Seven idiots piled into three canoes and a kayak.  Three days lay before them, unmapped by design, planned specifically to be unplanned.  They brought three coolers of beer, two bottles of Jack Daniels and one flashlight.

They were drunk already, having driven all night from Austin to Arkansas, but they were determined to press on and ignore the call of sleep.  So when the final beer of the night was drained at 7am, the first beer of the next day cracked open at 7:10am.  It was a sprint, not a marathon.  And it wasn’t much of a sprint.

***

The outfitter gave them a two-sided laminated sheet of paper that was generously labeled “Map.”  It had some of the markings of a map – land was beautifully decorated by a generic flat green and water was, predictably, blue – but that’s where the information portion of the “map” ceased.  The Buffalo River elegantly weaved its way from the bottom left corner to the top right, and if you flipped it over and rotated it 90 degrees, the River continued in the same direction.  There was no legend, no North bearing and no other markings but for two small circles on the back page.  The first, he told them, was the town of Gilbert.  If they busted ass that first day they’d be there by nightfall.  But if they wanted to take it easy, as he expected, he would happily pick them up there on the third day.  The second spot was a simple Access Point, where they’d parked their cars an hour before they left.  The Access Point was where most river-goers made their final land-fall, and where these seven idiots set their sights.

After a chugging contest in which the loser took the helm of the kayak, they were off.  The map found its way into a dry bag and Mr. Daniels came out, ready to party.

***

Astros @ Rangers

Monday, 8/19/13 7:05pm

Harrell (6-13) vs Garza (8-2)

Tuesday, 8/20/13 7:05pm

Cosart (1-0) vs TBD

Wednesday, 8/21/13 7:05pm

Bedard (3-9) vs Holland (9-6)

***

I woke to gurgling and thrashing as my unmanned canoe drifted gently atop the kayak, its captain now swearing loudly and clawing at the water.  My shipmate hadn’t stirred in the commotion, but he woke up in the water a moment later after the second canoe t-boned us.

We oared over to a tiny island, poured a swig of Jack on its surface and declared it – and every island thereafter – as Shot Island.  We passed the bottle in a circle and jumped back in the boats.

And then everything was named.  Shot Islands.  Smoke Caves.  Shotgun Shores.  And dreams of reaching Gilbert by dark vanished.

***

Injuries

Rangers

Berkman – Twinkie poisoning

Feliz – sprouted another toe

Harrison – inverted penis

Kirkman – bad hair day

Lewis – cavities

Ogando – prison

Tepesch – bukkake appointment

Astros

Gonzalez – right shoulder

Martinez – left wrist

Villar – left thumb (day-to-day)

White – blah

***

Nightfall approached, so six of my closest idiots and I began searching for a place to camp.  One spot was too rocky, one spot was too close to the water, one spot was too muddy.  Some of these idiots were from Dallas, for God’s sake, and they wouldn’t camp just anywhere.

At the back-end of a hairpin turn we found The Spot.  There was just enough beach to lodge the rafts on shore, and a wooden trail off to the right led up to a grassy meadow straight out of Tolkein’s writings.  Acres of lush green spread in all directions, and as the sun set below a thick overhang of clouds we stood and watched, mouths agape at the vast expanse of Arkansas and the beauty of it all.

In the distance we saw lights of a small town and we decided we hadn’t done so bad after all, as Gilbert was but a stone’s throw away.

We broke camp in the eaves of a nearby forest and left the coolers and bottles sealed.  A fire cackled to life as the canoes were unburdened of their treasures.  We sat around it, gazing at the cloudbank overhead.  Nobody said a word.  The greys of the clouds and smoke desaturated the greens of the grass and forest, and soon it was misting.  Seven idiots sat in utter greyness looking upward.

The fire grew taller and fought away the mist.  Translucent ash spread outward as smokes of various potencies and qualities melded to create a purple plume that stretched to the heavens, threatening the clouds in an act of earthly dominance.  Rain followed, but the fire grew stronger, burning hotter, raging louder.

And then it died.  The rain stopped.  The sky divided.  Greys receded to blacks and light came down from above, as millions of stars looked down upon us.

***

Promotions

Tuesday – First 30,000 Smile Generation Texas Camo Cap, so all those people who pretend to be Rangers fans can simultaneously pretend to be hunters

Wednesday –Nolan’s Beef Sausage will only cost $1, so Bud need only bring a fiver.

***

I awoke in the same spot, one of seven idiots sitting in a circle.  The clouds were back, but the meadow was gone, the forest was gone.  There was no trace of a fire.  Just a rocky beach at the back-end of a hairpin turn.  We stared at each other aghast until somebody realized it – we’d been there two nights.

We quickly loaded up the boats and oared as fast as we could to the town we once saw in the distance.  We could make it to Gilbert, get in the cars and figure the rest out later.  But as we rowed we saw nothing.  No town, no distinguishable marks on the map.  I fished my cell phone out of my dry bag and called the outfitter.  I didn’t know where we were, but we needed help.  Two hours later he came upon us in a canoe with an outboard motor and towed us back to shore.

We’d gone 200 yards.

Contributed by: GreatBagwellsBeard

One of the pseudo-benefits of working on a trade floor is the round-the-clock tv’s that hang from the ceiling.  When the situation warrants, they can be tuned in to something genuinely interesting that provides a brief distraction from the usual drudgery.  March Madness?  It’s on CBS.  Major golf tourney?  You bet we’re on NBC or ESPN.  But most of the time, we’re treated to two channels: The Weather Channel and MSNBC.

Daytime MSNBC is all financial crap, bottle blondes reading teleprompter tips over the hypnotic tickers forever scrolling scrolling scrolling.  For some reason, Ashton Kutcher was on last week.  Probably something about Steve Jobs.   It’s white noise with white guys in bad suits.  It’s the channel most likely to be changed when there’s a compelling reason.

And then there’s The Weather Channel.  At this particular moment, there are two shirtless dudebro types prospecting for gold somewhere hot and dusty.  The array of programming after 9am on TWC is just mind boggling: masturbatory self-promotion from the storm dummies, the thinnest possible premises for reality shows (you try making cross-country trucking compelling enough to watch for 30 minutes straight), and the commercials.  Oh, the commercials.  They’ve got their elderly retiree and agoraphobic shut-in demographic in the crosshairs, and they’ve flipped the switch to full auto fire mode.  Self-lubricating catheters?  YOU BET.  Boner pills?  EVERY HOUR.  Showers with railings?  OH INDEED.  Every day, I watch Ethel from Boca Raton testify, with complete sincerity, about how “Now, I can have a bath!”

I guess by comparison, the trucking show actually is thrilling.  But to make the most tenuous connection to our subject at hand, catching TWC out of the corner of my eye a few times a day is what the  Astros season so far feels like.  The chances that I’m going to see something that shakes my faith in humanity, encapsulating our frailty and what passes for our entertainment is about the same for Gamecast on Astros.com as it is at 2pm on The Weather channel.

I can barely bring myself to bridge the emotional distance by turning on the tv for Astros games at this point.  Seeing the bullpen implode as expressed through tiny red and blue circles on an app or a website is more impersonal, more remote.  I think I like it that way, actually.

Tuesday, August 13th
9:05 PM CT, O.co Coliseum
Jordan Lyles (4-6, 5.40) v. Bartolo Colon (14-4, 2.75)

Lyles gets his first start against the A’s.  He faced Chris Young, and Chris Young won, to the tune of .556/.556/1.000.  Ouch.  Lyles has shown some good flashes this year in a way that sort of reminds me of Norris at this point in his career.  If he settles down, he could be a nice contributor when the team is actually competitive.
The Human Dugong got out of a Biogenesis suspension since he was suspended already last year, and so he continues to deal like he’s ten years younger.  How about that?  Motherfucker looks like they decided to make a live action Grimace movie.  Altuve is hitting .444 against him, and Castro has a homer.  Everyone else is kinda weak.  Story of the year, I know.

Wednesday, August 14th
2:35 PM CT, YOUR NAME HERE Coliseum
Jarred Cosart (1-0, 1.36) v. Jarrod Parker (8-6, 4.04)

The Highlight Of The Whole Season is still looking for win number two.  I wonder who we could pin that on, hmmm?  Anyone?  Anyone?  He hasn’t faced the A’s before.
The Jarrod with the slightly dumber spelling has solved about every hitter in the lineup except Villar, who’s 2-3 with a double off him.

Thursday, August 15th
2:35 PM CT, Pets.com Coliseum
Erik Bedard (3-8, 4.28) v. Sonny Gray (0-1, 1.80)

Let’s pause for a moment and thank the BBGs for giving us two day games on the West Coast.  Some of us are conserving sleep before the baby comes, and we appreciate it.  Bedard has pulled a pretty decent second half out of his ass, and I for one am grateful.  All hail Luhnow.  Coco Crisp HATES Bedard almost as much as Nate Frieman (grumble) loves him.
Sonny Gray looks so young, he’s like one of Leonardo DiCaprio’s sperm or something.  He’s a rookie who’s never faced the Astros, so everyone please reach under your seats as there’s a vomit bag there, and your nacho tray can be used as a floatation device.

Promotions

Tuesday: Free Parking!  And your car might even be there when you get back!

Thursday: Throwback Thursdays, so here’s hoping the A’s wear their yellow alternates, the Stros wear the gawdawful Oranges, and we can give some poor highlight editor at CSN a fucking seizure.

The biggest promotion, of course, is being able to leave Oakland.

Injuries
Astros:
Pride (out for season)
Altuve – sore quad
Castro – bruised hip
Crowe – shoulder sprain (15-day DL)
EGon – shoulder sprain (15-day DL)
J.D. Martinez – sprained wrist (15-day DL)
Alex White – TJ Surgery.

A’s
Brett Anderson – foot stress fracture.  Ouch.
Coco Crisp – Sore wrist.  Kind of a serial injury.  Ahem.
John Jaso – Concussion.  Treatment: grow out mullet.
Derek Norris – Back soreness.  Join the club, buddy.
Fernando Rodriguez – TJ Surgery
Scott Sizemore – Knee surgery.

What To Watch For
The Bullpen Bloodbath
The Sweet Embrace of Death

The POCKET HOSE

contributed by Austro

It’s a bit of serendipity that Dark Star asked me to pinch-hit for this series, since the very first MLB game that I saw in person was at old Metropolitan Stadium in Bloomington.

My father’s parents lived in southeast Minnesota for as long as I can remember, and we would visit them most summers when I was young, and sometimes they would take us to Twins games. That first game was in 1967, I think, and it was definitely against the Red Sox. Harmon Killebrew was huge, Rod Carew was smooth, and Tony Oliva unloaded a couple of bats into the stands. What with all of the televised games that we would watch when we visited my grandparents and the Twins’ general underdog status, I’ve always had a soft spot for them. Of course, they were always in the “other” league, so that didn’t present much of a conflict. Thank heaven my grandparents didn’t live in Seattle.

***

I grew up in Colorado (Grand Junction – also home to the late, great mihoba – and Denver) and Wyoming (Riverton, pretty much smack in the middle of the state), and we did a lot of camping and other outdoor activities when I was young. (You haven’t been cold until you’ve been winter camping at elevation in Colorado.) From that I developed a pretty good appreciation of nature and the outdoors. But when I was in high school we moved to the Chicago area, and the outdoor activities started to taper off. Nowadays I’m pretty much a city boy except for the occasional canoe trip with college buddies.

My wife and I live in northwest Austin, and while we’re definitely not “out in the country”, the nature of the terrain means that there is still a lot of undeveloped (and undevelopable) land. Like many others, our cul-de-sac backs onto a ravine that is home to one of the Bull Creek tributaries. Of course, that also means that it’s home to a variety of wildlife. Just off the top of my head, I know I’ve seen the following creatures in or near our yard: deer, skunks, raccoons, possums, armadillos, coyotes, rabbits, rat snakes, coral snakes, ribbon snakes, garter snakes, alligator lizards, spiny lizards, great horned owls, red-shouldered hawks, red-tailed hawks, kites, blue herons, and green herons. And, of course, all of the usual small rodents, songbirds, frogs, toads, and geckos that one sees everywhere.

In spite of these constant reminders that we’re actually the intruders in the area, we tend to think that the animals recognize the same boundaries that we do: the neighbors’ back yards are the dividing line, the canyon side of the boundary belongs to the animals, and this side belongs to us. Most of the time, that’s exactly the way it works. But every once in a while we’re reminded that the animals don’t really care about dividing lines.

***

Friday, August 2 – 7:10pm
Cosart (RHP, 1-0, 0.86) vs Deduno (RHP, 7-4, 3.18)

Since Cosart has just come up, he hasn’t faced any current Twins. But he has pitched well in his three starts, and his performance has been extremely encouraging. At the same time, the Astros have never seen Deduno before, and he’s right-handed, and we all know what that means. Selig may have to come out and call this one a tie.

***

When I married my wife, I also married her affinity for cats. As a result, we’ve had cats in our homes for nearly 34 years. She and I share the opinion that in spite of the risks, cats deserve to be able to spend time outside. And that means that over the years I have built a wide variety of cat doors for this purpose. In fact, I now regret not having captured a photographic history of these efforts. I’ve built high doors with intermediate perches, self-centering bi-directional doors, and Frank Lloyd Wright-esque cantilevered perches for elevated doors. As an engineer, I can hardly help myself.

As useful as all of these doors have been, they’ve all suffered from the same fatal flaw: any creature willing to stick its head through the door could use it. In most cases, we “protected” ourselves by designing things so that an animal would have to go through an outside door into a garage and then find a second door and go through that to get into the house. That’s certainly not foolproof, but combined with most animals’ natural timidity when approaching something unfamiliar, it worked for a surprisingly long time.

The first time it didn’t work we were away on a short vacation. When we returned we went into the house and immediately sensed that something was wrong. There was nothing immediately visible, but the sensation was palpable and unmistakable. As we started to walk around we noticed that certain foodstuffs (for example, bags of chips destined for our girls’ summer camp lunch bags) had been opened and eaten. We went upstairs and discovered that something had had a party with leftover Easter candy in our daughters’ bedrooms. We came back downstairs and discovered that the invaders had taken an occasional dump around the perimeter of the living room. Then we went back out into the garage and came face-to-face (or, more accurately, face-to-tail) with a skunk. It turned out to be a mother skunk with three babies, and they were setting up shop in the garage. They scurried into one of their hiding spots, so we started removing everything else from the garage. Eventually we removed everything else they could hide under or behind and waited them out until they left. Fortunately for us, they never returned to the garage. But I was motivated to up my cat door game.

***

Saturday, August 3 – 6:10pm
Bedard (LHP, 3-8, 4.28) vs Gibson (RHP, 2-3, 6.21)

Having played for Baltimore and Seattle before joining Houston, Bedard has more history against the Twins than anybody else on the staff. Unfortunately, that history is not encouraging. Morneau and Mauer have the lion’s share of the appearances against him, Morneau with a .379/.406/.655 line with 11 RBI in 32 appearances and Mauer with a .316/.381/.368 line in 21 appearances (but, somehow, no RBI). Gibson was the Twins’ first-round pick in 2009, and he just came up at the end of June. This will be his 7th start and first against the Astros, so they’ll be throwing the curse at us on consecutive nights.

***

After the skunk episode I started looking into more defensive cat doors, and I found a winner. Some genius found a gas that becomes conductive in the presence of a magnetic field and used that to build a switch of sorts. A vial gets filled with the gas, the vial goes in a lip in the bottom of the cat door frame, and it gets put in an electrical circuit between a battery and an electromagnet. A magnet goes on your cat’s collar, and when the cat dangles the magnet over the lip, its magnetic field makes the gas in the vial conduct, closing the switch. The resulting current flow energizes the electromagnet, and that pulls down a latch and releases the door. Without a magnet, an animal can’t get in. There’s also a manual latch that one can set that prevents the door from being opened in either direction.

In the interim we had built a screened porch and a new deck off the back of the house, and we used one of these doors to control access from the deck into the porch, with a second cat door (with no latch) in a window to allow the cats to come into the house from the porch. This system worked great for quite a while, but one night its flaw was exposed. The door is designed so that the electromagnetic latch is only on the inside of the door and only impedes the inward travel of the door; once inside, anything can exit by pushing the door outward, magnet or no. This would seem to be good enough to keep wildlife out, but anybody who has watched raccoons long enough probably knows what happened next.

One night I was asleep upstairs and was awakened by strange sounds from the porch. I determined that the cats were already inside, so I was certain that some other critter was screwing around with the door. I went downstairs and looked through the window, and sure enough, a raccoon was on the deck poking around the door. I cleverly decided that I would scare the crap out of it, so I burst out onto the porch and started yelling at the raccoon. That’s when I discovered that there was at least one other raccoon already inside the porch. I realized that at just about the same time that I realized that I had also left the door back into the house open. There was a mad scramble, and a raccoon flew out the cat door, but in all of the frenzy, it was impossible to tell how many had been on the porch and whether any had escaped into the house. I flipped the super-duper manual nothing-goes-in-nothing-goes-out switch on the door and headed into the house to figure out whether there was a raccoon in there. After about fifteen minutes of heart-pounding searching, I decided that there had only been one raccoon inside the porch, and that everything was ok inside the house, but for the rest of the night I had to check out every little sound I heard.

It turned out that these clever raccoons had figured out that they could use their terribly dextrous paws and slip a claw under the door flap, hook it, pull it out (rather than push it in), hold it up, and then enter that way. Bastards. After that we adopted a policy of locking the cats in for the night and using the super-duper latch to keep anything from coming in or going out the cat door, and things were fine for a good while.

***

Sunday, August 4 – 1:10pm
Keuchel (LHP, 5-5, 4.63) vs Pelfrey (RHP, 4-9, 5.31)

Mr. Happy’s favorite pitcher has only faced one current Twin, Kevin Correia, but he has owned him to the tune of 0-4 with 1 strikeout and no walks. Extrapolating from that data, I predict a perfect game for Keuchel. Of course, the fact that Correia is a pitcher may mean that there’s a flaw in my methodology. This is Pelfrey’s first year with the Twins. He played all 7 of his previous seasons with the Mets, but the Astros are so young that he’s only faced two of them: Castro (0-3) and Wallace (1-3, 2K). I don’t know how he’s missed Altuve, but baseball-reference.com wouldn’t lie to me, so I guess he has.

***

That brings us to last week. My wife was out of town, so it was just me and the cats, who like to sleep out on the porch when the weather is nice. On Thursday night I was awakened by a sound I didn’t recognize, and then by the sound of the cats tearing around downstairs and then racing up the stairs. But there was nothing after that, and I decided that they had just been chasing each other, so I went back to sleep. When I got up Friday morning, I went down to the porch to open the door and let the cats out, but, surprisingly, they didn’t come with me. On the porch I was once again struck by that feeling that something was wrong, and as I looked around I noticed that the stool that the cats use to go through the second cat door into the house was knocked over. Then I noticed that there were little puddles on the porch floor near the outside cat door, and those puddles turned out to be cat urine. After that I noticed that the screen next to the cat door appeared to have a small tear at the bottom. But when I investigated that, I discovered that the screen was actually torn completely from the frame on two sides. Apparently something, probably a coyote, had come after the cats in the middle of the night. The attack literally scared the piss out of the cats, but the screen apparently offered enough resistance to allow the cats time to escape into the house.

I started some makeshift repairs on the screen, and after about two hours of sniffing everything on the porch, one of the cats screwed up her courage and went out into the back yard for a few minutes; the other cat never left the house all day. Even now, a week later, neither cat is in a hurry to go outside, and they come back in pretty quickly after they go out. And I’ve got an ongoing project to reinforce the porch screens.

***

Injury Report

Twins
Brian Dozier (SS) – Day-to-day, back stiffness.
Darin Mastroianni (RF) – Due back any day, left ankle surgery.
Wilkin Ramirez (LF) – TBD, concussion-like symptoms. How is that different from a concussion?
Josh Willingham (LF) – Early August, left knee. It’s clearly risky to play the outfield in Minnesota.
Tim Wood (P) – TBD, right rotator cuff inflammation and biceps tendonitis. Pride prevents me from going for the easy joke here.

Astros
Jose Altuve (2B) – Day-to-day, tight left quad.
Trevor Crowe (LF) – 15-day DL, right shoulder sprain. Could return for this series.
Edgar Gonzalez (P) – 15-day DL, right shoulder sprain. Return TBD.
JD Martinez (LF) – 15-day DL, sprained left wrist. Return TBD.
Alex White (P) – Out for the season with Tommy John surgery.

Promotions and Giveaways

Friday – Fireworks after the game. Which is good, since there probably won’t be many during the game.
Saturday – First 20,000 fans get an oddly un-Twins-like cap, sponsored by Dairy Queen.
Sunday – Bike and walk to the ballpark. The first 1,000 bikers and walkers receive a special gift bag from Optum Health. 1000? What cheapskates. Those bags had better have about 5 pounds of gold in them.

***

One closing thought (besides hoping that my next wildlife encounter isn’t with a mountain lion): this entire AL experience is still quite odd. We should be in the NL Central making life difficult for the Pirates, not bopping around to foreign places like Baltimore, Minneapolis, and Seattle. I’m not sure whether I’ll ever get used to this, or whether I want to.

Fuck you, Bud Selig.

There comes a stage in everyone’s life when looking back is helpful to look forward. What I mean is that memories have a way of soothing some of the angst of today and even the tomorrows we face. When you look back, you can see that worry and strife gave way to youthful ignorance. In fact, there was no such thing as worry, only anticipation for the next time you could go swimming, play sandlot baseball, go for a long car ride with Dad, go ride your bicycle with friends, or just be with others and enjoy life. One of my fondest memories is the first time I was going to play organized baseball. Little league they called it.

Up to this point, living in second ward, near the downtown east side of Houston, there was no organized anything. As a kid, we made up our own fun, no adult intervention or supervision needed. And we had no idea we were missing out on anything. In fact, I doubt we were. But one man who constantly watched us play pick up baseball at Settegast Park thought it was time to organize us and bring us into the world all the other kids enjoyed. It was time to play baseball like everyone else. And I was one of the kids that everyone thought was going to excel at this.

==================================================================

Houston Astros vs. Baltimore Orioles
Camdem Yards
July 30 – August 1

This will be the first time the Houston Astros visit Camdem Yards in Baltimore. This park was one of the first to usher in the new intimate and fan friendly park designs fans enjoy today. This is also Houston first season as an American League team and by and large the first season reflects what happens to a team that is young, rebuilding, and transitioning from the National League. Meaning, it has not been a good year for the ‘Stros. On the other hand, you have the Baltimore Orioles, a team that has been a competitive squad in the majors for many years. Some of the Oriole teams of years past, however, have not fared as well as fans expected. But this year, like last, there is hope and talk of playoff baseball once again. Seems like this has the makings of yet another hard match-up for the local nine. But the Orioles are coming off two series loses in a row, so the match-up may not be as one-sided as it seems on paper.

=================================================================

This is not going to be easy
Felx Fraga was a community organizer. Nobody in the second ward really knew what that meant, all anyone knew was that Felix was a kind, soft-spoken, and generous man who took the time to talk to anyone who would listen. Felix Fraga spent a lot of time at the Ripley House, a place my family knew provided health services to the community. We had no idea Felix had more in mind for the community and one of those plans was to organize kid baseball. He would talk to the men in the community about pony and little league, all conversations met with some confused looks and misunderstanding. Truth be told, my father was one of the men who told Felix it was not a good idea. It was my uncle Hector who jumped in and decided to spearhead a lot of the involvement needed by Felix to get this off the ground. My uncle had seven boys and he had heard of little league before. He wanted his boys to play organized ball. While living in San Antonio, he drove to an organized league outside San Antonio and enrolled his son David. David was a good baseball player, some said he had a professional future in the game. My uncle now wanted to same opportunity for his new community in Houston and talk as he may to my Dad to get involved, it never happened. My Dad was a former semi-pro baseball player and coach. He knew baseball from the rough and tumble perspective of semi-pro ball. He could not wrap his mind around the whole idea of kids being involved in a game that he knew from the beer, fighting, and salty language days. So my involvement was going to take a little harder road than most kids I knew in second ward. My Dad had given up that life, he was a solid family man, highly involved in our community church, and what he wanted for me was an education. Anything that he thought would get in the way of an education was what he wanted to avoid. This was not going to be easy, I had never gone against my Dad, he was my hero. Maybe I should just stick with sandlot baseball and continue with the worry free life.

===================================================================

Matchups
Game 1: Lucas Harrell (5-10, 5.17 ERA) vs. Wei-Yin Chen (5-3, 2.78 ERA)
Tuesday, July 30 – 6:05pm CST
Right off the start, the Astros face a left-hander in Wei-Yin Chen. Chen had a recent stint in the disable list and the time off did some good for the young man. Since coming off the DL, Chen has been good, allowing just five runs in 20 innings. Not bad. The good news for the Astros is that Chen is a fly ball pitcher and if the right handed hitters on the team (I’m looking at you Carter and Dominquez!) can stay focused, there may be some dingers in this game. Of course, the same goes for Harrell, he of the propensity to keep his sinker in the happy zone for hitters. With a guy like Davis hitting in the middle of the O’s lineup, there are definitely going to be dingers in this game.

Game 2: Erik Bedard (3-8, 4.28 ERA) vs. Miguel Gonzales (8-4, 3.69 ERA)
Wednesday, July 31 – 6:05pm CST
The local nine has faced Gonzales before at Minute Maid Park. The outcome of that game was not good, as Gonzales went six solid, striking out seven and allowing only one run. He’s a right-hander, so the left handed bats will be back in the lineup and hopefully guys like Brett Wallace can help solve this kid. Gonzales has been steady for the O’s, so this will be a tall order. On the other side, Erik Bedard is facing his former team. Bedard excelled in Baltimore and that made him a prized commodity in the free agent market. Since that time, Bedard has been less than successful, but he’s given the Astros a solid #4 starter performance for the year. The problem is that the Astros are using him as a #2, but that is a minor quibble to be honest. One thing that is commonplace with Bedard is his lack of giving a lot of innings to the team as a starter. So if the Skipper Porter uses his bully to support Harrell the night before, this could get ugly in the late innings for the ‘Stros.

Game 3: Jordan Lyles (4-4, 4.92 ERA) vs. Chris Tillman (13-3, 3.62 ERA)
Thursday, August 1 – 6:05pm CST
Goodness, will you take a look at the pitching the Orioles are trotting out this series. Chris Tillman is the best of the bunch and his All-Star numbers will back that up. The last time he faced the Astros, he held them to one run in seven innings of work that included eight strikeouts. This will not be a good series for the bats to take a vacation. Jordan Lyles has never faced the O’s lineup and the lefty strong hitting lineup is tough to beat. The young man will need to have his changeup and curve working on this night, because Camden Yards is unforgiving when it comes to fastballs hit hard to right field.

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What a mess
Felix Fraga made sure every parent of a little league age kid knew what was going to happen next: little league team player selection. My uncle was deeply involved in the pony league at Ripley House and the little league would be run at Settegast Park. I walked to Settegast Park every day, a small half a block jaunt and I was on the field ready to play. I was glad my uncle was not a big part of the little league, he wasn’t a fan of mine and I was not very fond of him either. But his son Eluid was my age and told his dad he was not going to play. Eluid was one of my best friends and played well enough at sandlot ball to hold his own. He, however, did not like how hard his Dad pushed. He saw how it was affecting David and he wanted no part of that stress. I begged Eluid to play, we could be on the same team (even though I didn’t know how we could actually do that). He kept saying no, and he also told me I would regret playing in anything his Dad would organize. When we found out that my uncle was more pony league organizer and a man named Jesse would run the little league, we were both relieved.

They asked all the kids to be on the bleachers on Saturday at noon. The six coaches would be there, including Jesse who was going to coach a team. Each coach was going to take turns selecting a player. Everywhere I went in Settegast Park, I was reminded by any one of the six coaches to make sure I was there. One said he would pick me first. I was proud of that, but I could not talk to my Dad about it. He was still insisting that I stay away from that nonsense and just enjoy baseball as a sandlot player. I was confused, the whole community seemed to be getting a charge out of this whole venture. I was one of the sandlot kids who was told how much this was going to be fun and exciting, not to mention important for me. But my Dad did not seem to be coming around at all. In fact he seemed more entrenched as ever that I was not to show up on Saturday.

I went to Jesse one day and asked him if he’d talk to my Dad for me. He did, and Jesse gave me this head nod that he thought he had squared it all for me. I was happy, that is until I walked into the house and Dad said “Jesse doesn’t know what he’s doing. I don’t want you going to him any more. Understand?”. I was defeated. Saturday was a couple days away and the more I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care, the more miserable I was becoming. I did care, I wanted to try this. I wanted to play. Eluid wasn’t going to do it, my Dad was not supporting me, my sisters made fun of me, and my older cousin David said I was not a baseball player, I was a “shrimp” who thought he was good enough but really wasn’t. “It’s good you’re not going to play. Tio Miguel is right to not let you join. That will keep you from embarrassing yourself.”

Saturday morning came and I took my bike and rode over to Eluid’s house. “Come on, let’s go somewhere… anywhere… I don’t want to think about this any more”. What happened? My life was so simple. It was uncomplicated and worry free. Now, all of sudden, it got messy and I was feeling stress and all sorts of strange emotions. I didn’t want to hate my Dad, I knew he loved me. I still thought of him as a hero. He was always there for us and he protected us from the things that were traps in our community. But there was one thing I could not run away from: I wanted to play.

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Astros News
Speculation is running rampant that Bud Norris might be gone after today. This is on the heels of the recent trade of closer Jose Veras for a young prospects from the Detroit Tigers. With the release of guys like Carlos Pena, the job of converting the team into a young and talented squad is in full swing. The new motto for Astros fans is “can’t wait until the September call-ups!” George Springer, Singleton, and others are what we all can’t wait to see play. With the recent call-up and success of Jared Cosart, the turning of the Titanic has becoming a reality in Houston. And the early results are good.

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Time to play
I came home from my morning bike ride somewhere around noon. I was greeted at the door by my Dad. I was okay, I knew I was nowhere near Settegast Park, so I was not in trouble. But my Dad had a strange look. Almost a sad look. He opened the door and met me on the porch. “Sit down for a minute” he said. I did, still wondering what this was all about. “I was looking for you all morning, and…” he said. “Dad, I went for a bike ride with Eluid. I didn’t go to the Park. Honest!” I interrupted, just to make sure he knew I still had respect for him. “I know, I walked over there looking for you. Listen, the reason I was looking for you was to say… well… I was thinking…” I was not sure what was going on, my Dad was struggling with his words. I had never heard my Dad say he was sorry, especially when he talked to me. I liked it that way, a very uncomplicated way to worship a hero. But now, he was trying to say something to me, so I decided to interrupt again “Do you want to play catch?” People often ask me why I cry like a baby at the end of the movie Field of Dreams. They don’t know I lived it. But this time my Dad said no. “I wanted to know if you want me to go with you to the park to sign up for little league?” “Dad, are you sure? I mean, yeah, I do… I mean, no, you don’t have to go, I can go on my own. It’s okay? Really?” All my Dad could do is nod. I was still not sure what happened. I was afraid to look back at my Dad in case he was crying or something. I just jumped on my bike and rode away fast, knowing he would not change his mind, but also that he was dealing with something I was not familiar with. As an adult today, I know what that is. It is called love. Love for your son or daughter that no one will ever have for them like you do. My Dad is still my hero, even though he is not with me here on earth any more.

I got to Settegast Park as quickly as I could. I dropped my bike off to the side and grabbed my glove off the handlebars all in one motion. Some of my friends saw me and waved furiously for me to get up to the bleachers as soon as I could. The coaches were almost done choosing. In fact, they were done. They all looked at me with some confusion. Why was I late? One thing the men in our community liked to adhere to is rules. “Rules are rules” was almost always repeated at the community center where we played four square and dodge ball. Maybe this was going to turn out badly after all and I was not going to get a chance to play. I didn’t want my Dad to feel bad about it either, so I was already making up a story in my head about how I quit because I didn’t like the coach. But then I heard Jesse bellow out “BANDA!” I stood up and replied “Yes coach!” As I walked towards him, he introduced me to my new coach. I was going to play for the Lions. This was not the best team, in fact most of the kids that could not play very well were on the Lions. I didn’t care, I just wanted to play. All I asked from the coach was to allow me to wear number seven. He did, never knowing that I was honoring my Dad and his old number from his semi-pro days.

The Lions, true to our makeup, lost every game that season. My cousin David made fun of the team and me every day as well. My cousin Eluid did not play, but he hung around the park every game and enjoyed watching us play and eating frito pies. I played center field and also pitched for the team. I was the best player on the team, a feat my cousin David said was not that hard to do. I made all-star that year, not knowing what that meant. I went home and told my Dad the day I learned I was an all-star. “We’re going to play the All-Star game on Tuesday night at 6:30. Do you wanna come see me play?” My Dad did not come to my games, or at least I never saw him there. It was okay, I just wanted to play to see what this whole Little League thing was all about. So when I asked him to come watch me play as an all-star, I thought it was just a way for me to let him know I was having fun. He really did not have to watch me play. But he said “Yes, I’ll be there”. And he showed up. He sat on the bench and helped our coach run our team. He knew more about baseball than any man in second ward and everyone knew that. When Frank (Miguel) showed up to a game, it was a happening at Settegast Park. I played well that night, same as I had before. I didn’t really think about pressure or any added emotion to this night. I actually wasn’t thinking about it at all, it was not a big deal. I was back into a rhythm of life where all was okay, no worries, not complicated, just catch, throw, run, and hit.

In the last inning of the game, we were behind by several runs and they had the bases loaded with two outs. Up to bat was this big kid who was the only guy we knew who could actually hit it over the fence at Settegast Park. He swung at the first pitch and drove a deep drive to dead center field. I was in center field. I had no time to admire this towering blast, I had to run and see if I could run under it. All those days of playing catch with my Dad came back to me. What was a monster shot to center quickly became a pop fly my Dad taught me to run under and catch cleanly. I did it just like we practiced and easily caught the ball right before I arrived to the fence. All the kids were cheering, the PA announcer was screaming, adults were yelling from the stands. But all I could see is my Dad on the bench smiling. No wild gestures, no jumping up and down. Just a smile.

The last time I looked at my Dad that deeply was several weeks before on our home porch and the sadness that had overtaken him. I liked the smile a lot better.