Where better to go at the low point of a low season than Shitbird City? I’m ready. Bring it on. Let Jim Crane see how much work needs to be done. Let that $650 million dollar hole in his pocket gape in awe at what’s now filling it. But let’s also shut these redheaded, eye-infected fucks up.
——
It's a fixer-upper
I know how Jim Crane feels. I mean, not in the sense that I have enough money for Limey’s drinking, Alkie’s whores, and Jim’s hip replacement(s) in my couch cushions, but I get it, man. We’re in the process of buying a house right now. A ninety year old house at that. The current owner is flipping it after putting a fair amount of money and effort into dressing it up and making it more livable. But like a certain recently departed Grocer, he did it on the cheap. Bad wiring? Bury it in spray-in insulation. Termites? Paint over the rotted wood. Overweight, overpaid LF? Make him a team of sombrero-wearing mascots! Wait, which side of this analogy was I on again?
The point being that Crane has the next few months to inspect. And reinspect. At all levels. Minor league. Major league. Front office. Back office. He’s going to find things he wants to change, and other things that make him smile, because they’re the reasons he wanted to own a major league team in the first place. The previous owner neglected things, to be sure. But like houses that have “good bones”, this team has good pieces to build on. Not necessarily from an on-field talent perspective. God and Baseball Prospectus know that Oklahoma City has about as much talent as the collective cast of Glee, but there’s still Bobby Heck, and Ed Wade, and Jio Mier, and Telvin Nash, and all the other promising kids collected under their watch. Preserve that spirit, those bones, and this house will be alright, in time.
By the same token, though, I fucking hate house shopping. I hate telling financiers how much (or little) I make. I hate standing around trying to look like I understand when the roofing guy talks to me like I’ve ever been to the High Degree of Difficulty aisles at Home Depot. I hate the nickel and diming on closing costs. I hate the way it’s completely taking over my life. And I really fucking hate this Astros season. It’s proving every nay-saying jackass right (in their mind), and it’s becoming almost comical in its predictability. But if this is what we go through every two decades in order to have a 2005 once in a while, then so be it.
Here are the keys, Jimmy. The Lil’ Pumas have already been fumigated. I hope you don’t fuck it up.
Wednesday, May 18th
7:15 CT, Awesome Brewery Bill Blocking Stadium
Bud Norris (2-2, 3.42) v. Kyle Lohse (4-2, 2.31)
Kyle Lohse looks like he touches himself during MMA matches. That little chin-dot goatee. I bet he can’t grow a real beard. Collectively, the ‘stros hit .255 against him, but Carlos has 5 dingers off him, which would be great if he still knew how to hit them. The immortal Brett Wallace hits .667 against Lohse, probably because Lohse gets all transfixed by DAT ASS!
Bud is the Card slayer. I expect a complete fucking game here, for obvious reasons.
Thursday, May 19th
12:45 CT, Screw You I’m Drinking Southern Star RIGHT NOW Stadium
J.A. Happ (3-4, 5.40) v. Kyle McClellan (5-1, 3.62)
Don't we all?
Why are goatees still popular? McClellan has one. He looks like a douche. He probably wears cargo shorts to dinner, and lets the waitress sit down at the booth while she explains the snapper special. Hell, he probably asks for that waitress every time. Hunter loves him, which probably means his breaking stuff is for shit. Bill Hall is over .350 against him, which means that he has a magic pitch that can be hit even when it’s way out of the strike zone. Also, McClellan’s Baseball-Reference page is sponsored by Cardinal-birthdays.com. That’s so damned sad I almost can’t even make fun of it. Almost. Imagine a party where the party planner is purported to be the best party planner in baseball party planning, except the cake tastes like taint, and the clown falls asleep drunk and has communicable diseases.
Happ was totally worth trading for Berkman straight up. *ducks* Pujols and Holliday both hit him well, so the bully should be glad to know that there probably won’t be a lead to defend when they’re called upon.
Astros:
Alberto Arias: Missing in action. Chuck Norris currently searching.
Jason Bourgeois: Strained oblique. Had plasma injecction. Dammit, not another superhero movie.
Jason Castro: Out til September. Not a good year to be a Jason in Houston.
Jeff Keppinger: Our last and best hope is almost back. If only he could pitch the 7th, we’d be golden.
Brandon Lyon: 15 day DL (suck)
Shitbirds
Bryan Augenstein: 15 day DL. Strained groin. I think you can write the rest of this joke.
David Freese: Broke left hand. Wait, I think these two might be related!
Nick Punto: Right forearm flexor strain. What the hell kind of orgy was this?
Colby Rasmus: muscle strain in midsection. The butthole’s in the midsection, right?
Skip Schumacher: right triceps strain. I mean, seriously? Is it all just wanking arms and one groin?
Brian Tallet: broken bone in right hand. Oh my lord. I’m starting to feel sorry for Augenstein.
Adam Wainwright: ligament damage in right elbow. Wow. Just wow.
Prrrrrromotions!
NONE WHATSOEVER!
What to watch for:
A mercifully short series.
More Berkman stories, dammit.
The national media returning to sleep about the Astros.
The final end of the nonstop Augenstein wank orgy.