Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Astros 7
Padres 1
W: Moehler (5-4) | L: Silva (0-2)
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The Good Guys picked up another series win – their eighth in the last ten – (Ed. – got a little ahead of things there) win with a decisive and LOLtacular 7-1 victory over the Fathers last night. The win brings Houston back to two gamers under .500, a strange point of resistance that they’ve been careening off of for at least six months now, by my rough calculations.
Squared up against Pads righty Silva (The disaster with the 8+ ERA named Walter, not to be confused with the disaster with the 8+ ERA named Carlos), the ‘Stros scuffled through the order the first time, getting no-hit through three and a third innings to open the game. In there, Moehler chugged along, giving up just a solo jack to Alfonzo in the 2nd to fall behind 1-0.
The San Diego lead then evaporated hilariously in the top of the 4th, beginning with one out in the inning. Miggy, Twinkie, Flapjack and Blum rained singles down all over Indifference Field at Where The Fuck Is Everyone Ballpark, plating two for a one-run lead. After a brief break in the action for a Pudge lineout, Erstad got the train moving again with a walk, and Kaz knocked home a third run with yet another single.
So Moehler stepped in with two outs and the bases juiced, and Astros fandom feeling comfortable with banking the three runs already on the board, and calling it an inning. A weak grounder to third validated that, but SPEED KILLS AND BRIAN MOEHLER IS A LOADED GUN MOTHERFUCKER HOLY SHIT LOOK AT HIM GO. I assume some variation of that thought jammed into Chase Headley’s brain, because after he deftly plucked the short hop, a complete panic-freeze was in effect and all systems went into temporary shutdown. The look on his face was a poignant reminder of Gunther flying around first to be gunned down by infinity earlier this year – the terror and confusion that grips a man when he realizes that he is incapable of making his body do something rational and good, his actions seemingly controlled remotely and without authorization by an unseen and willfully stupid force.
Would've gone immediately to 1st, but his mind was a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives.
Headley first looked back toward third, which was holy shit balls far away and not at all a possibility, and after a pause for dramatic effect, skipping around and pants-shitting, his Freakout Gland kicked into action with a vengeance, causing him to heave the ball wildly off his back foot towards first. The throw skipped past Gonzalez on the outfield side and headed up the line in right while Blum and Erstad scored. Because Venable was inexplicably strolling in from right (nice courtesy effort there, guy), Gonzalez had to go chase the ball down while Kaz got waved home, and the throw to the plate crashed into the backstop right around the time the sixth run of the inning came across. Hooray tee ball! Sno-cones for everyone!
Please adjust your scouting report at third for Headley to read “needs work on decision-making and footwork; exhibits above-average comedic range and timing.” From there, not a lot happened – Moehler wound up with six innings of one-run ball, while Venti Fulchino and Hawk nailed down the final three frames. Kata drove in Erstad with a sac fly in the 9th to round out the scoring, then a pie fight broke out and Headley went to the movies for some reason, where he was shot. The end.