contributed by Mr. Happy

7/22 7:10 p.m. CDT Dallas Keuchel (LHP 4-5 4.62) v. Tommy Milone (LHP 8-8 4.24)
7/23 7:10 p.m. CDT Jarred Cosart (RHP 1-0 0.00) v. Jarrod Parker (RHP 6-6 3.95)
7/24 1:10 p.m. CDT Bud Norris (RHP 6-9 3.91) v. A.J. Griffin (RHP 8-7 3.82)

Nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin’
You gotta have somethin’
If you wanna be with me

Dark Star gave me this assignment about six weeks ago, so I have been eagerly awaiting the pitching matchups to be announced. Sadly and inexplicably, both teams waited until the last fucking minute to release the names of their series probables, which complicated and significantly raised the difficulty level of the job of yours truly. But I rose to the occasion, all for the good of the SnS order.

Sphinx Drummond suggested that as long as I wrote about all the drugs that I used and girls that I boned, you all could fill in the rest. However, I wanted to rant about a few other things, so drunken, drugged out fuck stories will have to wait until next time. Well, maybe I’ll regale you with one such story, but that’ll depend upon how I feel at the end.

First, a few choice words about the shittiest home venue in MLB: the Colishiteum (no, I will not pimp the name of the name sponsor du jour of that dump — if I was in upper management of the sponsor, I’d strongly consider ceasing the association of my company with such an eyesore — as if the sponsor was anything special-it’s just a fucking letter in the alphabet–BFD). Having lived in the Bay Area for several years, I had frequent occasion to traipse across the bay and take in many games both in SFO and OAK. The two yards couldn’t be any more different if you tried.

AT&T Park (yeah, I’ll pimp them because the yard is great, and they’re the official cellular, phone and internet service provider for the Happy family) is one of the finest yards in the Show. We used to take the ferry across the bay from Vallejo to the Embarcadero and walk down to the yard, by-passing the traffic snarls and SFO parking robber barons, who can go fuck themsleves. 24/7.

Don’t even get me started about having to pay for parking, which offends me each and every time I am forced to do so. Chuck will quickly point out that I am a hayseed neck from the country, but I didn’t pay for parking until I was in my early 20’s. The first time that I was told that I had to put money in the meter in New Orleans, I told the meter to fuck off and went about my merry way.

Of course, there was a parking ticket on my windshield when I returned to my vehicle. This royally pissed me off. I found the meter maid and, essentially foaming at the mouth, expressed indignation and threw expletives at her like they were free samples at Costco. I literally bitched her up one street and down the other, finally eating the ticket in front of her. Those were the days!

The AlDaviseum is a football stadium. End of story. However, baseball history has been made there, as greats from Catfish Hunter to Mr. October to Blue Moon Odom to Bert Campaneris to Vida Blue plied their craft to great success there under the watchful eye of one Charles O. “Charlie” Finley, the colorful former owner of the team, now deceased. That place has no feel, no culture associated with it. It lacks the joie de vive that I find associated with most big league parks, even the dump that is Wrigley Field. It’s just, well, the Dumpaseum.

But this series will be played at MMPUS, and most of you will not be able to watch it unless you have the MLB Extra Innings package. In the season series, the Astros are o-fer against the Athletics, as in 0-9. Swept thrice, twice in April and once in May, the Astros have been outscored 68-31 in the season series through nine games. Harrell (in the dog house for having a bad attitude—that kid needs to grow up) and Norris both have lost twice against the A’s. The ageless (and probably chemically enhanced) Bartolo Colon is 3-0 against the Good Guys. Bartolo Fucking Colon. Thankfully for us, we will miss Colon this time because he pitched on Sunday.

Collectively, the Athletics are hitting .301 with 13 bombs and 65 ribbies in nine games against the Astros this season. Conversely, the A’s pitching has held the Astros to a .248 BAA, although they have allowed the Astros ten long balls. Meanwhile, Astros pitching has limped to a 0-9 7.15 with a pathetic 1.821 WHIP against the A’s, allowing 96 hits and 62 earnies in 78 innings, which, well, isn’t good.

Pitching Matchups

We have dueling portsiders in the series opener. Dallas Keuchel, who is Monday’s Astros starting pitcher, is 0-1 5.25 in 12 innings over three appearances against the Athletics, one of which was a start, pitching to a BAA of .327 and a WHIP of 1.417 against the Athletics this season. The A’s are hitting .333 (17-51) against Keuchel for his career. As expected, several A’s see Keuchel pretty well. Nate Freiman (2-3 with a tater), Yoenis Cespedes (3-4), Seth Smith (3-6 with a bomb) and Coco Crisp (2-5) have had success against Keuchel.

The A’s starter, portsider Tommy Milone, is 1-0 4.61 against the Astros in two starts this season. J.D. Martinez (3-8) and Matt Dominguez (1-6) have taken Milone deep. Brandon Barnes (2-6), Jose Altuve (3-11) and Ronny “there’s no reason for my being on the roster” Cedeno (2-6) also have had some success against Milone.

The A’s haven’t seen Tuesday’s pitcher, Jarred Cosart, yet. The only Astro with any ABs against Jarrod Parker, Carlos Pena, is 1-5 with a two bagger, a free pass and three strike outs. So we don’t have a fucking clue as to what will happen Tuesday night except that Pena will have a multiple strikeout game and possibly walk once.

Wednesday’s matinee matchup, A.J. Griffin v. Bud Norris, is a study in contrast of results. Griffin is 2-0 4.61 against the Astros, while David Stefan “Bud” Norris is 0-2 11.37 against the A’s this season. Norris has pitched to a horrific BAA of .355 and an astronomical WHIP of 2.368 against the A’s this season. The Astros are hitting .256 (11-43 with three homers) against Griffin. Jason Castro (3-6 with two bombs) and Matt Dominguez (1-4 with a long ball) have taken Griffin deep. The Astros have had some success against Griffin, who has surrendered six earnies in 11.2 innings of work.

Meanwhile, Bud Norris probably is not looking forward to Wednesday’s game. The A’s are hitting .294 (15-51) with four home runs career against Norris. Jed Lowrie (2-3), Seth Smith (3-7), Coco Crisp (1-3) and John Jaso (2-6) have taken Norris deep.

Injury Report

Athletics

LHP Brett Anderson (sprained right ankle, stress fracture in right foot) went on the 15-day disabled list retroactive to April 30, and he was transferred to the 60-day DL on June 14. He is expected to be back in mid-August.

OF Yoenis Cespedes (left wrist soreness) was a very late scratch, right before game time on July 19 and hasn’t been back in the lineup through Saturday’s game.

2B Scott Sizemore (torn left anterior cruciate ligament) went on the 15-day disabled list April 10, and he was transferred to the 60-day DL on April 22. He had season-ending surgery April 16.

Former Astro RHP Fernando “Angel of Doom” Rodriguez (torn ulnar collateral ligament in right elbow) went on the 60-day disabled list March 23. He had season-ending Tommy John surgery March 25.

Jarrod Parker (hamstring)-day-to-day. He threw a bully session on Friday.

Astros

Chris Carter (ankle) was back in the starting lineup July 19.

OF Trevor Crowe (right shoulder sprain) went on the 15-day disabled list on June 21. There is no timetable for his return.

RHP Edgar Gonzalez (Mr. Happy eye strain) went on the 15-day disabled list retroactive to May 26. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for his return.

RHP Alex White (Tommy John surgery in April 2013) went on the 60-day disabled list March 30. He is out for the season.

Promotions

Coca Cola Value Days for every game. You’ll get nothing and like it.

Series Prognostication

A’s sweep again.

Lagniappe: Obligatory Drugged Out Story

I had to search for a story (a) worth telling, (b) that I remembered, (c) that tied into the series and (d) funny, all at the last minute. So, here goes. No promises that it’ll tie into this series preview. This one goes back to when Xanax (alprazolam) was released in the early 1980’s. I had a girlfriend at the time (who was as into drugs and having fun as I was—she was my pot source—it always helps to date your dealer) who had a prescription for Xanax, which she’d share with me. Plus she dealt it.

I fucking loved Xanax the very first time; I always took them to excess. I liked how whole periods of time would simply fucking disappear or just be displaced in my brain. If you’ve had as much of your life gaps filled in by onlookers as I have because of Xanax, then you’d understand that I consider myself as floating above my body for much of my life. However, this story involved the intersection of Xanax, marijuana and Everclear.

Allie (not her real name) and I took off on a road trip to Florida to go to the beach for a few days of R&R. Armed with a boatload of cash (drug dealing paid very well), sleeping bags, several bottles of Everclear, a bunch of Xanax (and Allie had even stolen some of mom’s Xanax for the trip), a whole pound of some of the best marijuana that I had ever experienced and a map of beach houses that had hot outside showers (but no place to stay), we set off on I-10 eastbound for the Sunshine State.

We almost didn’t make it there because we were pulled over near Biloxi MS for speeding and improper lane changes. Thankfully, Allie (who was driving and rolling joints simultaneously-multi-talented) sweet-talked the state highway patrolman and walked away with a warning and, more importantly, no search of the vehicle.

We arrived at the beach in Pensacola and set up shop there on a remote part of the beach, openly drinking, throwing Xanax back like they were candy, swigging Everclear, smoking big old blunts and fucking in one of the sleeping bags like we owned the place. We had a number of very close calls about the marijuana as there were complaints of pot smoke coming from our direction.

However, Allie, a drop-dead gorgeous southern belle debutante gone bad who would eventually get busted for dealing a few years after we broke up (which was over my drug bill that was eating into her profit) but who was still living a charmed life, simply and professionally sweet-talked each and every investigator. Allie could keep her shit together and pitch from life’s stretch long after I was incoherent.

She would be as fucked up as I was (if not more so—she could clear a bong like nobody’s business) and still be able to hold a conversation with someone—probably all of that deb training. Because of the drugs and alcohol, I really don’t remember how many days we stayed there, although it was long enough for my white ass to start peeling while we were still there.

One of the few things that I actually remember from that trip was my utter and complete embarrassment at being so fucked up that I was physically unable to perform when called upon. Yep. I was on the PUP list. However, at 53, I look back on that experience as training for middle age without the assistance of Viagra or Cialis (which fucking health insurers won’t cover—don’t get me started on those bastards). I’ve learned to never pass up a bathroom.

How does this story tie into the A’s series? It probably doesn’t, unless you use your imagination, because that’s what it will take for the Astros to win a game in it. Come check us out in the GameZone.

Changing your strut when you know I’m behind you
Changing your ways ’cause you don’t know what to do
I only wanna tell you how I feel inside
If only you could listen, try to change your mind

I’ve got a friend, guy I’ve known for ten years or so. He’s got an enormous amount of staggering health issues, the little weak ones being severe diabetes and some muscle disorder that causes his eyes to constantly jitter horizontally, rendering him Officially Blind although he can drive a car and walk around and do many things that normally sighted folks can do. But that, combined with the vision challenges that come with being an albino, make him blind in the eyes of whatever agency makes those decisions.

He’s a really funny guy, very sharp and we get along great. Or at least we did, until circumstances caused him to move back to the smaller city that he came from to go back to work in the family business. A little more than a year ago he decided to come out as a gay man, came to all of his friends individually to tell us after he’d had a weight-lifting meeting with his parents that had gone well. It’s doubtful that the city he was returning to would be as supportive and provide the, shall we say, more fertile ground he’d enjoy in Austin regarding his sexuality, but he felt it necessary to go back. We all wished him well but expected that this couldn’t last.

So I walk right up to you and you walk all over me
And I ask you what you want and you tell me what you need
Can’t you feel it all come down?
Can’t you hear it all around?
At the place where lost is found, that great love sound

In his absence and his distance he took to Facebook to communicate with his friends from his remote outpost. He’d always trended toward the cryptic, but these one-line messages became exasperating in their vague but consistently sad drumbeat. The messages read like inside jokes that weren’t funny, but could only be deciphered by being at Ground Zero of their origin. A few drew responses, and those were either questions that went unanswered or feeble pleas from some of his less-stable friends who hoped things would get better.

These messages went on for months and mutated into tangential references to medical procedures or conditions that were never defined, just remarked on as episodes that resulted in depressing news, over and over and over. “Another doctor visit. Another disappointment.” It was impossible to tell what was going on, but the depressing message was clear – whatever it was that he wanted or needed wasn’t getting done for whatever reason. Lots of us wondered about his health and how badly he was declining, but there were no answers, just the beacon of pain flipping around in the fog.

A certain amount of this seemed to be a diva turn, some kind of need for him to be front and center for us all. He didn’t want to perform but he’d always wanted the applause and since he’d moved that want had turned to need. The volume of vaguebooking became something like a flood as it shifted to a cry for attention rather than a cry of pain. I can’t pinpoint exactly when that point was reached, but it was a common view of many – he was looking for an audience, people to care in a public way.

Lots of us have holes that can’t ever be filled. We’ve all got traumas and tragedies that happen along the way and how we react to them is the shape we take in our lives. Not every tree grows straight and tall; not every crack in the ground is filled and smoothed over. Everyone wants comfort and companionship, no matter how they decide to seek it out.

A couple of weeks ago he posted a picture of himself and another woman. She had her head poised slightly above his, and the two of them were in closeup. He’d let his hair go long again, long white hair down his neck and a little past his shoulders. It was difficult to tell from the angle, but the clothing that ended around the back of one arm looked a lot like a dress.

The picture was captioned, “Two Lovely Ladies.”

***

I don’t put a lot of stock in reincarnation. I’m pretty much of the mind that once you take the dirt nap, it’s all over except for the decay. This aging thing is all new to me. I don’t have a father to lean on for guidance, and my friends are generally younger than I am, so in some ways I’m the prow of the boat on this journey. That’s ok, I’m not complaining, it’s a role I’ve had for decades but every once in a while I kinda wish there was even the battered remnants of a manual somewhere.

When does the hunter stop hunting? Is it a matter of choosing different prey, or do you still go out with the braves but watch the kill instead of participating? Is that ever enough, when you’ve been the instrument that brought so many down in the past? There is a primal need for the hunt, just as there is for the kill but they become more difficult as time passes, and the reward incrementally less so.

I knew early on that she was in my blood. Our orbits would cross infrequently, but when they did we’d prolong the time in a strange mixture of celebration and denial. We’d spend hours together during the days, making little excuses to be in the company of each other just until it started to feel a little too real, and then we’d slide on to the rest of our lives. There was never a discussion of what was going on, and she could snap from comfortable flirt to distant acquaintance in the time it took for her guilt to spread its wings.

“We could be in Mexico in six hours. Maybe less.”

“No. Can’t leave the kids.”

Two days later we’d be in a meeting and she would never even make eye contact, much less acknowledge my presence in the room. The next day we’d spend hours together again, making small talk, trading stories, moving closer until she’d close her office door so we could be alone.

Age has brought doubt, and self-awareness has become a swampy jungle that can’t be reliably navigated. Abandoning the hunt feels like abandoning a room in a house, shutting a door for the last time. Or maybe the door is being shut for me, and if that’s the case then continuing on would only be sad and ultimately embarrassing.

Talking to you makes me wanna shake and shout
Touching you makes me wanna come right out
You could never want me the same way I want you
I’m love tornado struck, I don’t know what to do

So I walk right up to you and you walk all over me
And I ask you what you want and you tell me what you need
Can’t you feel it all come down?
Can’t you hear it all around?
At the place where lost is found, that great love sound

***

Seattle is a team that is trying to avoid free fall. Over a third of their roster has been turned over since beginning the season. A strong rotation has been ravaged at the back end, and prospects have flamed out while young players have been pushed to the majors. Sound familiar? It should. Ten games apart in the win column, but Seattle and Houston are closer than you might expect.

Seattle Mariners vs. Houston Astros

Friday, July 19, 7:10 PM CDT, Minute Maid Park
Joe Saunders, 8-8, 4.24 vs Bud Norris, 6-8, 3.63

Saturday, July 20, 6:10 PM CDT, Minute Maid Park
Hisashi Iwakuma, 8-4, 3.02 vs. Erik Bedard, 3-6, 4.61

Sunday, July 21, 1:10 PM CDT, Minute Maid Park
Felix Hernandez, 10-4, 2.53 vs. Jordan Lyles, 4-3, 4.02

Promotions
Friday, “Big and Bright Friday Nights,” Friday Night Fireworks, $1 Dog Night
Saturday, Faith and Family Night featuring Tenth Avenue North, Astros Blood Drive
Boy, those ought to pack ’em in.

You’re a rhyme without a reason
And you know it so well
Who’s the king of the season
Well you never can tell
Though it’s so plain to see
You think you like to be normal
You think you’re in control
But the action you take only makes you small
Just like the way it should be

The Astros are accelerating moves, trying players at different levels to see what they’ve got before the Trade Deadline, before making cuts, before next year’s Rule 5 scythe stops being Houston’s ally. Seattle is roughly a year or two ahead of the curve Houston is on now. There are some exceptions, namely Felix Hernandez, but that mix of guys who aren’t panning out and regarded prospects who aren’t quite ready has dumped the Mariners toward the bottom of the division, just this side of our Home Nine.

My friend wears dresses, jewelry and makeup now. He’s posted several pictures and our stunned silence caused him to ramp up his remarks about no one commenting. He looks like a man in a dress. Is that what he wants me to say?

I feel the twilight of the days of good hunting. I don’t know what replaces that, and what the penalty is for relinquishing the reins. I’m not all that great with time on my hands but whatever time there is will come at its own pace. I’ll deal with it as it happens.

I hope your futures are bright, and they burn on your terms.

You’re a book out of nowhere
Being read all the time
And the things that you give me
Only show that you’re blind
And when you know it’s all over
And you’re goin’ insane
I’m just there to remind you that I can’t feel no pain
Why don’t you let it be

Cause I’m not afraid to fall
No I’m not afraid to fall
I’m not afraid at all