Astros 3, M’s 2

contributed by Reuben

The game was not quick, by any means. Not particularly dirty either, but my recap will have to be both, because I have to go spend the next couple hours picking up dirt and shoveling it out of a pickup truck and into our raised veggie beds. Could be worse. Last Thursday we did the first phase: compost. Like, black angus cow-powered compost.

Anyway. The Astros Tuesday night were powered by… well, an OK but not great Bud Norris, another surprising display of power from Marwin Gonzalez, some nice baserunning from Jason Castro, and good solid defense. It also helped that the Mariners are not a particularly good team. Castro scored the first run in the 1st when he drew a walk off of the pitcher who never walks anybody, then scored all the way from first on a Carter single that was badly misplayed by the defensively-challenged Raul Ibanez in LF. Believe me, Chris Snyder would not have scored on the play.

In the 3rd, MaGo went yard, and the Astros picked up another run when Maxwell was HBP with the bases loaded and 2 outs. It proved to be the difference in the game, but unfortunately Maxwell broke his hand and is going on the DL. Now we may get a chance to see what minor league OBP-machine Robbie Grossman can do.

Also of note: Brandon Barnes replaced Maxwell in CF and made a couple great catches, ranging back right in front of Tal’s Hill. Marwin and Altuve also turned a nifty DP, aided by a great catch-and-swipe-tag by Pena to get the runner at 1st despite a wide throw from Altuve. And the ‘pen provided 4 innings of very solid relief, the only blemish a moon-shot HR by Morales off of Blackley, but otherwise no Mariner reached base.

Indians 5, Astros 4

W: Allen (1-0)
L: Ambriz (0-1)

It’s a lot like going to McDonalds. It’s never going to be that first choice for a meal, it’s either some distant sense memory, some flavor you think you remember or else it’s the last option left to you.

The terrible reality sets in once you take a bite. The fries taste like salty cardboard and if you’re lucky, the Quarter Pounder is mostly a squishy ketchup-mustard flavored mass. Perhaps it’s warm, but those are the high points in the deal. When you’re down to telling yourself that maybe half those fries tasted something like fries, and that hamburger was actually above room temperature for a change, you’re in Houston Astro territory.

That oily film coating your mouth is 5-12 in focus. It’s looking down the line of batting averages and seeing .215, .226, .226, .236, .229, .230 among the regulars.

Porter’s doing a pretty good job. He’s flailing at the controls but not losing his mind in a Cooperish frenzy. He’s upbeat, positive and intelligent, mixing and matching what he’s got as well as he can, but when your best culinary tool is a heat lamp, you’re probably not going to impress Padma at the Quickfire.

FeMart came back from the DL with a lot to prove, and he yanked the first pitch he saw for a 2-0 lead. Bedard gave one back to Yan Gomes, and then another run in the third. Despite eight strikeouts through four innings, Bedard was replaced by Long Lefty du Jour Obie Oberholtzer, who surrendered two runs in two innings, mostly by being too fat over the plate in tight situations.

Houston tied it up in the sixth. Ambriz came on for the seventh and got two quick outs via a hard-breaking yellowhammer, but fleeting success with a high slider led him to try that pitch one too many times. Reynolds slashed a letter-high slider over the line for the gamewinner.

The Astros had two more chances to win this one. In the bottom of the seventh with two on, Gonzalez inexplicably bunted foul for strike three and Carter took a fat fastball over the middle of the plate to end the frame. In the ninth, Houston had the bases loaded with one out but Carter was again overmatched, swinging over a low slider to fan before Castro’s hard grounder was fielded to end the game.

At McDonald’s, the only surprises are the good ones, when your food is not quite as awful as you know it’s going to be. In Houston, so far this season, there are no surprises.

contributed by Mr. Happy

My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don’t love jesus (oh my lordy it’s that…)
It’s that kind of mornin’
Really was that kind of night
Tryin’ to tell myself that my condition is improvin’
And if I don’t die by Thursday
I’ll be roarin’ friday night
Went down to the snake pit
To drink a little beer
Listen to the jukebox
Merle was comin’ in clear
All of a sudden I wad’n alone
Pickin’ country music with ol’ joe bones
Duval street was rockin’
My eyes they starting poppin’
Because there she sat at the corner of the bar
As I broke another string on my ol’ guitar
Someone call a cab
Lady won’tcha pay my tab

Never mind tonight’s game. In short, we got blown out 19-6, as the Tribe banged out 22 hits in thrashing the Home Nine. Philip Humber brought his best BP stuff tonight, throwing 30 pitches in his brief .1 inning outing, nine of which were put in play. Of those nine balls in play, eight fell in for hits, four for doubles and one left the yard. Eight earnies. Eight fucking earnies. At the end of two innings, the Astros were down by two touchdowns, and the rout continued, as the Tribe piled on five more runs to seal the win.

Early on, Astros futility records for both runs allowed (22 to the FTC back on June 3, 1987) and hits allowed (26 against the Dickities on August 3, 1989) looked in danger of falling. However, Paul Clemens came in and shut the Indians down on one hit in 3.1 frames, following rather pedestrian outings by the bully after Humber failed to get out of the first inning.

Scott Kazmir was the beneficiary of all of those runs and couldn’t get out of the fourth inning, but the Tribe bully combined to throw 5.2 scoreless frames, notching six punch outs en route to the win. Nick Swisher is a fine hitter but is a showoff prick who I love to pull against on general principle. If he caught a little chin music tomorrow, it wouldn’t break my heart.

Astrals 3
Subcontinentals 2

contributed by NeilT

People ask me, what was it like? Growing up in Cleveland? Cleveland, city of mystery, exotic, extravagant, elegant, eclectic, it is the city of a billion faces and experiences, Cleveland! And of course there are the Subcontinentals, the baseball representatives of our City, with the stylized picture of the Father of our City, Gandhi, on their caps. The Subcontinentals are the reincarnated souls from a dozen other teams, including the third base coach, Brad Mills, and tonight’s starting pitcher, Brett Myers, both of whom in former lives were Houston Astrals.

Going into a stadium where the Subcontinentals are playing is a special experience. There is the bustle of the street market, the smells of humans and spice and something indefinable, something not always pleasant but always rich and exciting, a challenge to the senses. I bought a chai and a couple of lamb somosas and a plate of the goat byriani and pushed my way through the crowd in time for the opening raga..

It is a divided stadium, as is our City, with Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims, Catholics. Did you know there is a special vendor for the Jains, who are fruitatarians? These Houston Astrals talk of their diversity, but we ClevelandIndians are a very ancient diversity. Cleveland, city of mystery! City of a million faces! But the material world is often a harsh reality. In the third, J.D. Martinez hit a two run homer after Pena walked. Ankiel, who today’s Houston Chronicle described as “Hit or Miss”, followed with a second home run to make it 3-0, Astrals. Ankiel is on track to hit .194 with 100 RBI, 40 home runs, and 200 strike outs.

It was the Astrals only scores of the evening. Fortunately, the Cleveland fans restored harmony and balance by beginning chants. I joined in with ommmmm, ommmmm, but the Krishnas sitting next to me, all of whom were resplendent in saffron, began to chant the names of Lord Krishna, “Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare . . . “, and play those damn finger cymbals. I hate those finger cymbals. There’s no place for finger cymbals in baseball.

Myers, whose former-life Karma must not have been very good, did manage to shut the Astrals down. J.D. Martinez may have injured his knee on a checked swing in the bottom of the fourth, but Brandon Barnes hit a pinch hit single. Altuve had a lead-off single and a steal in the 5th. Maxwell walked in the 8th. That was the offense.

In the fourth, amidst clouds of incense, the most holy sadhu, Lonnie Chisenhall, homered to right, driving in Mark Reynolds. Ommmm. Ommmm.

In the 7th inning stretch, we went through three yoga positions, dandayamana-dhanrasana (the standing bow pulling pose), dandayamana-bibhaktapada-paschimotthanasana (the standing separate leg-stretching pose), and trikanasana (triangle pose), and sang this classic raga.

Wesley Wright replaced Harrell with two outs in the 6th, after Reynolds singled for the Subcontinentals. Sadhu Chisenhall grounded out to end the inning. Wright allowed a single in the 7th, and was replaced by Armbriz in the 8th. Armbriz allowed the reincarnation of a former Yankee, Nick Swisher, to double in the 8th, followed by a Santana swim in the holy River Ganges. The inning ended with a nice 1-4-3 double play. Veras got his first save in the 9th, allowing a Drew Stubbs single. Harrell got his first win.

Namaste.