Astros 7, Mouse-Angels 4

W: Feldman (2-0)
L: Weaver (0-2)

Contributed by Reuben

The Astros cruised to an easy victory today, as their shortstop, center fielder, first baseman, catcher, and third baseman all homered. My hope is that we get very used to reading similar sentences over the next few years. (It just might be with different names than Presley, Guzman, and Villar.)

This was a strange game. The Astros only managed 7 hits, and did not draw a single base on balls. Normally, that won’t lead to 7 runs being scored. And Scott Feldman pitched with his typical stuff, topping out at 89 mph. Normally, he doesn’t look like a power pitcher compared to the opposing starter, yet there was Jered Weaver, chucking 86-87 mph heat his whole outing. And it worked for him, too; except for those 4 bombs he gave up, he pitched great.

Feldman really was great, though. Having just seen him pitch twice now, it’s hard to say exactly what makes him tick, beyond “he mixes things up, and knows how to pitch.” He had Trout and His Merry Band off-balance all day, getting lots of groundball outs and ending with 7 IP, a mere 3 hits allowed, and 1 earned run, giving him a 0.66 ERA here in the early going. And he has a nice-looking beard, too.

Jason Castro recovered enough from the baseball-shaped bruise on his foot to return to the field today, and launched an opposite-field homer off the LCF façade in his first at-bat, driving in Villar, who had reached after being drilled in the upper calf. Villar appeared to be fine, by the way, as he stole 2nd base on the very next pitch, hit a no-doubt HR in the 7th, and made several fine plays in the field. Yes, THAT Jonathan Villar. Give this kid a chance; he’s still what, 22 years old? Let’s see if he can tighten up his game this year.

Dominguez followed with a dinger of his own in the 2nd inning to push the score to 3-0. Matty D now has 2 hits on the season, both of them traveling over the fence on the fly. He is on pace to bat .111 this season with 54 homers. By the time Howie Kendrick scored the Angels’ 1st run on an Aybar groundout in the 5th-inning, Guzman’s HR had increased the Astros’ run total to 4, so Feldman seemed in control the whole way. Which is a nice feeling to have while watching a baseball game. Even though the final score looked kinda close, the game never felt that way. Will this team blow some leads late? Of course, but it doesn’t feel anywhere near as inevitable as it did last year.

God I love early-season optimism.

Round out your game-recap experience by reading the GameZone thread.

Angels 5, Astros 1

WP: Skaggs (1-0)
LP: Keuchel (0-1)

Both lefties were stingy early on, but Keuchel was the first to flinch and flinch hard in the fifth. A leadoff double led to impressive strikeouts of Trout and Pujols, but Freese singled and Hamilton continued shrugging off hypochondria by cranking a two-run shibby, on his way to a three-hit performance.

Without Fowler and Castro, the two hitting leaders of the early going, the Astros continued their non hitting ways, picking up four hits and one walk for the game. Fowler’s still out with the flu, but Castro is due back and will hopefully do what he can to help the Good Guys avoid tanking during Sunday’s tilt.

by NeilT

So I wanted to talk to Ms Lola Laloush tonight about our 2014 Astros. The Disneys were in town, and the Stros had started the season 2-1. I was just a wee bit pumped, and I suspect a lot of the TC’s crowd was just a wee bit pumped too, one time or another.

You know about Ms. Lola. She knows baseball, and she hangs out at this gay bar in Montrose. If you want to talk baseball statistics there’s no place like Montrose. She’s a beautiful woman with some odd interests: drag racing and baseball. I never talk to her about the drag stuff because I don’t know anything about it, but nobody knows baseball like Ms. Lola.

But she wasn’t there.

I asked the bartender and he said that Ms. Lola was so mad at our mayor that she was holding a candlelight vigil over on Westmoreland. “Do you know what she did?” I didn’t, and I wasn’t sure whether the “she” was the mayor or Ms. Lola. “She proposed a civil rights ordinance that covered the GLBT community but didn’t apply to private business. Ms. Lola was so mad she made a sign.”

I wasn’t quite sure what the GLBT community was, but I would have liked to see Ms. Lola holding up a sign. Just saying.

Anyway I went back and sat at Ms. Lola’s usual table and ordered a Shiner and watched the game. Things don’t really kick in at TC’s until after 10 or so, so I figured I could finish the game and get out before the big engines started revving and they started the drag racing. Then I heard this weird conversation from the woman at the table behind me. Don’t tell Kris, but this was a woman I thought was mighty attractive–there are always a lot of attractive women at TC’s–and I thought maybe I knew her. I’ll try to transcribe the conversation.

“You fuck, I don’t care what Detroit gave you. I didn’t care you quit baseball as long as it was for surfing, but you’ve left me here to deal with Angel and I’m getting the shit kicked out of me and you’re not helping. What do I care that Detroit is playing some damned bird?”

Things weren’t going well for that woman, and they weren’t going well for my Astros. Harrell started and didn’t vaguely resemble the 2012 Harrell. Harrell looked exactly like the 2013 Harrell. I suspect Harrell is on a pretty short leash. First inning Trout homered to left. By the second inning there was a coaching visit to the mound. Ibanez singled, Kendrick singled, Iannetta walked, Trout walked. Do the math. Meanwhile the Angels’ pitcher Richards was dealing. He even struck out Chris Carter.

“Don’t tell me it’s over. You just think of what I gave you all those years. You just think of what I did for you and don’t you talk to me about Detroit . . .”

I snuck a glance at the woman. I didn’t want to stare—she was clearly having a parting moment with some guy in Detroit named Brad–but really, she was a pretty woman, but she just kept looking more and more . . . what? Frazzled? Beat up? And the same thing was happening to the Astros. They gave up three runs in the third, and Harrell pitched about 175 pitches. Meanwhile Dominguez, Gonzalez, and Presley went three up, three down.

She was crying now. “You know I can’t handle Angel alone. I need you Brad . . .” She was pleading. I felt sorry for her.

Jerome Williams came in for the 4th, and it was about time. I like Williams. I like his pink glove, I like his crazy history. I like him so much that I may be willing to put up with a lot. In the fifth Altuve walked in Dominguez. That would be it for Astros’ runs. In the 6th Williams gave up a three-run homer to Hamilton. The Astros filled the bases, but didn’t score.

“So you want me to talk to some guy named Nolan? What the hell kind of name is Nolan?”

Williams gave up three runs in the 7th, and I was reckoning that there were reasons for Williams’ history. Altuve was stranded at 3rd. Bass finished out the game for the Astros and got 2 1/3 innings with no runs. BASS! End of the day, Disneys 11, Stars 1, and Astrolena left TC’s looking pretty bedraggled.

by Sphinx Drummond

The Good Guys celebrate Jeter’s career by defeating the Bronx Bombers 3-1.

W: J. Cosart (1-0)
L: H. Kuroda (0-1)
S: J. Fields (1)

BOX SCORE

So far the Dexter Fowler acquisition is looking totally brilliant. Leading off the game with a homer, Fowler brought back memories of the old days of Craig Biggio behaving in a similar fashion. Fowler also had a triple and finished with 2 runs scored, and is currently slugging 1.375. Jarred Cosart was sharp as nails for the first four innings but was pulled after a shaky (but scoreless) fifth inning and 88 pitches. Jerome Williams pitched a solid sixth inning, Kevin Chapman struggled in the seventh giving up a run before giving way to Matt Albers, who picked up the final out of the inning and pitched a scoreless eighth. Josh Fields pitched a scoreless ninth to pick up his first save on the year.

Matt Dominguez capped the scoring when he hit a solo shot in the seventh inning, his first hit of the season. The Astros didn’t commit any errors, turned one double play, and Villar got his first stolen base. The defense looks improved this year. The pitching, starting and relieving, looks to be better this season. However, this team could struggle on offense. It’s just too early in the season to make any real judgments, and it was a Wednesday game, but so far so good.

Based on the respective payrolls of each team, it was another win for David over Goliath. $203,445,586 for the Yanks, the Astros will write checks for $21,133,500, this year. This year though, the Yankees only have two guys making more than all the Astros and Jeter’s not one of them. That would be Sabathia and Teixeira.The Astros are two games over 500 for the first time in two years. The Yankees are of course 0-2.

The undefeated Astros look for a sweep Thursday at 7:10 CT when Brett Oberholtzer squares off against Ivan Nova. Even as the Astros are undefeated, they are still looking up at the division leaders, the hated Mariners.

Stadium: Minute Maid Park, Houston, TX
Attendance: 23,145 (55% full) – % is based on regular season capacity
Game Time: 3:18
Weather: indoors
Umpires: Home Plate – Phil Cuzzi, First Base – Brian Knight, Second Base – Quinn Wolcott, Third Base – Gerry Davis

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.