By ToddtheBod
Editor’s note – This article originally appeared on AstrosConnection.com on September 21, 2000.
It is a strange thing being a “fanatical” Astros fan living far away from Houston. I have all of the trappings of a Astros’ fan. My house is filled with Astros’ crap. My 16 month-old son’s room is covered with old Astros’ pennants and autographed pictures of current and former Astros greats (and he won’t even watch baseball with me. Let’s face it, if there isn’t a purple dinosaur on the TV screen, he aint interested). Even my car hasn’t escaped being hit with Astros paraphanalia. (Yes, I spent $5 and bought the Astros license plate frame.)
Until recently, however, I hardly ever got to see the Astros play. Like many out-of-town fans, I had to rely on the box scores to follow the team. And outside of an occasional telephone call to WFAN, I didn’t even have anyone to talk to about the Astros. All of my friends are Yankees or Mets fans. And there is nothing worse than talking to one of those maroons about the Astros. All Yankees fans want to know is how many World Series rings the Astros have. And all Mets fans want to talk about is 1986. No, I don’t think that the 86′ series was great. I can’t appreciate the “greatness” of the series. I thought that it sucked. New York was a pretty lonely place to be for a devoted Astros fan like me. (Pretty good rhyme, eh?).
Over the past few years, there has been a dramatic change in the way that I have been able to follow the team. With Direct TV, I get to watch nearly every Astros game, and with websites like Kev & Scott’s AstrosConnection, I can “talk” to people about the Astros 24/7. It’s truly remarkable how technology has enabled me to be a fan of the team that I love so much. But the one thing that I don’t get to do very often, despite all of this technology, is see the Astros play live. And let me tell you something, you can watch every game on TV, you can listen to the games on the radio, you can “watch” games on the Internet, but there is nothing like going to see the Astros play live.
I think that being a Astros fan living in New York is a lot like being in a long distance relationship. I was really looking forward to the Astros coming to town to play the Mets. For me, these weren’t just going to be baseball games. This was going to be an Astrospalooza.
And I was ready.
At least I thought that I was ready. But come game day, I couldn’t find my brand-new fitted Astros cap — the brick colored hat that I paid $22 for a Academy the last time I was down in Houston. And then when eventually I found my hat, I discovered that it had found its way into the wash. It was ruined. Shrunk. I could shave off all of my hair and it still wasn’t going to fit.
New Yorkers like to talk about how great their city is. Having lived in another city besides New York (unlike most New Yorkers), I would disagree. But there are some good things here. Gerry Cosby’s, a sporting goods store located right in Madison Square Garden, is one of those things. I knew that I could replace my hat at Cosby’s and since it was only 1/2 a mile away from my office, I walked there during lunch. Not only did they have the brick cap in both fitted and one size fits all (the latter for only $11), but they also had the Astros gold cap brim cap (the Sunday-go-to-meeting hat) in their clearance bin so I bought that too. Now I was ready.
I had one other stop to make during lunch — the hotel where the Astros were staying (only a block away from my office). I figured that I would go there and get a couple of autographs. But when I got there, it was a mad scene. There are a ton of people here who make their living selling autographed pictures of the players. None of the players wanted to sign my hat. They all probably thought that I was going to turn around and sell it. They didn’t know that I was a “real fan.” Lance Berkman wouldn’t sign my hat even after I told him that my father is a professor at Rice (true) and that he is my favorite player on the team (false). And after nearly two hours of disappointment, I left with a single autograph on my hat. Thank you Chris Truby.
Around 5:30, I got on the subway and headed out to Queens, where Shea Stadium is located. Queens is an interesting place. It is one of the few affordable places to live in the five boroughs of New York City and it is filled with neighborhoods of immigrants from various countries. Riding out to Queens, I couldn’t help but think about John Rocker’s comment about the #7 Train that goes out to Shea Stadium. His descriptions were largely correct. Everyone on the train is speaking a different language. Everybody does looks different. The problem is that Rocker is a racist and he somehow believes that this is a bad thing. I think that it is pretty cool. Of course, my family were immigrants two generations ago. I have a different perspective than Rocker.
On the three days that I went out to Shea this year, however, the #7 Train had a decidedly different look about it. The New York Open tennis tournament was going on at the same time (the Arthur Ashe Tennis Center is right across the parking lot from Shea) and there were a lot of very wealthy looking people heading out to Queens with me. Most of them looked like they were holding their noses. Some of the younger kids looked like this was their first time on the subway.
The thing about the subway is that if you are going out to the game (and you are wearing the colors of the other team) you are going to take a lot of shit from the Mets fans who are also going out to the game. Its all in good fun — A lot of “Yeah, we’re going to kick some Astros butt tonight” or “You don’t wear those colors in MY HOUSE.” But these tennis fans weren’t used to people talking to each other on the subway. They thought that a fight was going to break out and they looked pretty scared. (Let’s face it, you don’t want to get in the middle of a fight when you’re wearing tennis whites — you know you’re gonna to get your ass kicked.) I tried to assure them that if they did get their ass kicked, they could probably sue the City of New York for failing to have proper security on the trains. Somehow, this did not set their minds at ease.
The #7 Train starts off underground like most subways but it becomes an elevated train once it leaves Manhattan and enters Queens. I always get a really great feeling the moment that the stadium first comes into view. But I think that this feeling comes from the fact that it has really begun to set in that I am going to see the Astros. It definitely doesn’t have to do with Shea Stadium, itself. I haven’t been to many ballparks, but I would have a hard time imagining a worse stadium than Shea. Aesthetically, the stadium is a piece of garbage. It’s shaped like a mouth guard, with a big opening in the outfield. (If there was something to see past the outfield, this might not be such a bad idea. But all you get to see is the parking lot. I guess that this is some kind of metaphor for New York. But I’m not clever enough to figure it out.) The scoreboard is unexciting. When the Mets hit a home run, a “big apple” rises out of a top hat — truly ridiculous. I hate the Enron train, but even the train is better than the apple. And speaking of apples, the food selection at Shea is very limited. It’s expensive, and what they do serve sucks. If you are smart, you bring food with you. I wasn’t smart. I did, however, bring a lot of money with me. I was going to eat and drink to my heart’s content.
The only good thing about Shea is that the games are outside. I’ll tell you people something. I went to tons of baseball games in the Dome when I was growing up in Houston. And while I loved the dome, there is nothing like watching a game played outside — especially when the weather is just right. But at Shea, they even managed to screw this up by building the stadium right next to an airport. The planes are constantly flying overhead (although less so when the US Open is in town) and you have to scream to talk to your neighbor.
A personal note: I make a point of going to see every game that the Astros play in New York. Last season, I didn’t take my wife to any of the games (she is an obnoxious Yankees fan and is plenty condescending to the Astros, so I didn’t see the point). In retrospect that was a big mistake. She didn’t like staying home while I was out drinking beer with my friends at the ball park. I took a lot of shit about it and this year, I decided to take her to one of the games. I even let her “convince me” to make it a double date. She brought along a friend from work who brought along her boyfriend. This wasn’t such a big deal, despite the fact that they are both Mets fans, because her boyfriend is in my fantasy baseball league and I was the one who set the two of them up in the first place. My mistake this year was letting my wife buy the tickets for game one. See, to her, it’s just a game. Where you sit just isn’t that important. So we ended up sitting in left field watching the game from a terrible angle. We were also under the overhang so I had no chance of catching a foul ball (yes, hope springs eternal. I firmly believe that I will catch a foul ball one day. I also believe that I will win the NY lottery one day.)
The best thing about our seats were the people sitting behind us — a whole family of Astros fans who had traveled from Houston to New York to see the game. This was a birthday present for one of their kids. What a cool gift. I never got a gift that cool when I was growing up. (I made a note to call my parents when I got home to complain.) The funny thing was that this was their first time in New York, but they were staying out by the airport, and I got the sense that they weren’t even going to go into Manhattan to do a little sightseeing. The other strange thing was that these “hardcore” Astros fans had never heard of Kev & Scott’s AstrosConnection. Mind boggling. I did a little spreading of the Big Freight Train gospel.
Game one wasn’t very memorable in terms of the Astros’ performance on the field. The Astros had a ton of opportunities, but in typical fashion, they couldn’t buy a clutch hit. And the worst thing about it is that I missed Cedeno’s home run because my wife, her friend, and her friend’s boyfriend were late. I spent a lot of the game explaining what was going on to my wife. And despite all of that, she told me at the end of the game that she hadn’t seen a single hit. She was too busy talking to her friend.
The best part of the game, at least for me, was that I got to see Tony Eusebio set the Astros’ record for the longest hitting streak in team history. Everybody here knows that “Tough Tony” is my favorite player on the team so this was a particularly exciting moment for me. The funny thing about my wife is that she is convinced that I am going to get my ass kicked if I root for the Astros at Shea. Every time that I get up to cheer she tells me to be quiet and sit down. But when Tough Tony got that base hit, and she realized what had happened, even she got up to cheer. This was a very special moment in our marriage.
Game 2 was awesome. First of all, I had tremendous seats about twenty rows behind the visiting dugout. Eventually, I was able to move up right behind the dugout (the Mets fans left early that night). And freed from my wife’s constraints, I was a one-man cheering section for the Astros. I heckled Derek Bell every time he got to the plate. I even heckled him when he got injured running into the wall. (Yes, I know, this was poor form. The funny thing is that there were plenty of Mets fans who were also yelling at Derek Bell). When Chris Truby slammed into Mike Piazza, I turned around and gave the finger to all of Shea Stadium — at least to those fans that were still left in the stadium — and it didn’t make a difference that Truby eventually was called out. The Astros kicked so much butt that I was almost embarrassed for the Mets. Wade Miller pitched an incredible game. Yes, life was good — at least up until the ninth inning. Despite the fact that Tony had hit the ball hard all game (including a monster shot to deep center his first at-bat), he was hitless going into the ninth, and it didn’t look like he was going to get another at bat. And then, miraculously, the Astros got hit after hit. Tony was coming up in the order. I was so excited. I knew that Tony was going to get a hit. I just knew it. And then, just when it looked like it was going to happen, the rug got pulled out from under us. Moises Alou hit into an inning-ending double play (with Tony in the on-deck circle) and that was it for the hitting streak.
At the end of the game, I stuck my head into the Astros dugout and who was standing there — Tough Tony. “Tony,” I shouted, “would you sign my hat?” He came over and signed my hat. Then I said to him, “Tony, the streak was awesome. Congratulations on getting into the Astros’ record books.” He smiled at me. Then I told him that he was my favorite player and that when I signed my son up for Astros buddies, I listed him as Benjamin’s favorite player. He thanked me.
Another personal note: I’m 31 years old. I’m married. I have a kid. I’m a lawyer and I work fairly long hours. I think of myself as a grownup. But it is amazing how going to the ballgame made me feel like a little kid again. Talking to Tony brought back all of the memories of waiting outside the locker room for Denny Walling and Jose Cruz and Terry Puhl to come out and sign autographs. I felt like pulling out all of my old baseball cards and doing a little card sorting, just for old times sake.
One of the great things about going to see the Astros play at Shea is that you bond with all of the other Astros fans who are there. You talk to people in the parking lot, in the subway, while waiting for hotdogs. At game 2, there was another Astros fan yelling for Tony just as loud as I was. He also got Tony to sign a baseball and I introduced myself to him. He told me that his name was Chuck. (The next day, Chuck posted here as NYASTRO and we made plans to meet at game three.)
I left work early the next day to catch batting practice, something that I have never done before. It was amazing watching all of the players hit and shag flies. I thought that it was interesting that Bleach took infield practice at second base. Jose Lima was the biggest draw, even with Mets’ fans, throwing ball after ball into the outfield bleachers. He signed autographs for more than one hour as well. Say what you want about the way that Lima has pitched this year, but there is no player on the Astros who is as “fan friendly” as Lima. Lima told me that he would be back next year. (I took this to mean that Lima thinks that he will be able to shake off this season and come back strong next year). There were other players who also came over to talk and sign autographs. I talked to Jose Cabrera for a while. I told him that despite the balk, the way that he pitched during game one reminded me of how he pitched last year. He told me that he had felt the same way. He said that he had worked some things out with his delivery and that he was going to return to form. Octavio Dotel came over and told me that he had talked to Dirk and the Hun and that he was going to be back in the rotation next year. I heard Roger Cedeno tell a bunch of Mets’ fans that he wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up playing for the Mets next year.
I ran into Chuck at the end of batting practice and we talked for a while. Its a small world. His parents live around a mile away from where my parents live. We both graduated from high school in 86 and knew some of the same people. We talked about the Astros, the Rockets, the Titans, and the new football team. It was nice to be able to talk to a live person about the teams that I follow. Teams that few other people in New York follow. We both thought that the Astros were primed to take game three and the series from the Mets. It was going to be a good game we were sure.
Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out that way. The Astros couldn’t get a hit off Rick Reed. I don’t think that we got a single runner past second base all night. Worst of all, I had to put up with Mets’ fans all night long. When the Astros hit into a double play, the guy sitting behind me said “it sure sucks to be an Astros’ fan.” I wanted to tell him that it sure sucks to have a face like his. But sometimes, when you are sitting among a bunch of hostile fans, discretion is the better part of valor. It wasn’t going to be the Astros’ night, and there was no reason to get into a fight as well.
I left Shea Stadium after game three, tired, worn out, even a little baseballed-out. With the exception of game 2, the games had been disappointing. I was nauseous from the 9 hotdogs, 2 buckets of popcorn, 3 pretzels, 8 beers, and 1 bag of peanuts that I had consumed over the three days. I had spent approximately 15 hours at Astrospalooza (not including the travel time back to my house in New Jersey or the time I spent at AstrosConnection over those three days). I had a ton of work waiting for me at the office — work that I had put off while the Astros were in town — and I was getting a little depressed. When I got to the subway, there was a long line of popele waiting to buy tokens and as I walked past the throng, I heard a Mets fan who had cut the line tell a complaining US Open fan “You want to make something of it Tennis boy?”
It was time to go home, to make up with my wife. I had survived another Astrospalooza and I was looking forward to watching a few games on the couch.