.

He and his brother, George, hunted, fished and trapped, but didn't play any type of ball.

My mom loved to play softball, loved competition (especially winning-an attitude that never changed) and told me countless tales of playing ball without a glove.

My mother told me many stories about Don Hoak, a two-time World Series winner and runner-up for the 1960 MVP award in the National League. 

She had a tendency to embellish at times, especially when talking about the athletic exploits of her youngest son, but she really did know the game of baseball very well.

While I was growing up, my mom told me that there was a boy in her school who was a better player than Don, but Don had a tremendous desire to be the best.

My mom's Roulette HS graduation class of 1943. My mother is in the back row, far right. Two classmates over (the tallest young man) is my uncle Adam Roboski (Ruth Nicklaus' husband).

This is a sideview of the Nicklaus farmhouse. Uncle Adam's two sons (Stanley and Leonard) and I played baseball together almost every Sunday and/or summer holiday there. The three of us were close in age and we pitched to one another, played catch, someone would hit flyballs and groundballs for us to catch. Grandpa loved to watch us play after the Sunday cookout. Occasionally, many of our family members would join us across the road and we'd have a giant softball game; boys, girls, men, women- we just played. I don't think the score was even important.

It's difficult for me to believe there were two players in the small town of Roulette who had major league ability, but it could have been the case- my mom wasn't a major league scout, but she had solid powers of observation.

Eventually, another young man with roots in Roulette did play in the big leagues. Josh Kinney was born in Coudersport, played Little League in Roulette, and went to high school in Port Allegany where he played baseball for Oswayo Valley and later Port Allegany (when they formed a HS team).

Kinney was born in 1979 and made his major league debut in 2006 with the St. Louis Cardinals. Like Hoak, Kinney won a world championship in 2006.

I happened to be back home for a few days when Josh was called up to the big leagues for the first time. I was driving my mother up to the Coudersport area to see some relatives when we saw this sign just outside Port Allegany. It remains one of my favorite signs and photos.

My father's interest in sports began when my brother began playing little league baseball for Coryville, probably around 1957. 

I was just a little guy:

You're not quite ready to play yet when the bat is taller than you. I'm not exactly sure who picked out my sporting wear.

I don't recall my brother playing little league, but I can recall my mom dyeing some of his white t-shirts green for his Coryville Babe Ruth uniform.

We were township kids and the stretch of highway between our house and the Eldred town line, less than two miles, was home after home with ball players.

Less than a half mile down the road were the Lathrop kids (George Jr./Bill and his brother Marty. Their father, George, was a foreman/supervisor at the Ethan Allen Furniture Plant where my Mom worked.

My mom would often come home and talk about George and the Dibble (Portville) brothers and the baseball conversations they would have. I remember there was a "13"contest-if any major league team scored 13 runs in a game, someone would win whatever the $$ was in the "pot." I know they had a World Series pool also.

It wasn't difficult walking or riding a bike more than a couple hundred yards and finding guys  ready to play baseball and football. The Jackson boys, the McGonnell kids, Bruce Cordner, Tommy Sherwood, John Holleran, Randy Stebbins and others were almost always available for a game.

This is a photo of the Township gym after the school had been transformed in to an antique center. The gymnasium had not changed much. It was a great place to play in the winter during recess or after classes while we were waiting for the bus. The hardwood floors (and the entire school) were kept immaculate by John Bechelli, who was every kid's friend.

Tom Sherwood was a couple of years older than me and I learned a lot about basketball from him. He played like I hoped I would play in the future.

We had an outdoor court also and a huge area to play baseball, football, almost any type of game-plenty of space for the smaller kids (grades 1-3) and the older ones (grades 4-6)

Eldred Township Elementary School.

I began playing organized baseball in Coryville when I was seven or eight, but somehow I ended up playing for Eldred when I became ready for little league competition.

I don't know if I was traded or became a high-priced free agent, but I ended up at the Eldred Park from little league to Babe Ruth, American Legion and even some Alle-Catt ball after HS graduation and during my college summers.

It was my opening years in Little League when I recognized that my parents attended every game I played, home or on the road, they were there. There was a rare occasion when my dad had to work late, but my mom carried the water during those rare times.

I realized my folks were at every baseball game, but I don't think I fully appreciated what it took for them to get there for the usual 6:00 starts. 

My folks both worked jobs of labor. They didn't get home until 4:30 or later, rushed through dinner and somehow they were there for the first pitch, if the game was in Eldred or Austin. 

They weren't the only adults that perfected this feat. The Millers, Wolcotts, Lathrops, the Oszustowicz family and other parents were present nearly all the time.

I'm sure many of today's parents and grandparents can relate.

Practices, regular season games, all-star games-my folks were always there. 

I had to see my dad to know he was in attendance because he never shouted or said much during a game. He enjoyed them immensely, but stayed in the background.

My mom, on the other hand, may have been designated a polar opposite. She was quite boisterous at times- clapping and cheering when things were going well for her son's team, but quick to voice her opinion toward umpires when some games were heading off the track.

"I made a game effort to argue but two things were against me: the umpires and the rules."                                                                                                                    Leo Durocher

She kept score on a little pad that would fit in a shirt pocket. My mom was an honest person, but her reasoning sometimes was tilted in my favor when it came to scoring a game. Somehow I always ended a game with at least one extra hit in her estimation. 

A ground ball through an infielders legs or an outfielder circling and misplaying a flyball always elicited a "Well, he never touched it."

One of the reasons I hit .600 by my mom's standards, but probably about .350 or .375 overall.

Tony Pransky, Mr. Cohick (from Williamsport) and Len Oszuztowicz ( my good friend, Lenny's father) at all-star competition in Wellsboro.

Mrs Miller (my good friend and centerfielder, Mike's mom) Mr. Cohick again-somehow he slipped in to most photos and Mrs. Oszustowicz.

My folks were not only at all of my baseball games, but usually once a twice a week we all would attend an Alle-Catt game or an Olean fastpitch contest.

I loved playing baseball. Practice never felt like work. With or without a coach, it was always fun. Watching older guys play baseball or fast pitch  was always a treat and it allowed you to dream-dream that someday you could play like those older guys you were watching.

I was probably just 13 or 14 when I used to ride, usually on a Sunday,  with my folks to Shinglehouse and watch their Alle-Catt team play.

Two young men from Eldred were star pitchers for Shinglehouse; Johnny Oszustowicz and Tom "Tut" Hanks. John pitched for Mansfield University and Tut was a member of the Clarion University team. 

Shinglehouse had one of the better fields in the area, one of the few that was entirely enclosed by fencing. I remember it looked like a professional field with a well-maintained grass infield and a deep outfield. 

Bob Dunsmore was the catcher and Dan Stavisky played short. The Mesler family were a big part of the club's success and it was a real treat to take the 20 mile drive and watch these guys play.

We also went to Crosby and that may have been even more fun. We were all Crosby fans which was like being a Yankees or Celtics fan. Crosby never seemed to lose. They had a great baseball atmosphere in Crosby with loyal fans and a setting that was decidedly pro-home team, but also everyone appeared to be having fun and the players performed without hesitation and played with tons of confidence.

I don't think we ever saw them lose.

I loved to play. I loved to practice. And, I loved to dream. There was no place where I dreamed more than in my own backyard.

Our home and property were an active kid's paradise. We had a huge backyard and even with a garden, apple trees and a swing set, I had an enormous amount of room to run around and play ball.

My dad worked for the Pennsylvania Department of Highways, plowing snow in our sometimes brutal winters and paving roads in the summers. He'd come home on my non-baseball game nights and I'd always ask him to hit me balls in the backyard after supper.

I was a kid and my first thought was always chasing his batted balls, not that he had just worked a long, hot day. I never remember him saying no. My mom would watch us from the kitchen window as dad hit me after ball until he said it was time to quit. 

My refrain was always, "Just five more Dad, just five more." That five turned in to 25 more times than not. I would play a game in my head. I was Clemente, I was Mantle, I was Frank Robinson. It was the Yankees versus the Dodgers. I never wore out and my dad, no matter how tired he was, kept swinging that bat.

My nephew and his wife (Shane and Jen) stand on the 20'x 20' basketball court that my dad installed with the help of our friend, Ernie Cook. I didn't even know it was being put in place until I heard the equipment running in the backyard. I never asked for the court, but my folks knew how much I enjoyed playing basketball. To the right of Jen and Shane and a tad deeper is where I stood chasing Dad's drives to the outfield. 

There were a couple of times through the years that I asked my dad if he wanted to pitch me some- I would be his catcher. I realize now that may have been the only times he ever pitched to anyone before. We both had a great time and his control was pretty good. He may not have had the opportunity when he was my age, but he did now with his youngest son proudly catching his fastball. My dad had a great smile.

My parents took great pride in taking care of our home and property and they instilled that in their children.

I wasn't always the perfect caretaker, especially when I put in an 18 hole, plastic golf ball course complete with three greens that I kept cut down so low that it eventually burned the grass and left brown spots in the backyard. That was brought to my attention several times. 

Mom and Dad standing in the front yard.

I began playing organized football and basketball in eighth grade at my school, Otto-Eldred Junior-Senior HS.

I had finally concluded that my mom's stories about my dad not liking baseball when they first were married were true because I clearly remembered how much he hated football. 

The NFL games weren't televised four or five times a week like they seem to be now. Sunday was NFL day and if we happened to be home, that was a day my dad puttered in the garage or listened to the radio outside. He had absolutely no interest in football-at any level.

Then I started playing. Just like when my brother started playing baseball, my father began watching me play football.

Our freshman games were after school, usually 4:00 and it was impossible for him to watch many, but even if it meant watching only a quarter or the second half, he came. Eventually, he became a football fan too. 

Basketball was already a done deal. My brother had played varsity basketball at O-E so my dad had become familiar with the game. My mom kept a little scoring pad for those games too although she didn't have to make any scoring decisions- no way to inflate the numbers even just a little.

After my parents retired, they began to participate in the Four-County Senior Games held at the University of Pittsburgh at Bradford Campus. The top photo is my dad tossing horseshoes with his opponent, Bert Lemmer of Shinglehouse.

My mom is competing above-watching her opponent throw.

My mother sent me these clippings and inscribed a short note on the bottom: "We did the best we've ever done. I won ten ribbons, Tony won seven." She had to let me know she took home more medals than my dad. Both of my folks had fun each year at the Games, but Mom was definitely competing to win some ribbons.

I know it was difficult for my folks to understand all the moves and relocations I made during the first half of my life. They lived in the Larabee area for over 50 years until moving in to the town limits of Eldred in 1997.

My dad lived within an hour from all of his siblings and my mom was that close to five of her eight sisters. 

There may have been a brief moment of disappointment when I announced another move, almost always further from home, but their support never wavered. Even through some rough patches, their support was never-ending and our relationship grew each time. 

From Eldred to Saint Marys (Pa.) to Kissimmee (Fl.) to Olean (N.Y.) to Washington D.C. and back to Florida and then to Quincy (Il.) then Champaign (Il.) and finally to Davenport, Iowa- my parents may have questioned, but always gave me their blessing.

From an underachieving college student, to little league coach to teacher, to teacher/high school basketball coach, to college baseball coach, back to teaching/ high school coach (basketball and baseball) to college baseball coach again, followed by almost three years of teaching and working with a baseball organization and finally a quarter of a century as a baseball scout. Although my parents seldom completely understood it, they always backed my play.

For as long as I can remember, our summer vacation was always the same- a two night, three game stay in Pittsburgh to see the Pirates play. 

It was something that my parents and I wholeheartedly agreed was something that all three of us looked forward to each year. My folks would take a few hours off work on a Friday afternoon and my parents and I would make a quick stop in Wexford, Pa to check-in at the Perry Vue Motel (eight dollars nightly for a double room) and then it was off to Three Rivers Stadium.

It was a time when you could actually order and pay by check through the mail. We always got reserved seats and always sky-high. The angle was so steep you felt you could tumble over with one miscalculated step, but it was paradise. Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday afternoon games and then my dad would drive back home. And, mom and dad would go to work the next day.

We would be there when the gates open and I always worked my way down to field level with my mom's Kodak and took pictures and/or sought out autographs. 

Here's one of my photos of Pirates' pitcher. Bert Blylevan. Not Sports Illustrated quality, but still a keeper for me.

Of course, my mom kept score (this time on the Pirates' scorecard). She dated and wrote down the attendance numbers. I still have those scorecards and they are priceless to me.

My dad had to take an early retirement because of his health and eventually he and my mom spent the winters in central Florida, about three-four months each year. 

Florida became like a second home for them. They made friends so easily and the warmer weather and no job worries always made it an enjoyable stay. And, spring training baseball made it a wonderful March.

My folks had season tickets for the Astros' spring training schedule for 12-13 years-same seats with the same friends year after year.

My dad at his aisle seat at Osceola County Stadium watching the Astros

I kept a journal during my years of scouting; places, events, etc. Many years I recorded my mileage (car only) and calculated that in 25 years I drove over a million miles. 40,000 miles a year was pretty much a standard.

The major benefit of all those miles were some of them were in the direction of home- games in Buffalo, Rochester, Cleveland, Harrisburg, Toledo, Columbus and of course, spring training in Florida provided opportunities to see my brother, his family, old friends and of course, our folks.

Here's a photo of my dad sitting outside the Skydome Stadium in Toronto-my radar gun and clipboard nearby. He and my Mom came up from Eldred and spent a couple of days with me watching the Blue Jays and the Yankees. Better seats this time.

We held a tryout camp at Saint Bonaventure University during my second or third year with the Astros. My friend, classmate and Larabee neighbor, Steve Jackson came down to say hello. After my dad passed in 2005, Steve and his wife Joannie took my mother to several plays and performances through the years that my mom enjoyed immensely. Friends.

I'm quite sure that I never visited Eldred without seeking out my ex-baseball coach and family friend, Ed Harrington. Mr. Harrington was my coach for two years in little league, two years in Babe Ruth and all three years of American Legion play. 

A memorial plaque for my dad. There's one at the Eldred Park and one, I believe, at the Kevin Sullivan and Ed Armstrong fields across the tracks. The inscription honors my father and all parents who dedicate so much time and effort helping their kids and others participate in soon to become precious memories. 

Thank you for indulging me as I gathered thoughts about my family. My dad and mom taught me many things, most importantly, that it's always about the people. Games, events, material items, etc. eventually fade, sometimes even disappear.

But the good people you meet along the way- well, they are with you forever.

I will close with an uncaptioned tribute to my mom and dad.

Well, my dad always taught me to see a project all the way to the end. Stay patient all the way through. I'm still learning, but I'll keep trying. I apologize for the error- you have to play all nine innings.