The 27-36 Astros (5^th in NL Central, 4^th in AL West) take on the 37-27 Texas Rangers (1^st in AL West).

The Best Thing that Comes out of Dallas is I-45

Dallas is a shitty town.  You don’t need me to tell you this, but it bears repeating.  Some interesting facts:

• Dallas is a shit-filled paper sack, set aflame on Houston’s doorstep.
• If I had to live in Dallas, I’d live in Ft. Worth, and that place literally smells like shit.
• Dallas built a baseball stadium an hour outside of town with no roof.
• Dallas built a football stadium an hour outside of town with most of a roof.
• The Rangers have been playing in Dallas since 1972 and still have no rivals.
• The Dallas skyline’s most notable skyscraper is outlined in fucking neon green.
• Dallas would serve fried Ewok on the forest moon of Endor.
• The only difference between a bucket of shit and Dallas is the bucket.
• I’m going to Dallas Saturday for a wedding reception.  The bride and groom live there, and since the most logical place in which to exchange their vows was Dallas, they went to Thailand.
• Houston shot JR, because he was from Dallas.
• My parents lived in Dallas for a year after they got married.  Their apartment got robbed twice – the first time they stole my dad’s nickel-plated Winchester shotgun.  The second time they stole the ammunition.  They’ve been in Houston since.
• When people say they live in Dallas, they actually live in Plano or Rockwall or Sherman, because Dallas is shitty.
• Chili’s started in Dallas.
• If Houston is the armpit of Texas, Dallas is the choad.
• Dallas has a higher crime rate than Houston, LA and New York.
• Nick Jonas, Meat Loaf, and Vanilla Ice all hail from Dallas and accurately depict the collective musical tastes of its residents.
• Bud Selig listens to Nolan Ryan.

See?  I wasn’t just expressing an opinion here – those are FACTS.  You can’t argue with facts.

Friday, June 15

Lyles (1-2, 5.40) vs Yu Darvish (7-4, 3.72)

Saturday, June 16

Harrell (6-4, 4.83) vs Justin Grimm (0-0, 0.00)

Sunday, June 17

TBD vs Colby Lewis (5-5, 3.13)

Injuries

Astros

Abad, Buck, Escalona, Marwin, FeMart, Weiland are all out for the series.

Carlos and Norris (though not scheduled to pitch) might be back.

Rangers

Neftali Feliz – Drank Dallas tap water, on life support.

Derek Holland – Ate at a Dallas restaurant, critical condition.

Alexi Ogando – Misplaced the s in his first name.

Koji Uehara – Unpronouncable illness.

Promotions

Friday – First 30,000 fans get a Rangers Yearbook.  Rangers players will sign every autograph, “Keep in Touch!”

Saturday – First 30,000 fans get a “Sweet Baby Ray’s Nolan Ryan Retro T-Shirt” because Dallas is fucking shitty.

Sunday – First 25,000 fans get a Coca-Cola Father’s Day BBQ Apron, designed by Ed Hardy.  XS and S sizes available.

What to Watch For:

Shitty fans.

Shitty weather.

Muggings.

Follow the action in the GZ!

Sorry for the abbreviated Preview.

The 22-25 Astros (4^th in NL Central, 3^rd in AL West) climb 5,280 feet to take on the 17-29 Rockies (4^th in NL West) for a four-game series.

Astros(1) @ Rockies Series Preview

AP (BEAUMONT, TX) –

“I really didn’t know what the darn thing was.”

“One minute it wasn’t here, the next minute it was!”

“Somebody should call somebody.”

Throngs of panic-stricken Beaumontians were asking the tough questions this afternoon, and word of a potential religious uprising in this quiet little Southeast Texas town is spreading quickly across State and International borders.

Monday morning at approximately 6:20am, Billy Farmer, a resident beach fisherman, caught his line on what he thought was the biggest redfish of his career, but what he reeled in might have been the biggest revelation of the 57-year-old’s life.

“It shook me to the very core of my inner being and such,” Farmer recalls.  “It’s my duty to share what I have seen.”

At the end of Farmer’s 12-lb monofilament fishing line was a thin, gleaming-white three-ringed binder, pristinely encased in five-inches of bubble wrap and industrial-grade rubber bands.  A lone yellow post-it note was attached inside the protective sheath, simply stating, “For strosrays, (expletive).”

“I knew a strosrays back in 1978, but I think he changed his name or something,” says Linda Gatti, a 55-year-old waitress.  “And when I say I knew him, I mean I “knew” him, with quotation marks at the left of the k of the word knew and to the right of the w in the word knew.  Like this (gestures).”

With the identity of the one named strosrays in question, Farmer opened the binder and read its contents.  Inside was a single page of hand-scribbled declarations, with the title, “Series Preview Commandments” underlined twice near the top-left corner.

What “Series” of events this doctrine commands is unknown at the time of this publication, but the following list is both enlightening and soul-shaking.  The Associated Press has decided to display the binder’s contents in full, and parental discretion is advised.

Series Preview Commandments

1.  Series Previews shall be published on-time, at least one hour before the first pitch of the first game of the series.

2.  The standard quota for the word “fuck(1)” is seven per preview, any mention of the word in relation to Commandment #4 does not count.

3.  If it’s a Cardinals preview, the “fuck(2)” quota is 26.

4.  “Fuck the Cubs” shall be written early and often.

5.  Series Previews shall be written under the heavy influence of alcohol.

6.  The presence of a gorilla (physical or spiritual) is strongly advised during the writing process.

7.  You can write about literally anything you want to.  Just say the word “Astros(2)” at least five times.

8.  Any positive or negative mention of Kevin Bass’s (redacted) results in immediate suspension.

9.  JimR is old.

10.  Recaps are for pussies.

US Officials are still analyzing the document and where it came from, but soil analysis has revealed the binder’s origin as somewhere in deep Arkansas.  The exact location is still under close review, because nobody really wants to look around too much in fucking(3) Arkansas.

And while the government remains puzzled, Farmer knows exactly where his path leads.

“Fuck the Cubs,” he proclaims.

Monday, May 28, 2012

Astros(3) lose 9-7, day game.  Astros(4) lose 7-6 (10), night game.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

No fucking(4) game?!?

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Harrell (4-3) vs Friedrich (2-1)

Thursday, June 1, 2012

Norris (5-1) vs Guthrie (2-3)

Injuries

Astros(5)

Abad – 15-day DL (right intercostal strain)

Escalona – Out for year (left elbow)

Weiland – Out til ASB (right shoulder infection)

Fucking(5) Rockies

Chacin – Measles

De La Rosa – Mumps

Gomez – Hand, Foot, Mouth disease

Hernandez – Mono

Hererra – Shingles

Nelson – Bird Flu

What to watch for:

The new concessions stand at Coors Field.  Best brownies in the stadium.  They also have lollipops and Reese’s PB Cups.  Apparently you have to have a doctor’s note to buy there.

Fuck (6)

Fuck (7)

Follow the action in the GZ!

The 16-19 Phillies (last place, NL East) play host to the 15-19 Astros (4^th place, NL Central; last place, AL West) for a two-game series.

I’m a Piranha!

I’m a Pixar fanboi.  I’ve loved almost every movie they’ve put out (looking at you, Cars 2), and I can say without embarrassment that Finding Nemo ranks as one of my favorite movies of all time.  It’s beautifully animated, a great father-son story, has superb music and is side-splitting funny if you let yourself get into it.  There are at least two choke-back-tears moments for me.  I loved it before I had kids, and I’m ecstatic that they like it, too.

The problem is, I don’t want to watch it Every. Fucking. Day.  But I do (or at least 30 minutes of it before the kids’ bedtimes) because they ask politely.  I now know every line, every scene, every joke.  I know what’s going on without watching or paying attention.  And it’s creeping into other areas of my life.

Which is why I can’t stand behind Altuve’s new nickname.  Every time I read or hear “Piranha,” I think of this:

Find a happy place, find a happy place, find a happy place.

The Altuve?  Fine.  Mr. The Altuve?  Sure.  But please, for my sanity, anything but, “I’m a pi-ra-nha.  I live in da Am-a-zon.”   Because once we go down that road, Mills becomes Marlin.  Wandy is Dory.  Happ is Sharkbait.  Carlos is Mount Wannahockaloogie.

Projected Starters:

Monday: Harrell (2-2, 4.58) vs. Blanton (3-3, 3.24)

Tuesday: TBD (Probably Lyles) vs. Lee (0-1, 2.17)

One of these things is not like the others.

Youthful Indiscretion

I had two best friends growing up.  The three of us did everything together – baseball, basketball, movies, music, whatever we could come up with.  When I was 10, my parents built a garage apartment, and like any good son, I quickly commandeered it for my own purposes.  That’s where we’d meet.  A carpeted, air-conditioned tree-house with Nintendo and a foosball table.  I know, first world problems.

Anyway, we made up games all the time, just being goofy 10-year-olds.  Our favorite was one called the “Sleeping Bag Game,” which in retrospect sounds a lot dirtier than we intended.  Basically, we’d put really loud music on and climb head-first into separate sleeping bags.  We’d then wander around the room and beat the shit out of whatever we came in contact with.  It never got too rough because our movements were restricted by the bags.  There were a few bumps and bruises, but we were 10, so those were shown off as battle scars.

I remember one night in particular.  We’d been scrambling around for a bit and one of my friends called “time,” after which everybody normally stops what they’re doing and crawls out of the sleeping bag to catch some air.  Well, the other guy didn’t hear the timeout, so the two of us watched hilariously while he fumbled about.  We’d make noises across the room and quickly move out of the way to avoid his advances.  Finally, we were getting ready to tell him the joke, when he heard something by the door.  He ran as fast as he could, tripped, and tumbled down the stairs – a purple, satin-finished blob with Nikes sticking out one end and curses coming out the other, quickly moving in one general direction.

For some reason, thinking of Hunter Pence in the Phillies outfield reminded me of this.

Injuries

Astros –

Escalona’s out for the year.

Weiland has a shoulder infection and’ll be back after the AS Break.

Phillies –

De Fratus

Herndon

Howard

Martinez

LaYnce Nix

Stutes

Thome

Utley

Which is why they’re in last place.

Promotions

Monday:

Teva Respiratory Asthma Awareness Night

Phillies Liberty Bell Cap (not half-bad)

Tuesday:

Fans 55 and older get to “stroll the bases.”  After which Teva’s Respiratory Asthma Awareness Night proves its worth.

What to Watch For:

Cliff Lee is good.

The Cocker Spaniel in RF.

Also, the Astros.

I’m put together beautifully

Big wet bottle in my fist, big red rose in my teeth

I’m perfect piece of ass

Like every Californian

So tall I take over the street, with high-beams shining on my back

A wingspan unbelievable

I’m a festival, I’m a parade

The 10-3 Dodgers mosey into town after squeaking out a 4-3 win in Milwaukee and avoiding a sweep.  That record is good for 1^st in the NL and 2^nd in MLB.  They have the reigning NL Cy Young winner, the best OFer in MLB and a stable of young studs to back them up.

And all the whine is all for me.

I’m the King of Whine.  The Prince of Pout.  The Wizard of the Whimper.  The motherfucking Grandmaster of Gripe.  When you have two kids under the age of three, you’re around it a lot.  And like a two-year-old who just shit his underoos, I can find something to bitch about in almost anything.  But I don’t, or at least try not to.  Because of Ted Knight.

There’s a movie quote that has followed me around for the majority of my life.  At first, I thought it was funny – I even liked the attention it brought me.  It was an easy ice-breaker for awkward introductions, kinda like – “Hey, I like that movie too!”  But high school hit and it got old quick.  “Ha ha, very clever.  Never heard that before.”  And college made it fucking unbearable.  Seemed like every dude I met was a comedian.  I even swore off the classic film for a few years.

But I couldn’t shake it.  It was embedded in my soul.  Six ordinary words tattooed across my face, staring back at me in all the world’s mirrors.  Flipping channels at night – that scene was on.  Reading RB’s Nationals Preview this week – it’s there.

Because when your last name is Spalding, “You’ll get nothing and like it!” is inevitable.  Death, taxes and Judge Smails.  But Caddyshack taught me well – I like this Astros team, and they haven’t given me shit.

And I’m not whining.

Friday, 4/20

Lilly (1-0, 0.00) vs J.A. Happ (1-0, 3.75)

Lilly started the season on the DL and went seven scoreless in his return.  He’s 7-3 with a 2.64 era in 15 career starts vs. Houston.

Happ has been better than expected so far this year, with a 13:5 K/BB ratio and two quality starts under his belt.  Should’ve won his last game.

Saturday, 4/21

Kershaw (0-0, 2.35) vs Weiland (0-2, 8.44)

The reigning NL Cy Young winner has allowed just four earned runs in his three starts this year – three of them in his last game.

Weiland follows up his Strasburg start with another stud opponent, and will still be looking for his first MLB win after this game.

Sunday 4/22

TBD (0-0, 0.00) vs Wandy (0-2, 1.96)

On paper, TBD is every bit as good as Ted Lilly this year, but with less run support.  I still think he’s a cocksucker.

Wandy hopes 6 unearned runs will be good enough for the win this go-around.

Promotions

Friday 4/20

First 10,000 fans get to play “I Spy a Bloodshot Eye” and beat up hippies.  They also get replica Colt .45s jerseys, but the hippie bashing is the real draw.  Also, fireworks.

Saturday 4/21

First 10,000 fans get a green Astros hat to remind them that our colors are Red & Black and used to be Navy & Orange.  I don’t really understand it, but maybe GBB has an explanation.

Sunday 4/22

First 10,000 fans get a Methodist Hospital grocery bag for some reason.  Next week is H-E-B Catheters.  Also, $1 Ice Cream Cones for any leftover hippies.

Injuries

Dodgers:

Todd Coffey wasn’t held enough as a child.

Ivan De Jesus was held too much.

Rubby De La Rosa’s parents gave him a funny name.

Blake Hawksworth was raised by predatory birds.

Juan Uribe has a sore wrist from the obligatory masturbation joke.

Astros:

Sergio Escalona is Alberto Arias.

What to Watch For

Friday’s sixth-inning Hippie Race, in which three contestants chase a turtle coated in Cheetos crumbs.  I’m betting on the turtle.

Brad Mills and I got together yesterday to come up with a motivation strategy – something to lighten the mood after tough losses.  Something that will draw the team together and give them a common enemy.  He’s presenting this to the team before Friday’s game in the clubhouse, but I thought I’d give you guys a sneak preview.

For every Astros loss, a piece gets peeled away.  I’ll update the picture when the season ends.

Finally, if you were hoping for something – anything – baseball related from this Preview, you clearly skipped the part at the top that says “Posted by Ebby Calvin.”

Follow the action in the GameZone.

I know it’s poor form to post a Series Preview two days before the series actually starts, but that’s just how excited I am to cover the Astros vs the um…the umm…wait, don’t tell me, I know it…Nationals!  Yay!  Thanks, so much, Limey, for passing this one off to me.

In case you’re wondering, Dear Reader, where the ol’ boy has gotten off to, well, he’s probably been getting bladdered on mother’s ruin with a couple of birds and blokes in Jolly Ol’. Just don’t do anything stupid, Limey.  We don’t want you on the cover of The Sun like last time, do we?

I read the News today, oh boy...

So…here we are.  Astros vs Nationals, huh?  Let’s see, apparently the Nats have some phenom pitcher named Stravinsky or something.  He’s the real deal, let me tell you.  He came back last week  after, like, three or four broken arms, and he threw a no-hitter against the Yankees.  The Astros don’t stand a chance!  They’ll break that record they set of 24 strikeouts vs Carlos Zambrano – nobody will come close to hitting him!

Sigh….

Ok, so here’s the stark truth.  The Astros have 95 losses.  95.  There are 19 games left.  How’d they ever win 162-minus-19-minus-95?

Bud and his band of merry  buffoons keep Crane on the fence, and a move to the AL West is slowly fading into view.  Apparently Baylor is the holdup.

The young bucks continue to impress in their own little ways, and Paredes looks to be quite the player, according to chuck and Mr. Happy.  Don’t ask me, I don’t watch.

The Nationals are also firmly out of contention, as is almost every team not currently in playoff positions.  If only both leagues had an even number of teams, then it’d be more fair and balanced.

And that’s about it, really.  19 more games to watch the Home 9 before they pack it up for The Void.  That’s a good reason to watch baseball.  There’s a better one below.

Probables

Friday, September 9, 2011, 6:05pm, Our Nation’s Capital

Bud Norris (6-9, 3.83) vs Tom Milone (0-0, 8.31)

Saturday, September 10, 2011. 6:05pm, Washington Monument

Wandy Rodriguez (10-10, 3.47) vs John Lannon (9-11, 3.48)

Sunday, September 11, 2011, 12:35pm, The Pentagon

Henry Sosa (2-3, 4.11) vs Stephen Strasburg (0-0, 0.00)

Promotions

Friday – Same shit we see at MMPUS.  Also, no fireworks.

Saturday – Danny Espinosa Bobblehead, let’s hope he’s right handed.

Sunday – Kids Run the Bases, and….

The 10 Year Anniversary of 9/11

I don’t pay much attention to politics.  In fact, I don’t pay any attention at all.  I reason that I have too much on my plate as is, or that I’m not an argumentative guy by nature or that nothing I do or think will affect any outcome, good or bad.  Some of those reasons are valid, some not.  The bottom line is: it’s too fucking tiresome.  Any sensible arguments commonly make way for idiots with gigantic megaphones, shedding fact and logic for absurdity and a color-by-numbers ethos.  Then new people get elected and the megaphones change sides.

Maybe it’s the 24-hour media outlets or the shlubs they hire to blur the line between “Expert” and “Mouthpiece.”  Maybe that’s how it’s always been.  Maybe I just haven’t gotten to the chocolate center, choosing only to avoid on the dung-flavored candy that surrounds it.  I don’t know.  But you know what?  If I want to be yelled at or lectured to, I’ll turn the fucking TV off when I’m at home.

Ten years ago this Sunday, nearly 3,000 Americans lost their lives in a cowardly act of terrorism.  2,977 men, women and children who just wanted to live their lives another day and go home.  For such a mundane goal to end in such a terrifying way, for every dream vanished and memory forgotten, to be soiled by blathering politicians and pundits competing in a measuring test in which every single one of them has a one-inch dick –  well it just really pisses me off.

We have sons and daughters and brothers and sisters at war.  We have veterans struggling at home.  There are many for whom life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness is a distant memory, a visage of the past.  We have more pressing matters.

So for them, for the 3,000 who died ten years ago and the countless others who perished in the wars since, I will salute in the most American way I know how.

I will watch baseball.

We all should.