“Hey Greg Lucas, recognize who in the hell you’re interviewing?”
At least that’s what I was thinking while I was still sitting on my couch, watching the Astros jump around in full on clinch mode and avoiding the various chores that a man with a pregnant wife has (going to the grocery store, replacing the siding that Hurricane Rita relocated from the side of my house, personal grooming, etc, etc).
“That’s not Brad Ausmus, you fantastically unnecessary keyboard-humper, it’s Brad “Baby Geoffrey” Lidge. The closer. Notice the goat? And the mole? How hard is your freakin? job?!?”
Of course, you don’t tug on Superman’s cape, you don’t stand downwind from Starr Jones in the summer, and you don’t mess around with Lidge.
“and the offense came through big for us, and that’s fucking huge for us”
In other words, get my name right, douche, or anytime you want to speak to me, it better be on delay. Not that being called Ausmus is the worst insult a man can receive, but it’s as close to RCAP as you can get without needing to throw down.
Of course, my son, the three year old, thinks everything is forking huge right now. The Wiggles, Star Wars, Tickle U? All forking huge. I’m sure that the parent-teacher conference I’m about to have will be sometime during game one of the NLDS. Stupid afternoon games.
Which brings us to our annual first round match-up with the Bravos. Anyone else wish the Astros could play ANYONE else in the first round? Not because the Braves are that good, or because the Astros managed to go 1-5 against Atlanta this year, or because Slacker Jones is an asshat. None of that really matters.
What matters is that the Astros have played Cox (heh) and crew like 37 times in the playoffs. The run down, from memory, will be that the city of Atlanta won’t notice that there’s a playoff series until game 4, some random starter will close a game against the Astros, one of the Jones boys will sleep with a gaggle of underage prostitutes (see Choptarts) while in Houston, and Rafael Furcal will go to prison as soon as the season is over. I don’t know about you, but since HPD isn’t arresting people like they used to (Mets in 1986, James Worthy, etc) and since Furcal should probably be a guest of the state of Georgia for several consecutive years, where’s the drama? It would have been fun to play the Phillies or the Mess and relive the 80’s. It would have been cool to play Natty Light in the first playoff series in DC since WWII.
Playing the Braves at this point is like hooking up with someone you used to date in high school. You didn’t really like each other the first time, she wasn’t going to do that anyway, and you both just end up pissed off again. But it’s familiar territory, and the odds are you can go another 15 years without seeing her.
It’s hard for me to predict what’s going to happen, a) because I suck at predictions and b) the Astros split a couple of games in April, and then got swept over 4 games by a combined score of 38-8. Of course, our team had the swine flu, Jeff Bagwell stopped playing, and Lance Berkman came back just in time to bumble his way into a two base error. The Astros aren’t the same team (i.e., not nearly as bad) as they were early in the season, and the Braves are different as well (pitching is worse, hitting probably a little better.) So who the hell knows?!?
I do know a couple of things. I know I’m glad that Houston made the playoffs, if for no other reason than to make Jose Ortiz and Richard Justice eat a big ol’ shitburger. Justice has pinwheeled again, and as of this morning, declared the Astros one of the best, most well-run franchises in sports. 11 months ago, the horrible management of the Astros front office drove Gerry Hunsicker to lie about wanting to spend time with his wife in order to get out of dodge. What do you get for turning around a franchise so quickly? Sno-cones?
BTW, did anyone else notice that Ortiz has tried to link the Hun to Arlington and the Rangers this Sunday? Just like the last 25 times he’s tried to pretend he has insider knowledge of anything not named Ortiz’s colon, it won’t pan out.
I’m glad that Craig Biggio is going to get another chance to produce in the playoffs. And that they went through the formality of signing him up for another year. (Why not an option for the second year?) He’s 205 hits away from 3,000 now and there’s no way Drayton McLane is going to allow him to pick up the last few in a different uniform. At $4 million per, he’s a bargain at second.
I’m glad that I’ll be able to see the return of “Houston, We Have a Problem” gloss when Houston loses a game. There is nothing better than seeing people with some of the easiest jobs in America using and reusing horrid cliches. The only reason we have sports journalists is because monkeys have hell filling out their expense reimbursement forms.
I’m glad that I’ll hopefully be able to see that damn kid crying again. Or video of the kid crying. Or several stills of that kid crying. That never gets old.
I’m glad that I wasn’t sitting next to the big orange clad fucktard who tried in vain to pick up Neffi Perez’s throw at the right field railing. I don’t know if someone pulled him back or he couldn’t muster the coordination to move his awful, stubby hands in the correct direction, but that jackass almost cost the Astros the go ahead run. It would have cost me a shoe, but he wouldn’t have tried that again had I been there. Especially if I was properly liquored up.
I’m glad that our rotation is set up a whole lot better than it was last year. I’m pretty okay with losing Pete Munro and replacing him with that kid from Pasadena. Petite or something. Everyone is operating on regular rest, and the only real question mark is the Racket’s hammy.
I’m glad that Pornstache and the Central Gardener will both get to watch the Astros on television, because, y’know, they have no other pressing engagements.
Most of all, I’m glad that the incessant whining about this franchise and their shortcomings ended (at least somewhat) with the postseason last year. I wonder if the bulk of Houston fans understand (or remember) what it’s like to not sniff a pennant race for years at a time. Starting in 1995, the Astros have been in a pennant race every year except for 2000. That’s a decade of September baseball that means something. You could be relegated to being a fan of Baltimore, Tampa Bay, Toronto, Detroit, Kansas City, Washington, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, or Milwaukee. None of which have sniffed the playoffs in the last 10 years. Or try growing up and rooting for the White Sox, Dodgers, Rockies, and Mets who have done it once in the last decade.
Only the Braves, Yankees, Red Sox, and Cardinals are comparable to Houston over the last decade in the number of playoff appearances. For some of the lifetime fans, being in the upper echelon of baseball would have been considered a pipe dream not too many years ago. So I’m glad that I get to enjoy the playoffs for what they are, a rare opportunity to win the whole damn thing. We are very fortunate to get to experience this so often.
So work up your excuses for Wednesday (I’m thinking stress test, or “female problems”) and get your root on for the Stros. They’ll probably be able to hear you over the lack of a crowd in Atlanta.