It’s coming to end soon. Very soon. The once proud tradition of National League baseball played in Houston will be no more. Good to see that other teams and fans in the National League are all broken up about it too. No really, I think they care. Okay, maybe not that much. Oh hell, they don’t give a rip. In fact, one beat writer for the Pittsburgh nine went so far as to insult the Houston organization as they walk out the door. Nothing like some crabby bastard in the media section at PNC Park to carry the day on being gracious and kind to the dearly departed.

In the end though, does anybody care what some hack has to say any way? No seriously, was he joking, serious, senile, or just being his douchebag self with his parting shot? One thing is for sure, he wasn’t factual. By that, what exactly does this kook mean that Houston has had 51 seasons of generally dreadful National League baseball? Really? By whose standards… his? If so, then the man is truly ignorant and by and large an idiot. Okay, so I can probably guess the guy wants to pull a “just kidding” right about now, or maybe not. Either way, he’s a moron. Here is the biggest reason: No one in Houston who has had the priviledge of watching the local nine in all those years would ever use the word dreadful.

Not even this season.

Yes, there you go, I said it. Baseball and dreadful generally don’t go together well, not to those with any ounce of dignity and passion for the game. I’m guessing someone in the media booth up in Pittsburgh has been sniffing way too much popcorn that the old heart and noggin ain’t what it used to be. This is really the truth of the matter, it’s been one hell of a ride and now that it’s over (or soon to be over), it’s nothing but good all over and then some. Perhaps not the best way to go out, what with the machinations of the MLB commissioner, the departed owner, the new owner, and the organization deciding to gut itself while the whole world watched in the same manner one would watch a hari kari ritual with shock and awe. But does that negate 50 years of baseball in our town? No, it doesn’t. But…

Dreadful? Hardly.

Not from this seat, it’s been fun, enjoyable, heart pounding, amazing, thrilling, and worth every emotion invested in the Houston Astros. Every day spent riding in the car on a Sunday afternoon with my Dad and brother as we approached the Astrodome and the game. Walking up to the gate and opening the doors to the magical place, watching the outfielders shagging flyballs, the hitters taking their hacks, and finding the best place to sit in the right field pavillion seats. Yelling as loud as I could for Jimmy Wynn, or Doug Radar. Dennis Menke, Hector Torres, Freddy “Flinstone” Gladding, all the heroes this kid could find wearing the shooting star uniform. The awe of looking up at the cieling in the Dome, or watching the scoreboard explode when a homerun was hit by a local player. Baseball was and is fun, it was about being there with my Dad, it was what any kid in any city in any state anywhere would call wonderful. Somewhere the blackhearts will disagree, but in the end, they can’t really take that away from us. From me. They can’t take away the fandom a teen had of the Jesus Alous, the Terry Puhls, the Craig Reynolds, the Nolan Ryans, the JR Richards, the Joe Sambitos, the Mike Scotts, and all the rest. They can’t handle how much we loved Bob Knepper, Casey Candele, Daryl Kile, Jeff Bagwell, Craig Biggio, and Ken Caminiti. Luis Gonzales, Crazy Carl Everett, Moises Alou, Richard Hidalgo, Derek Bell, Daryl Ward, Lance Berkman, Roy Oswalt, Carlos Lee, and all the rest. They were our team, representing out town well in the National League.

So now it’s time to turn the page and for some of us, the ride might be over, for others, the new ride is looked at with anticipation. And still for others, it’s not settled yet. There is still too much to bear, to think about right now. The end of the National League Houston Astros.

Doesn’t really sound good to say it, much less own it. But it is reality, the end is nigh. There is still baseball to be played for two more weeks, including one last joust with the Buccos from Pittsburgh. Does this last series matter or have any real significance? No, not really (all the right things are being said about “spoiler” and all, but seriously? Naaaahhhh….). In the grand scheme of things, the series is just going to be a faded memory soon and to many of us, it isn’t even worth even caring about right now. There is a greater issue at hand that really divides our attention.

It is time to say good-bye. It has been a great ride indeed and for that I am grateful!

Joe Buck Yourself

Welcome to another stirring edition of the Astros Series Previews!  This week, your favorite baseballers load up the travel bus with puppies, smiles and extra horseshit for their second-to-last road trip in the National League!  So join us, won’t you, as we head to…

That’s right, St. Louis, the “Jewel of Eastern Missouri,” where with an ugly red hat even you can become one of the Best Fans in Baseball!

Ahem.

I’ll just stop right now (before Craig or Mark or anybody else bludgeons me through my computer).  It’s the motherfucking Cardinals this week, and the last chance we’ll get to dry hump the legacy of the Best Fans in Baseball.  So let’s get started.

Ex-closer Ryan Franklin:

“You’re either a fan or you’re not. You don’t boo your own team. I don’t care who you are or what you say. Just because you spent your money to come here and watch us play, and somebody happens to make one bad pitch and gives up a homer, you don’t start booing them. I’ve been here for five years, and four years I’ve been pretty good. You should go write stories about the fans booing. They’re supposed to be the best fans in baseball. Yeah right.”

Reds 2B Brandon Phillips:

“We have to beat these guys. … All they do is bitch and moan about everything, all of them, they’re little bitches all of ’em.  I really hate the Cardinals. Compared to the Cardinals, I love the Chicago Cubs. Let me make this clear: I hate the Cardinals.”

Joe Buck:

“I’m a fan.”

Wikipedia:

“The Houston Astros and St. Louis Cardinals finished the 2001 season tied for first place with identical records and both teams were awarded division championships.  Then for the purpose of playoff seeding, the Astros received the NL Central slot and the Cardinals received the Wild Card seeding. 2001 is considered by the MLB administrators to be the first shared divisional championship in MLB history.”

Still not feeling the hate?  Ok, I made this for you:

If you’re not foaming at the mouth right now, you’re either not reading or that black market rabies vaccine finally started working.  This is our last chance, our last fucking chance, to kick these shitbirds back to the tornado parks from whence they came.  I’m not talking about the players here – I’m talking about their dumbfuck fans.  The Jakes currently hold the second wild card spot, but every NL team that doesn’t start with an “A” and end with “stros” is still in contention (well, and the motherfucking Cubs, but let’s not ruin this preview by mentioning them without parentheses).  Now’s the perfect time to take one more dump in the Mighty Mississippi, take one more piss in some blue hair’s Busch Light, take one more match to the Arch and take one more opportunity to frame a murder on Tony LaRussa.  The Astros are clearly going down – let’s take these tweakers with us.

Schedule:

Tuesday, September 18, 7:15pm – Bush League Field

Abad (0-4, 5.08) vs Lohse (14-3, 2.81)

Wednesday, September 19, 7:15pm – Bud Light Lime Douchepark

Harrell (10-9, 3.86) vs Lynn (15-7, 3.95)

Thursday, September 20, 12:45pm – The One True Trailer Park

Norris (5-12, 4.93) vs Garcia (4-7, 4.24)

Promotions

Tues – Nothing.  Like it.

Weds – Ice Mountain Autograph Night Don’t know who Ice Mountain is, but I assume he’s a Hawaiian rapper.

Thurs – Great Clips Charity Haircuts Next week: Charity Deodorant Night.  Baby steps.

Injuries

CoArds: Puma (galactorrhea), Furcal (tyrotoxism) and McClellan (scabies) out for the season.  Boggs (werewolf), Carpenter (gynecomastia) and Westbrook (crazy for Swayze) day-to-day.

Astros: Cordero (shitty), Escalona (who?), Weiland (STP) out for the season.  Marwin (Natural Dereliction), Lowrie (thought he was back), FeMart (book tour), Schafer (awful) and Norris (not out) are day to day.

Finally

It’s been an honor to be a part of the Series Preview Team this year, and I hope my previews were as fun to read as they were to write.

And I’ll post the updated Bud Selig bikini picture at the end of this series.  There aren’t many pieces left, and you don’t want to see us lose 2 games.

Prediction: Astros win series 3-0.  Why the hell not.

Follow the action in the GZ.

There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all

My dad loved baseball. I know that’s pretty standard around here, but I’m grateful for it nonetheless. I’ve got daughters and though I know they will think of me when they think of baseball, they couldn’t give a damn about the game. When I die, it dies with me.

My great grandfather lived to be 98, or 101, some ripe old age fashioned by decades of rigorous work outdoors. I know he was at least aware of baseball because I remember him mentioning Tris Speaker. I don’t remember what he said, I had a real hard time having a conversation with him. Hell, he was 90 years older than I was. Just thinking about his age blew my whole concept of time.

The conversations I remember went something like this.

Me: “So you remember Babe Ruth?”

Him: “Yes.”

Me: “Wowwww.”

Me: “Do you remember Ty Cobb?”

Him: ” Yes.”

Me: “Wowwww.”

And that would be that. My grandfather wasn’t much more talkative, he was that quiet working class German that put his head down and WORKED twelve hours a day, six days a week, no fooling around. Great guy, really, just not busy with entertaining little kids at the end of a day.

There was that day in the late 60s or so, where we all made the trek to Houston for a game. I don’t remember much of it other than there is a picture somewhere of us, four generations at the ball game. Time and evil has probably robbed me of that picture but I hope to find it someday.

Anyway, dad was the fan. He played for the various Little Leagues, then a little semipro here and there. I’ve seen a picture of him with a touring House of David team in the 1950s, and the Braves wanted to sign him but he decided to stay and marry my mom instead.

Dad was a catcher. I remember watching him play church league fast pitch softball for years, back when Hyde Park Baptist had a team. I loved going to those games, it was fun watching them and having dad tell me about catching, the pitchers and what they threw, etc. I grew up playing catch with my dad, later pitching to him. I wish I’d taken his recommendation to practice more because talent alone will only go so far, but I guess that path wasn’t meant to be. I still inherited the undying love for the game from him.

I read everything I could get my hands on about baseball. My school libraries and the bookmobiles were well-stocked with biographies of ballplayers and I read them all several times. Back then, our ESPN was the backs of baseball cards, and we spent hours going over them, memorizing statistics, pulling every scrap of information from them to learn about players we might see one Saturday a year on Game of the Week. I had My Turn At Bat pretty much memorized, because Ted was my dad’s favorite player.

“Close and back away. Pow!”

Every year we’d pick up these little fliers, sponsored by Schlitz, and they’d feature different big league players with some tip on fielding or pitching or hitting – Dick Groat on turning the double play or Rocky Colavito on hitting for power, and then there would be writeups about the local team. In this case, they were about the Houston Astros because that was the closest major league franchise to Austin.

We’d listen to the games at night on the radio sometimes, but the best treat of all was when we made the journey to Houston to go to the Astrodome. That gigantic building in the middle of that huge city with the orange and green haze in the sky was a big deal to me. I remember the parking attendants in jump suits and how bright all the colors were in the stadium once you got inside. The smell of the air conditioning, the grounds crew wearing space helmets and astronaut jump suits, the popcorn holders that became megaphones, and above everything else, the giant scoreboard display. The animations and the Home Run Spectacular, where you knew you were really in the Eighth Wonder of the World.

That was my Disneyland. We saw so many great players there. Not just the Dierkers and the Wynns and the Morgans and the Staubs and the Raders and the Wilsons, giving way to Art Howe, Bob Watson, Lee May – you know the rest. But in those days it was seeing those other legends that made it special. Willie Mays, Bob Gibson, Juan Marichal, Dick Allen, Bobby Bonds, Ernie Banks, Roberto Clemente, Steve Carlton, Don Drysdale, Willie McCovey, Tom Seaver, Hank Aaron, Phil Niekro. These were dismal years to be an Astro fan. They had hometown heroes to be sure, decent players, but even in a league half as big as the one they play in now, these were bad teams. It took a long time to creep into any sort of respectability, one where hope to finish anywhere near the top was gone by June.

All of this worked in conjunction with collecting baseball cards. We’d skip lunch or hoard change so we could go to the 7-11 on the way home from school and buy as many five-cent packs as we could afford. We’d sit on the curb outside the store, opening up the summertime Christmas presents, their clean gloss covered in the smell of that waxy gum. The exhilaration of finally getting a Mantle tempered by the incessant doubles of Chuck Harrison or Dick Dietz filling the stack as they were opened. I always seemed to get a few Ron Brands, and those cards just weren’t worth much if you desperately wanted to trade for someone’s Lou Gehrig or Walter Johnson.

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Later on the trips to Houston were fewer. I remember working in a restaurant during the 1980 playoffs, sneaking into the manager’s office to watch pieces of the games on a small black and white TV set. The back-and-forth, the trading extra-inning wins until the Astros finally succumbed in the tenth inning of the fifth game – it was so exciting, so energizing, that the Astros were finally a legitimate team, a team in the playoffs who deserved to go to the World Series as much as anyone. After all those years of dismal records, the incremental gains and the awful trades, at last they were a real team that demanded respect. That was a great feeling.

1980 was the same year I got married to a girl from Houston, and we moved there in 1981, where I could see my team play regularly. I loved being at the ballpark, got to see Ashby’s home run in the ’81 playoffs and tried to never miss any of Nolan Ryan’s starts. The marriage didn’t work out and I moved away in late ’83 but by then my fandom had taken a quantum leap forward. I enjoyed living in Houston, loved the city, but what I really didn’t want to leave behind was the Astros, and the ability to go to a game just about any time I wanted to.

Since then I’ve made it a point to go to as many games as I get a chance to. Some years it’s more, some years it’s less, but I make the pilgrimage every year. We went to the last game at the Astrodome, and I made sure my daughters went and have at least some memory of it. We were at the first game at Enron Field as well, with both girls. I’ve taken them to playoffs, special games, anytime I could try to share some of my love for the game and the team with the ones who will survive me. I want to pass this on as a thread of my existence through them.

***

It’s a four-game series, one with very real playoff implications for the Phillies. They’re trying hard to break out of the shadow cast as Astro Farm Team and lurch into a Wild Card slot. They’ll be facing two pitchers with extreme home field ERA success in Harrell and Norris (NOTE – Norris is a late scratch for Friday, he’ll be skipped and will pitch Thursday in St. Louis).

Thursday, September 13, 7:05 PM CT, Minute Maid Park – Guys Night Out and Price Matters Days
Tyler Cloyd, 1-1, 4.24 vs Lucas Harrell, 10-9, 3.83

Friday, September 14, 7:05 PM CT, Minute Maid Park – Fleece Blanket, Friday Night Fireworks, Flashback Fridays with Jeff Kent first pitch
Marvin Miller Man of the Year Nominee Cole Hamels, 14-6, 3.03 vs Edgar Gonzalez, 2-0, 1.74

Saturday, September 15, 6:05 PM CT, Minute Maid Park – Los Astros T-Shirt, Oktoberfest
Kyle Kendrick, 9-10, 3.83 vs Dallas Keuchel, 1-7, 5.35

Sunday, September 16, 1:05 PM CT, Minute Maid Park – Dog Day at Minute Maid Park, Family Sundays, Hispanic Heritage Family Day
Roy Halladay, 10-7, 4.01 vs Jordan Lyles, 4-11, 5.33

***

Over the last few years I’ve developed friendships with this raucous lot on SnS. I never expected anything like this, that some anonymous group of people connected by a baseball team would pry the things out of me that it has. When I first found out about AC, not long before it became OWA, I couldn’t believe the level of writing on the site, the depth of baseball knowledge mixed with humor that made me laugh out loud constantly. I’m sure my wife got tired of me reading something to her that I thought was hysterical, but she never let on about it. I was absolutely scared to death about popping my head up in any kind of post for at least a year, and after that I slowly put my toe in the water, only to snatch it back quickly. I was intimidated by the quality here.

I was probably the poster boy for ‘RMPL’ around this place after I dared to jump in and make comments. The safest way for me to participate was either in some 70s-related music topic, maybe one about guitarists, or in the GZ, but I was often made painfully aware of how little I really knew. Eventually some of this began to sink in, and I got more comfortable – some might say a little too comfortable – with posting.

My reckless volume has coincided with some significant changes, both to the team and to those who follow the team and jump on here daily to comment and commiserate. Change is rarely without some form of pain or loss. For a variety of reasons, many of our illustrious participants have either moved on or have drastically reduced their presence here. I miss them all. Their contributions were important.

We’ve seen ripples of future change as well, the lapping before the tsunami that includes others I’ll miss, others whose style and substance won’t be here and that means the tenor and content will continue to be reshaped by those who take their place. We’ve been very fortunate to see a fine group of recappers step to the front this season – BudGirl, Sphinx Drummond, Reuben, NeilT and Mr. Happy, who powered the Game Zone for the vast majority of the year. They’ve all done fantastic work and I look forward to seeing more from them in the future. I look forward to seeing more from you all.

I don’t know what is going to happen next season. Well, I know the Astros will lose some games. Probably a lot of games. It’s going to be a while before this team earns back its respect, but I plan on being here to watch it happen, hopefully with all of you.

I’ve been through this before, and I’ll go through this again. It’s the team I grew up with. I don’t own any part of it, but it does own me.

Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more

This shitty season is finally lurching to its end, with one last farewell tour through the Central. But instead of saying goodbye to old friends and their drunk fans and familiar ballparks, this feels more like good riddance to shitty neighbors you never want to see again. Especially the ones who have the worst backyard cookouts and let their stupid dogs shit all over the place.

When I was a kid, I think the Reds were my first favorite team. I didn’t live close enough to Houston to get the Astros on TV, and the Rangers weren’t around yet. But on the Game of the Week I’d see Johnny Bench and this rookie Pete Rose, and that seemed like a good team to follow. My parents finally made me quit practicing my headfirst slide after I knocked the wind out of my asthmatic self one too many times.

Which was just as well, because luckily I got older and outgrew the shit-bag Reds. And I never really thought about the fuckers again until the Astros ended up in the Central. One of the most satisfying bets I ever won was against a Reds fan during the playoff runs in the late ’90s. She had to cook dinner for me and my wife, and planned on making goddamn noodle chili until my wife heard about it and put a stop to that nonsense. I think we had enchiladas or something; I couldn’t really taste it because of all the gloating I was doing.

And those are really the only times I ever paid much attention to the dumbshit Reds, except to laugh out loud at them when appropriate. But now here we are now, looking up at the goddamn Dickities on top of the division, and they’re damn near leading the whole National League. The only team above them is the ExpoNationals, if you can believe that shit. This neighborhood has gone straight to hell, and I don’t really think I’ll miss it.

At least this is the last time we’ll have to hear about Cincinnati’s shit-awful chili and family backyard cornhole tournaments. Unless the assholes get to the World Series, in which case get ready for the Skyline Cornhole craze to sweep the nation. No one’s backyard would ever be safe again.

I think maybe I could root for the American League after all.

Great American Ball Park

Friday, September 7, 6:10 p.m. CDT

Saturday, September 8, 6:10 p.m. CDT

Sunday, September 9, 12:10 p.m. CDT

Notable giveaways

Friday – Free Agent Friday

I thought maybe this was the time for all the Astros who expect to be without a contract next year to have a tryout. But it turns out it’s just some lame drink specials for Reds fans to get shitfaced if they wear a stupid free agent sticker or some shit.

Projected Matchups from Astros.com

Friday

Lucas Harrell (10-9, 3.81) v. Homer Bailey (10-9, 4.09)

Harrell has faced the Reds three times this season and got a win against them last weekend. Most of the Reds hit him well, particularly Jay Bruce who is 4-for-7 with two doubles and a homer.

Bailey has faced the Astros twice this year with no record to show for it, though his record in years past is 4-0. Most of the Astros have seen him, but without much to show for it. J.D. Martinez, Justin Maxwell, and Chris Snyder each have a homer off him.

Saturday

Bud Norris (5-11, 4.80) v. Bronson Arroyo (5-11, 3.76)

Norris is on a freaking 10-game losing streak and hasn’t won since May. He’s pitched better in his last three starts, but whatever. Devin Mesoraco is 3-for-5 against him with a double and a homer. Joey Votto also has a homer off him.

Arroyo hasn’t lost since early August, and probably hasn’t had a haircut since last August. Current Astros are a collective 18-for-100 against him, with the only homer coming from Justin Maxwell.

Sunday

Edgar Gonzalez (1-0, 1.69) v. Johnny Cueto (17-7, 2.58)

Gonzalez was signed out of the Mexican League, and made his first MLB start in nearly three years on Sunday. He held the Pirates to one run in 5+ innings. Miguel Cairo and Brandon Phillips batted against him at some point in the past, and Phillips went 3-for-6 with a homer. Whenever that was.

Cueto beat the Astros back in April but we haven’t seen him since. None of the current Astros have done much against him.

Injury Report

Houston – Matt Dominguez (wrist), Marwin Gonzalez (ankle), Fernando Martinez (thigh), and Scott Moore (groin) are all questionable for this series. Lowrie and Cordero are out until later in the month.

Cincinnati – Shortstop Zack Cozart is questionable for this series. Relievers Nick Masset and Bill Bray are probably out. And Ryan Madson is out for the season.

*****

Discuss today’s game in the Gamezone. You know, if you aren’t watching football.