I was just 15 and out of control…
15 games into the season…seems about time to overreact about some things. I feel fully justified because I was able to avoid ranting about things after the first 2 games like some of the folks around here.
It’s easy to kick people when they’re down, and lower than the guy who sells Paula Abdul her pain killers right now would accurately describe Tim Redding. Last season, several people thought was when Redding turned the corner, myself included. But dude seems to have no clue what in the hell he’s doing on the mound so far in 2004. The story from the Astros, at least during the spring, was that Redding had matured and the temper tantrums, diaper wetting and teeth cutting were a thing of the past. And yet, he’s still going all Apprentice Sam whenever anything goes wrong.
Redding’s problem used to be one of arrogance and ignorance. In the minors, he could blow the ball past everyone. In parts of 4 seasons now as an Astro, like a convenience store owner giving directions through downtown construction, it has never translated. No longer able to rely on his “stuff” Redding has been forced to think, exposing his greatest weakness, and a probable reason for his downfall. That constipated look caused by all the brain work has led to nibbling, which results in things like a bad economy, the heartache of psoriasis, or at least what the 3rds did to him last night. Compound that with the rumored bitching he does around the clubhouse and the belief many in the organization have that he is an unrepenting headcase of the Bill Lee variety (without the wins) and Redding is on a short leash.
Redding likely has 3-4 more starts to work it out, as no better option currently exists. Brandon Duckworth hasn’t been impressive so far, Carlos Hernandez needs at least until June to build arm strength, Autopop will only pitch when the temperature around the country is in the 90’s (and the music is by Big Daddy Kane), and the organization wants to work more with Taylor Bucholz in AAA. But come Memorial Day, Redding had better find whatever it is he’s looking for on the mound, or he won’t be long for the rotation.
Lost to James Dean and Rock ‘n Roll…
Without stating the obvious the Astros seem to have figured out that a little small ball can go a long way. Craig Biggio has managed to reinvent his approach at the plate, removing both the trademark leg kick and toilet spill of a helmet. Early in the season, this has led to a .390 OBA and a barrel-full of doubles. An even bigger key has been the play of Adam Everett in the two hole. By my count, he’s attempted a sac bunt in 10 of the 15 games, and is currently leading the world in that category. With a homo-erectus inspired approach at the plate (if we had a glossary, this would make perfect sense) and the smokin’ leather at short, Everett is the key to the early season success.
Hollywood Was A Lady in Red…
On the other hand, what’s the deal with Morgan Ensberg (resist saying this out loud like you’re Jerry Seinfeld if not for your own sake, then think of the children. God, won’t SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN!) The common complaint I hear on the remarkably insightful Houston talk radio scene and the mystifyingly brilliant internet message boards are about how Ensberg has gotten a raw deal with the acquisition of Mike Lamb. Some have gone so far to keep a running count of Ensberg starts to “prove” that he’s being platooned. Ensberg is unhappy, Howard in Memorial is unhappy, the whole thing is a conspiracy to keep Californians down.
I’m not sure what anyone is trying to accomplish, but bottom line is regardless of his feelings, Joe College needs to start hitting. When he starts hitting, he’ll get more at bats against tougher pitchers. If he keeps hitting, then all of this is “mute”.
But until then, Lamb has earned playing time, matches but with right handed pitchers better, seems to listen to his coaches, and isn’t in a full on pout about his role on a pennant contender.
Who Danced In My Dreams As I Tossed In Bed…
The California porn industry is 8 days into its HIV Hiatus (for some reason I can see Dr. Neil Frank making this announcement…”This weekend is looking like the worst HIV epidemic in all of Porn…Will any of you survive? Find out after the break.”) Anyway, “actors” Darren James and Lara Roxx have both tested positive for the virus, and they’ve had to test something like 565 other people because when you hit Lara Roxx, you’ve also hit with Tom Byron, Rocco Sifireddi, TT Boy, Ron Jeremy, that pseudo-Mexican guy who’s always doing Jill Kelly, Michael J. Cox, Patrick Ewing, Ed Bradley, former members of Menudo, and some guy who hangs out at the Vancouver Airport known only as Payphone Joe. Fortunately, this is good news for baseball and Barry Bonds. Because of the break in action, once Barry hits number 669, Jenna Jameson will now be available to pass a diamond encrusted “double dong” dildo to Bonds at a home plate ceremony. Jameson promises, “This will be at least as gay as that frickin’ torch that creepy old man gave him a couple of weeks ago. And it’s appropriate, because he is still one of the biggest pricks in sports…and I know my big pricks.”
I Knew I’d Wind Up In Jail Or Dead…If I Had To Stay.
The season is 26 days old and Ken Griffey, Jr. is still a Red. The Reds are “contending” right now. I don’t see any reason why either is going to continue. Besides all the suck that surrounds the “Let’s win one for Eva, I mean Marge” version of the Reds, several teams are taking a look at Griffey, including the Dodgers and all of a sudden the, Rockies…(mainly because I had Preston Wilson on my fantacrap team, and of course he may be out for the year with a knee injury.) If Griffa can manage to be not completely falling apart by mid June (a Starr Jones sized if) he might be traveling West, not-so-young man.
Andy got himself some gigs on Saturday nights, not much more than orchestrated fights. He comes home drunk and tries to write, but the words come out wrong. Hell-bent and bound for a wasted youth, too much gin and not enough vermouth, no one to teach him how to seek the truth and put it into song. Andy knows that happiness is Lubbock, Texas in anyone’s rearview mirror. Drop him a line.
