By ‘strosrays
Apocalypse Now Well, Pretty Soon!
Dodgers (55-44) at Astros (42-56)
Minute Maid Park, 501 Crawford St., Houston, TX 77002
a/k/a “The Juice Box”
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▪Monday, July 23 (7:05 p.m. CDT) – FSN
▪Tuesday, July 24 (7:05 p.m. CDT) – FSN
▪Wednesday, July 25 (7:05 p.m. CDT) – FSN
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I Stood Upon the Sand of the Sea
This one won’t be winning any literary prizes, I’ll say that up front.
Not that any of the previous efforts would, either, but this one is being written 1.) at the last minute (actually, nothing new there); 2.) with no major overriding theme in mind (ditto); 3.) about halfway through a cooler full of brewskies; and 4.) from the beach. Literally.
That last is something I’ve been wanting to do for awhile. In the great SE Texas tradition going back at least to my father’s time, we have moved down to the beach for the summer, at least the last half of it. In the old, pre-air conditioning days, families did this to escape the sub-tropical heat and mosquitos back in town, as much as anything else. The whole household would be carted down to the Bolivar Peninsula, lock, stock, and barrel for three months, and the dads would commute. It was great for the kids, of course, and among other things it caused my own father to be a lifelong stone beach bum at heart. So, I come by it naturally.
My family and I have been staying down here a three weeks so far. And it has kind of sucked, actually. Torrential rains, a rape-murder just down from the cabin a couple weeks back, flesh-eating bacteria in the Gulf. . . but it still beats the hell out of being back in town, and it is supposed to be clearing up now. I’ve been driving back-and-forth a lot, but it is only a 45-minute commute. My brother in Kingwood has a longer one than that, to his job in downtown Houston. So I have no reason to complain.
Today, we’ve been sitting out on the beach. We just switched over from the Astros game, where Woody Williams of all people shut down the Pirates, 1-0. Great game. Now we are listening to the KLOL-FM clone, whichever station it is the aging stoners and heads moved to when the legendary 101.1 went Tejano a few years back. The Cult’s “Wildflower” is playing right now. Extended 12” version. I’ve got a spiral composition book I am writing in, sitting in my old-style beach chair. My wife is stretched out on a chaise lounge lawn chair next to me, on the other side of the 64-gallon cooler sitting between us. She is sunning, and acting like she is reading a book, which I know she is not, actually. The cooler has a couple of cases of Miller Lite (hers) and Natural Light iced down in it, along with some water and soft drinks. I’ve had a few beers by now, and the old lady is starting to look pretty good. She turned 43 this summer, but except for a few gray hairs she attributes to being married to yours truly (which she covers up with a product called Beautiful Brunette, I believe), she looks ten years younger. I have to hand it to her – I am sitting here looking at her backside, and she has kept her shape, mostly, and, well, I am thinking, um. . .
My ten year old is out in the surf, having swum out to almost to the second sand bar. He is an excellent swimmer, but I have been keeping one eye on him. He said he felt a sand shark bump his leg the other day. Fairly common in the surf down here, and some people kind of freak out when it happens. Even a small shark, moving at cruising speed, can whack you pretty good when he hits your thigh with his snout (which they do intentionally, by the way. . . a shark has an excellent built-in navigation system.) My son told me he knew what it was when it happened, and so he just sort of calmly started swimming for the beach. He’s been playing out in this water since he was two or three, and it takes a lot to faze him.
My fourteen-year-old is down the way, sitting on the tailgate of the F-150, listening to the stereo, looking cool. He has on a pair of tan canvas OP surfing shorts, a puca shell and turquoise necklace, and silver mirror shades, teardrop Aviator knockoffs. Dark-tanned, he has broad shoulders, and a narrow waist. My boy is growing up, and he is starting to look a lot like his old man at the same age, people tell me. :Sigh: Makes a dad proud. He has got down the ‘ability to leer at passing lovelies without being obvious about it’ thing, too. I taught him that. In fact, I’ve been practicing it a little bit today, myself. It takes a certain amount of talent and persistence to be able to move one’s eyes from extreme east to extreme west, across the entire panorama of the beach, tracking some underage honey wearing not much, while never moving one’s head at all. Protected by sunglasses, one appears to be staring straight ahead the whole time. I wear a pair of twenty-year-old black Wayfarers all the time normally, but sitting on the beach I usually opt for a cheap pair of mirror shades much like my son’s. Cheap because I’m always losing them or breaking them on the beach, and mirror shades to conceal what the eyeballs are really up to. I had a pair of green-tinted ones awhile back I really loved. I think I backed over them with my truck. Anyway, I’m really good at it, I’m telling you. The old lady says she has known exactly what I’ve been up to, all along, but I think she is bluffing.
So, anyway, that is the scene as I compose my Series Preview. I just dripped some coconut oil off my forearm onto this page, for authenticity. The plan is to compose this, then transcribe it over to the laptop when we get back to the cabin. Then sometime this evening I’ll wander down to Bob’s Restaurant and Bar in Crystal Beach proper. If you sit in the third booth on the left, facing south, and order a pitcher of Michelob, you can get wi-fi reception. Sometimes. I’ll post this then.
If that doesn’t work, well, I’ll still have the pitcher of beer as consolation. And I’ll post this Monday sometime, from work.
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Projected Matchups from Astros.com
Monday
Chad Billingsley (6-0, 3.56) v. Chris Sampson (7-6, 4.15)
Who the fuck is Chad Billingsley?. . . Chris Sampson continues to be one of the better rookie starting pitchers in the NL. He has fallen off a bit in recent starts.
Tuesday
Mark Hendrickson (4-5, 4.54) v. Jason Jennings (1-6, 4.76)
Mark Hendrickson is a 6’ 10” soft-tossing lefty who used to pitch for Toronto and Tampa Bay. He is a former NBA player. . . Jason Jennings has pitched well in spots but needless to say has been a major disappointment. Just another reminder about overpaying for starting pitching
Wednesday
Derek Lowe (8-9, 3.51) v. Roy Oswalt (9-6, 3.80)
Derek Lowe left his wife and kids for some FOX bimbo in LA. He has a good fastball and changeup . . . Roy Oswalt, as has been noted, is having an off year so far, by his standards. I still much rather have him going out there for me than Derek Lowe.
Etcetera
On Tuesday July 24th, the first 10,000 fans were scheduled to receive a spiffy looking NASA-slash-Astros Cap compliments of United Space Alliance, the folks who help make the space shuttle the practical and reliable ten gazillion dollar flying piece of space junk machinery that it is. . . Unfortunately, the cap giveaway thing was scrubbed at the last second, due to some problems with heat deflecting panels. USA officials will not comment at this time on the extent of the problem, or when the cap giveaway will be rescheduled.
Your Methodist Hospital System® Injury Report
City of Angels – LHP Tommy John (Tommy John surgery), LHP Randy Wolf (inflamed right rotator cuff, wolfsbane), RHP Jason Schmidt (right rotator cuff, labrum), LHP Sandy Koufax (elbow), lefty Ho Chi Minh (decomp), RHP Chin-hui Tsao (ruptured or strained something), UT Marlon Anderson (sprained left wrist), OF Marlon Perkins (lion bite, actually incurred by Jim Fowler on Marlon Perkins’ behalf)
Houston – Catcher Hector Gimenez (torn labrium), RHP Brandon Backe (Tommy John surgery), SS Adam Everett (fractured right fibia).
Our ‘Interesting Things To Look For This Series’
●This is the Revelation of the angel Timothy, which Drayton gave him to show to his players and the fans the things which must happen soon, which he sent and made known by his bench coach to his servant, strosrays, who testified to Drayton’s word, and of the testimony of Timothy, about everything that he saw. Sabermetrically oriented is he who reads and those who hear the words of the prophecy, and keep the things that are written in it, for the time is at hand. . .
And Drayton said, “Don’t be afraid of the things which you are about to suffer. Behold, the Reds and Pirates are about to throw you into a cellar, that you may be tested; and you will have oppression for five years. Be faithful to our rebuilding plan, and I will give you the crown of the central division, in the year of Rich Lord, Two-thousand and Thirteen.”
And then many voices were heard, in a roiling babble. And one voice rose above all the others, and this voice had a pale, bloated body; and on that body four heads, and let them be known by their names. They were called the Comical, or The Four Jackasses of the ‘Neck-cropolis; and the mere mention of them struck terror into the hearts of all the reasonable and literate. . . and their names were John L. and Hosea De Hay and McFaggot (NTTAWWT). And the loudest most dissonant of them was known plainly as a dick, or Dick, for short.
And this Dick did say, “I know your works and where you dwell, Drayton-which-rhymeth-with-Satan. You dwell where Satan’s throne is.”
And to this Dick did Drayton answer, “You held firmly to your plans, and denied our faith in the days of Ausmus my witness. I have a few things against you, because you have there some who hold the teachings of Palillo, who taught Palillo and his like to throw a stumbling block before the children of Juiceboxland, to eat things sacrificed to VORP and BABIP, and to obsessively cite OBP and commit sexual immorality while contemplating Burke’s potential.. So you also have some who hold to the teaching of the Zobrists and Taverasists likewise.”
”Repent therefore, or else I am coming to you quickly, and I will fuck you up with the sword of my mouth, you sniveling little cocksuck.”
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Sitting on the beach and gazing at the horizon, it always drops my blood pressure about twenty points. That and, especially after a few beers, it usually brings to mind biblical imagery for some reason; particularly from the Book of Revelations which, the religious aspect totally aside, I have always felt was just one of the best works of literature, ever.
What does this have to do with the Astros and baseball? Nothing, really. The rest of this season may be a test of faith for some, though. Hard times tend to separate the faithful from the bandwagonners and dilettantes; and I guess you need that sort of thing from time to time. Sort of like a forest fire clears out the underbrush.
I expect to hear from a lot of burning underbrush in the next couple of months.
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Dodgers win the series, 2-1. “Come here. I will show you the judgment of the great prostitute who sits on many waters, with whom the kings of the earth committed fornication, and those who dwell in the earth were made drunken with the wine of her fornication.” Hell, yeah. Time to separate the men from the boys. The fornicators from the, uh, non-fornicators. Fuck, yeah. Bring it on.
You may discuss today’s game in real time in the GameZone.