Yankees 5, Astros 1 (14 innings)

W: Daley (1-0)
L: Harrell (6-17)

At least the dupes who paid the onerous Premium Game prices got to see extra innings, and got a Mariano Rivera monologue before the game, but a Yankee B squad bereft of almost any player you’d care to turn your head to see prevailed over the best mighty Houston could offer. That “best” included four hits in 46 at-bats, two walks, and the real icing on the cake, 19 strikeouts.

It wasn’t all a waltz in the lower chamber of the outhouse. Bedard went seven and only allowed three hits while fanning nine. Otherwise, it’s brown stains all around. Harrell went four teasing innings before blowing up, dropping to a ghastly 6-17 on the year.

That 19 strikeouts earned the Astros another thorn in their crown, or another dingleball on their jester’s hat, and not just because it represented the new record for strikeouts by a team in a season. No, this is worse because the previous recordholders were NL teams. The NL, where the pitcher bats and strikes out more than 30% of a team’s overall number. This was done by a team full of shitty hitters. Shitty hitters who would make a scat lover’s convention reach for the Charmin.

There’s plenty more in the 2013 Litany of Shame. Ending with a 15 game losing streak. Successively worse W/L records over the last three years, all of which were team records for futility. The embarrassing and potentially crippling explosive diarrhea that is the TV rights debacle. There is so much more but we all have a good, if slippery handle on what’s backing up from the septic tank.

They’ve run off tens of thousands of fans, placing their hopes that winning on down the line will bring new ones. That’s most likely true, but they’re going to have to turn that minor league system into major league baseball players and at a rate better than usual. They won’t be able to sustain losing over many more years if the washout rate is average.

What an embarrassing time to be a Texas sports fan. If all you can celebrate is Aggie football, Texas women’s volleyball and making it to a play-in game for the right to play in another play-in game, it’s time to put Old Yeller out of his misery.

***

I want to thank that fantastic group of recappers – NeilT, Mr. Happy, Reuben, Sphinx Drummond and BudGirl – who worked hard under some awful circumstances to not only follow the team but to bring individuality, intelligence and humor to their coverage. I’m very grateful to them all for the work and dedication they showed and I can’t possibly thank them enough. It’s important to the site to have daily content about the games, and their work was exemplary.

Adios, 2013. I hope next year is an improvement.

Stars 2, Stripes 3

contributed by NeilT

You may not remember me, but I have a sausage stand on Miller Way, right outside the stadium. I sell bratwurst, liver sausage, Slovenian, kielbasa, kolbasch, mettwurst, even Serbian. I have this customer named Bud. I’m sure you remember me telling you about Bud. He’s tall and cadaverous, with joints and bones hung together all loose and jutting. He kind of jerks and writhes when he talks, and hunches over at the shoulders like he’s always bobbing and bowing. When he orders sausage he rubs his long bony hands like he’s washing them under a faucet.

Usually Bud buys my sausage to slip to his friend Houston, but sometimes, especially when the Astros used to be in town, Bud would watch the game from this little portable tv I keep at the stand. This year though he hasn’t watched that many games with me. I guess that’s because the Astros don’t play Milwaukee so much, and they haven’t had a home game in Milwaukee for a while. He still buys plenty of sausage to slip to his friend Houston, so he’s still a good customer.

Frankly, I’m just as glad he doesn’t hang out at the stand so often. He may buy lots of sausage, but he kinda creeps me out, y’know?

Anyway the end of the season here at Miller Way comes early, just like winter. By late September, I usually have a few regulars drop by, but it’s turning cold and mostly I’m thinking about the Packers, especially when the Brew Crew is on the road. But tonight Bud showed up beaming like a car salesman, and asks me if I’ll turn on the Yankees/Astros game.

“Bud, man, I got no interest in that game. Customers see me watching that game and they’ll never come back. Nobody cares about the Astros, and everybody hates the Yankees.”

“But Master David,” that’s what Bud always calls me. I get the David part, David’s my name, but the Master? Where does that come from? Like I said, he may be a good customer, but he’s creepy. “Master David, I have spent my life working towards this night! I tell you what, I’ll pay you $50.”

“Bud, it gets around I’m playing New York/Houston in the stand, I’ll lose more than $50 in tips in one day.”

“$500.”

Now five c-notes is some sausage, and I was tempted. That would buy a lot of ice-fishing schnapps. I hesitated.

“$5000.”

“All right, I’ll do it Bud.” That’s a week’s gross in the sausage trade, a good week, and it’s late in the season. “But anyone comes by we turn on the Brewers-Mets. And you stay in control, you got me? Any problems and you’re out of here, and I keep the $5000.” Of course control at a sausage stand in Milwaukee is all relative. Any other city and I might as well be tending bar at a biker joint, so I made him pay up front. He counted out the notes from a big wad he took from his jacket pocket. I should have asked for more. “And why do you hate the Astros so much anyway?”

“Master David,” Bud kind of whines when he talks, and now his voice sounded exactly like Peter Lorre in the Maltese Falcon, “Master David, I’ve never told this to anyone, but the Astros shot my father.”

I had heard all this before, and I wasn’t going there again. I plated him a big liver sausage on a paper plate with some grilled onions and mustard. He was smiling and drooling like he’d just ate the toad. He started rubbing his hands like crazy, and kind of ticked and jerked like he couldn’t quite bring himself to scratch where things needed scratching. I fiddled with the tv until I found the station and heard Bud humming something as he started to cut up his sausage. He was humming “New York, New York.”

“Sausage isn’t included in the $5000,” I tell him. I got his credit card and ran a tab.

Bud was talkative tonight. He’d never been much to talk, other than saying how he was going to give this sausage to Houston good. But tonight the game was kinda quiet, but Bud wasn’t. He got a little excited in the 4th when the Yankees scored 3. He took the mettwurst on his plate and sort of waved it suggestively, but then he caught himself and put it back on his plate. He looked embarrassed, like I’d caught him at a secret moment.

“You know Master David, I am a humble person. It’s like my mother always told me, ‘we’re humble people, Budiah, and it will never do us but to be anything but humble.’ My mother taught me to be humble, so I have always been the most humble man a man could be.” Bud finished off the mettwurst as Villar made a nice play to end the bottom of the 4th. I plated him a Serbian. Bud kept talking.

“When an humble man like me has an opportunity to speak to a great man like you, someone with so much to be proud of, so many accomplishments and natural gifts, I wonder, ‘what can I, an humble man like myself, ever hope to do?’ But now if you will forgive me Master David, I will be just a little bit, just a very little bit, proud.”

You know what? Even when the Astros were in the Central, I never hated them that much. The weren’t the Cubs or the Cardinals, and in some ways they reminded me of my Brewers, only better. Maybe I liked them more because Bud hated them so much. And most of this game wasn’t bad for the Astros. Except for the 4th, their pitching wasn’t bad. Zeid did an inning and two outs with three strikeouts. Chapman got a strikeout in the 8th. Fields shut it down in the 9th. I think they’ve almost got a trustworthy bullpen. I’ll probably watch them some next year.

But Bud kept talking. “I, along with my friend Grocer McLane—oh no, I could have never done it myself alone, I am far too humble to ever think that—have brought the Astros to this end. Look at them, losing their thirteenth game in a row, alone and friendless in the American League, humiliated, without a comfort in the world. It could only have been better if the game had been played here in Milwaukee, immediately after a hurricane, against the Cubs.” He did quiet down a bit in the 7th, when the Stros scored two runs, but then Dominguez flied out with the bases loaded and Bud calmly put his bratwurst back on the plate. Nothing had happened. “Oh yes, Master David, tonight I am just a little bit proud.” There was a pause. Bud brought a kielbasa to his lips and sucked it down in one wet, noisy slurp. He patted his lips with a paper napkin.

“I am a humble man, Master David, most days I am the humblest man of the world, but tonight I must say I am proud, yes I am, I say it in all humility, I am proud.”

Bud’s gets this dreamy, far-away look in his eyes and he’s not even looking at me now. He doesn’t know I’m there. He pulls this long hard salami out of his jacket pocket and lays it on his plate. “Bud, you can’t do that here. You know I’m not licensed for the hard stuff.” But he doesn’t hear me. He’s a thousand miles away, dreaming about the Yankees and what he’s accomplished. “I’m done now,” he said, but it wasn’t really to me, it was to the cosmos, “I’ve done everything I set out to do. Now I can go home to momma.” He starts sliding his fingers up and down that salami and laughing this quiet wheezing laugh.

***

This is the first season I’ve done a full season of recaps. Last year I did a half-season, maybe 12. This season I think I did 26.

For that you gotta pardon one more moment of personal indulgence. I didn’t know if I could actually write a full season of recaps, and nobody told me they were only supposed to be four paragraphs, so I wrote a bunch more. I did try to make them have something to do with the game that was nominally the subject of the recap, or at least the teams that were nominally the subject of the recap, or at least about me. What more can you ask?

Thanks to the other recappers, BudGirl, Reuben, Ron Brand, Mr. Happy, Sphinx Drummond, for what they did this season. It was hard to look at some of those games even as box scores, much less write about what happened.

Anyway it’s been another long hard season. By next week I’ll be missing Astros baseball. By next spring I’ll be imagining .500. Ok, maybe not. .400.

Early this season I came up with an idea for a recap for the first Friday Anaheim game. It was an extended riff on our penchant for quoting song lyrics, using the worst song lyrics I could think of. For weeks before the game I thought about Disney song lyrics, read Disney song lyrics, collected Disney song lyrics. It all fit because it was Anaheim. The problem was that while it amused me greatly, the recap wasn’t funny. The song lyrics actually worked with the game description. I’m not sure that anyone got the joke I intended, and anyone who read it probably just thought I liked Disney songs. Worst of all was the closing lyric, which actually looked like it had something to do with the Astros and was sappy to boot:

When you wish upon a star

Makes no difference who you are

Anything your heart desires

Will come to you.

I’m still wishing. See you real soon.

Franchise achieves record 108 losses, more to come.

contributed by Sphinx Drummond

What can be said about how shitty this team is that hasn’t already been said? Probably nothing. I just don’t feel like complaining about Crane and company anymore. I can’t muster the energy to bitch about lack of television coverage. I kind of thought that this year would be better than last. Now one can only hope the trend of losing is reversed next year.

It’s hard as a fan to follow a team that has a plan to lose for an undetermined amount of time. As last year wound down, there was the sentiment of the last NL campaign. This year there is nothing but futility and losing.

On the positive side of things the Astros did have a lead for half an inning. Chris Carter got 2 hits and only struck out once in four at bats. Mark Reynolds’ record is probably safe. The Astros also outhit the Rangers 8 to 7. And the Rangers could only keep pace with the competition for the AL Wild Card, as the teams they’re chasing also won their games. Woo hoo!

Thursday is a travel day. Friday the Yankees come to town and Andy Pettitte, in his last career start, faces off against Brett Oberholtzer.

Attendance – 43207
Game Time – 2:42
Temperature – 89

Astros lose final Tuesday game of season, 3-2

Contributed by Reuben

Well, they gave it a good try, but the Astros lost another close one, bringing their record on Tuesdays to 8-16, by my unofficial count. If only we could all just recap the Wednesday games. Perhaps just as importantly, it dropped their overall record for the year to a ridiculous 51-107. Only a 4-game winning streak can save them from setting a new club record for losses.

Peacock pitched a pretty nice game; along with Cosart and Oberholtzer he has certainly been one of the bright spots of the 2nd half, and he looks poised to firm up a rotation spot next year. A couple of dinks and a HR by Beltre were the only blemishes on his night.

Matty D hit another homer, which at the time tied the game at 2. Dominguez seems to homer often on Tuesdays, but I can’t confirm that at this time.

The Astros had some chances to at least tie the game up at 3, getting men to 2nd or 3rd in the 6th, 7th, and 8th innings, but that elusive big hit never came.

Let’s Go Wodan! Fuck the Rangers.