SEASONS IN HELL, VOL. II, NO. 2

May 14-16, 2010

Astros (13-21) vs. Giants (18-15)

AT & T Park
24 Willie Mays Plaza
San Francisco, CA 94107

**********

The 2010 Astros ended their latest abysmal stretch (1-12 from April 27 to May 9) by sweeping the Cardinals in St. Louis this week, which is pretty funny.  The BFiBs, who’d been cruising along in first place along with their team until the Sad Sacks hit town, are probably now having a little doubt enter the picture.  Wonderful.  Remember, the Astros ended their season-opening 1-8 skid by going to Chicago and taking 2-of-3 from the FTCubbies in front of the home folks.  If this is going to be as bad a season as I supect, beating up on the FTCubs and Co-ardinals semi-regularly is some consolation.  Probably just God’s way of keeping some over-obsessive fans from jumping off the Loop 610 ship channel bridge.

Anyway, God loves me.  I know this, for one thing, because every once in awhile he gets really pissed off at my antics, and starts throwing his weight around in my direction.  If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t bother, right?  But I’ll get to that.

I know I’ve said it here more than a few times, but the fact the Astros are bad this year does not change my allegiance or how I feel about them.  I’ve said this so much, especially recently, I think maybe the other me has said it here a few times, too.  The other me.  My ghost twin, my spiritual wraith.  The guy who walks around looking like me and sounding like me but isn’t me, exactly.  My doppelgänger, I mean.

I’ve only ever seen my doppelgänger once.  I’ve come across evidence of him many times; people will tell me I did something at a party or in a bar somewhere, and I can’t remember doing it at all, or even being at the party or in the bar they speak of.  Then I’ll remember You Know Who.

My suspicions were confirmed one night when a bunch of us were staying up at our place in Tyler Co., in the Big Thicket.  I decided to walk down and close the front gate for the night, around 9:00 p.m. or so.  The walk to the gate is roughly a quarter mile.  Most of it is through open pasture, but the last 100 yards or so is down a driveway through thick woods that shield our house and outbuildings from vision, and buffer sound from the farm road that runs in front of our place.  A half moon was out, and the night was clear.  I had a flashlight with me, for going through the woods, but my eyes had adjusted and I was walking through the pasture without it.  I kept sensing something was following me or watching me, and I stopped three or four times to watch and listen, but I did not see or hear anything.  I finally decided it was the stopping that was messing things up, so the next time I felt like something was there, I kept walking, but swiveled my head around.

And that’s when I saw myself.  It was me, exactly, walking along beside myself across that pasture, maybe ten feet apart.  There I was.  Wow! Same gait and everything, left hand shoved into the top of the jeans pocket,shoulder-length hair swinging back and forth with each step.  It was uncanny.  I looked myself in the eye, and some sort of silent communication passed between me.  The Germans, who came up with the concept of  it, felt it was extremely bad luck to see one’s doppelgänger, it supposedly foretold much trouble, even death.  But seeing me walking along beside myself that night gave me a strange feeling of comfort.  Of ease.  It was good to know there was another me out there, with another agenda entirely, but with my best interests at heart.  I was thinking about this when I realized the apparition was gone, and so I went on down and closed the gate and then trudged slowly back up to the house.

I should say by way of disclosure I’d been drinking some that day and night, plus one of my acquaintances had just introduced me to the wonderfulness of Seconal.  So there is that.  That stuff didn’t normally make me hallucinate, though, and my vision that night seemed very real.  I laugh out loud at all paranormal jibber-jabber, ancient aliens and shit like that; the existence of my doppelgänger is the one exception.  And my doppelgänger thinks the Astros suck this season, big time.  But he is still an Astros fan, through and through.  He has said as much here, several times.

(excerpted from Me And My Doppelgänger, by F. Bestertester)

We’ve met a lot of great men who weren’t so great
We’ve met modern day saviors who couldn’t even stop the rain
We’ve heard the word of God from a surface-to-air missle
And felt the hand of Allah from a hijacked plane

We’ve seen the fire in the sky in the morning light
We’ve seen the buildings tumble into the maw of the city
And when the dust cleared and there was nothing left
We saw the sun setting down on the horizon so pretty

Me and my doppelgänger, we think alike, you know
Wherever I wander, that’s where he goes
We don’t take no crap, we don’t pay no mind
We just thank sweet Jesus for the sweet sunshine.

**********

PITCHING MATCHUPS

Friday May 14, 2010
Game Time: 9:15 p.m. CDT
Television: FSH
Promotion: None
Matchup:  Houston – Felipé Paulino (0-5, 4.67)  ‘Bad Luck’ Paulino, although he brings some of it on himself.  The Big Dominican seems close at times to breaking through, but perhaps he never will.
San Francisco – Todd Wellmeyer (1-3, 5.97)  Suck-ass former FTCub.  The polar opposite of Lincecum and Cain.  How the hell is he in this rotation?

Saturday May 15, 2010
Game Time: 3:10 p.m. CDT
Television: FOX
Promotion: None
Matchup:  Houston – Roy Oswalt (2-4, 2.63)  Roy has pitched great this season.  He doesn’t have much to show for it, but then, he’s on a shitty team.
San Francisco – Tim Lincecum (4-0, 1.86)  What can one say?  Steven Strasberg, Schmeven Schmassberg. . . Lincecum is the best pitcher in baseball, until someone comes up and proves otherwise.

Sunday May 16, 2010
Game Time: 3:05 p.m. CDT
Television: FSH
Promotion: Giants Rally Scarf — I don’t know, I thought the days of blankets and parkas at Giants games ended when they moved out of Candlestick all those years ago.  But if you live in S.F., and you want to wear a woolen scarf to a baseball game, who am I to say different?
Matchup:  Houston – Brett Myers (2-2, 3.52)  Myers has been a nice surprise to this point, he has given the Astros some innings and has been reliable.
San Francisco – Barry Zito (5-1, 1.90)  Looks like Zito is all the way back from whatever was afflicting him the last three seasons.  He had a bit of a setback in his last start, walking seven Padres in five innings and picking up his first loss of the season.  He’s already beaten the Astros this year, pitching six shutout innings the first week of the season.

**********

Like any Astros fan over 25 years old, I’ve known plenty of ‘off’ years.  The Astros lost some, and then lost a lot.  But it always seemed a benign kind of losing.  The team often seemed just this far from turning some corner, and improving markedly.  Hope, justified or not, will sustain a fan, for a long, long time.

But this year seems different.  This year the losing is often jarring.  Most nights, the team has no hope.  The offense is so abysmal, once they give up two or three runs, a bad feeling begins to set in.  But I think what really scares me is not what will happen this year – the team may not win 60 games – but rather, what comes after that.  It remains to be seen what will transpire the rest of this season, but if there ever was a time to dump veterans and salary and start the rebuilding process in earnest, this is it.  If nothing like that takes place this season, well, when will it?  Ever?

I know the Astros are a really bad team this year.  I think a lot of us suspected they would be before the season even began.  But this bad?  This horrifyingly, scarifyingly bad?  These soul-destroying eight- and nine-game losing streaks, seeming to come as regularly as plagues now?  Are winning two-of-their-last-thirteen streaks what we are in for all this season long?  I shudder to think about it, and it keeps me from sleeping most nights.  And when I do. . .

I had a dream last week that fucked with my mind entirely, and left a deep psychic scar that I suspect will never really heal.  Oh, it’ll scab over eventually, but instead of leaving behind a smooth surface afterward, I’ll instead be left with a large, ugly cicatrix on the heart of my soul.  Until the end of time.  For – fucking – ever.

In my dream, God sent an angel down to find me.  The poor bastard who got the assignment had to look for awhile.   My wife had no idea where I was, she rarely does; and I wasn’t anywhere the angel – let’s call him Nate – surmised I might be.  Nate looked everywhere and finally, around midnight, he found me commiserating in a little bar off of Concord in the north end, called Quan’s.  Just a slip of a bar, but dark and well-patronized; it is surrounded by an large, empty lot, on one of the busier streets in that part of town.  The owner of Quan’s is a guy I used to run around with some, back in the old days.  He works for the city now, and he got a good deal on the building his bar is in, and the land; to be honest, I think he had some insider information on it being foreclosed on or whatever you call it when the city puts a lien on your property because you owe them money for mowing your lot because you wouldn’t mow it yourself and the grass and weeds eventually got so high someone with some pull decided it was an eyesore or worse and sent out a city crew to take care of the job and then sent you the bill.  Only you didn’t pay it because you didn’t take it seriously or you couldn’t afford it or you were so into this Vietnamese chick you met at Cinco’s a few weeks ago that you’ve been letting all your business slip.  So now the city is eyeballing your property, and you decide, fuck it, it’s just a dumpy little building on a weedy lot in one of the less desirable parts of town, it was a pain in the ass to keep up anyway, ever since the wife’s uncle died and left it to you.  They can fucking have it.  Then you drive by a month or two later and see the lot looking all neat and trimmed, and the building you used to store your extra shit in all spruced up and repainted, with new burglar bars all around.  “Monday Night Football, Free pool and set ups all week” the marquee sign out front says.  “Goddamn.  They turned my storage shed into a fucking bar.”

My buddy had just slid another bourbon across to me when this angel, Nate, put his hand, or wing, whatever, on my shoulder.  It startled me.  “What the f—“, I half spun around, forming a fist with my right hand, which had been resting in the pocket of the light jacket I was wearing.  I grabbed my keys, which were in the pocket, too, and had several of the longer ones sticking out of the slots between my fingers.  A cop showed me that once.  We were coming out of a bar on a dark street in Salt Lake City, when three seedy looking fuckers started walking toward us.  My friend, who was in plain clothes and unarmed (we were at a convention), told me to grab my keys and arrange them in my fist.  He said a punch from something like that can really fuck a person up, at least buying you enough time to get away relatively unscathed.  I never forgot it.

So, anyway, I spun on this Nate character, ready to deck him with my house keys and then hightail it the fuck out of there (by some socio-economic criteria, I was vastly outnumbered in that bar.)  But, something stopped me.  It was my keys, getting caught in the fabric of my pocket.  That was just enough time for the angel to pin my arm with his other, um, wing, precluding me from punching the heavenly messenger right between the eyes.

“What?”  “What the fuck do you want?” I shouted.   He just smiled, and then cleaved me to him; and the next thing I knew, we were flying over the city, at night, maybe 75 feet up, and this guy Nate was busy pointing out places where I’d committed one atrocity or another over the years.

You know, when you live somewhere long enough, you start losing your geographic perspective of the place.  Certain locations or parts of town begin to lose geographic meaning, as they take on more symbolic overtones.  It was weird to realize, flying around that night with Nate, that this whole vast life I imagined I’d lived over the last thirty years or so, the wide swath I always fancied I’d cut, all of it mostly took place in a roughly 10 to 12 square block area, in a gritty refinery town in southeastern-most Texas.

As the messenger from God was methodically reading off to me the litany of sins, major and minor, I’d committed over the years, I’m afraid my extreme general disinterest in that subject betrayed itself, and I yawned.  This really pissed Nate off.  He threw down the tablet or PDA or whatever it was he was reading from and said, “Look.  Is this a big fucking joke to you?  Do you think you can just do whatever the fuck you want for years and years and suffer no consequences?”  I quietly pointed out to him that this was pretty much what I had been doing over the last many years, so why wouldn’t I think that?

He was still pretty agitated.  “Well, we’re gonna fix your little red wagon, fucker!  We’re gonna make your favorite team SUCK!”  Nate went on to inform me that, except for a blanket condemnation of the Cubs and their nitwit fans leveled many years ago, mostly on general principles, God did not normally make it a habit to curse sports teams.  But I had been so wanton and gleeful in committing my transgressions over the years, and so blithe in mostly dodging the consequences, that special measures were being taken.  The Astros are totally fucked for 2010, Nate said, and nothing Drayton or Pam or Ed Wade or any other mortal did can change that.  “This is the Word of the Lord,” Nate said.  He looked at me, as if waiting for a response, but I just shrugged my shoulders and flipped the hair back out of my eyes.  All I could think about was the Astros are fucking terrible, down by law, by a decree straight from heaven.

And apparently, it is all my fault.

I want to sincerely apologize to everyone here and not here for this.  Really, had I known the consequences I might’ve done some things differently.  Maybe.  I asked the angel about the years beyond this one.  “It depends,” he said sagely.  “On what?  On whether I clean up my act?”  “Oh, that, sure; but also on whether the kids down in Corpus Christi and Lexington and Lancaster develop quickly enough.”  I thought about that for a moment, and then I looked back up.  He was gone.

I was left standing in the dark asphalt parking lot in front of Quan’s, the traffic meanwhile whizzing by on Concord Road.  I thought about going home then, calling it a night, maybe changing some things.  On the other hand, I had it on good authority, actually the best authority, that this season is fucked anyway, no matter what.   So I am pretty much operating with impunity now, as I see it.  I cannot make things any worse.  So, I turned and headed back into the dark bar.  The cigarette smoke and the bourbon smell was mingling together, and they rushed up to meet me as I walked back in, right as my buddy was telling me to sit back down, and have a few more.

So I did.

**********

INJURIES

Houston
•Alberto Arias (RHP) – Out for the season after right rotator cuff surgery

•Tim Byrdak (LHP) – Placed on the 15-day DL on May 3 with a strained hamstring

San Francisco
•Mark DeRosa (INF) – Day to day with numbness in his left hand

•Bengie Molina (C) – Day to day with a tight hamstring

•Edgar Renteria (SS) – Placed on the 15-day DL on May 7 with a strained right groin.  I used to make fun of strained groins, but now I have one.  Not so funny.

•Freddy Sanchez (2B) – Day to day with a strained right shoulder

**********

My cousin Fred is pretty fucking big.

He is not overly tall, 6′ 0″ or 6′ 1″, tops.  And while he weighs over 200 lbs., the weight is stretched over a large-boned frame, so he doesn’t look fat at all.  He is just one of those people who exude bigness.  When you are around him, you think of this big person you have with you.

Fred is just plain big, in some ways.  His feet are size 16, and he has most of his footwear custom-made, which he says is expensive.  According to his first wife, a clinical psychologist who is crazy as hell, there is something to the foot size/dick size corollary; although I don’t remember anyone asking her about it at the time.  Fred shipped her off to the loony bin years ago, and good riddance.

Fred and I grew up in different towns, but we saw each other fairly often, and we were pretty close, as kids.  Not as close as brothers – we didn’t spend enough time together for that – but I would imagine we were closer than most first cousins, and we still are.  Fred is one of those people who, whenever his name comes up, this warm feeling comes over me.  He is about my age, he is a good guy, he thinks like me, and we have had lots of fun together over the years.

One time we were staying down at the beach for several days, in a rented cabin.  Me, several of my school friends, one of my brothers, and Fred.  It was probably Spring Break, I know we were 18 or so.  One night we were having this big party at our cabin, mostly friends of ours who were staying at the beach, too.  Along the way, Fred OD’d on beer, and passed out on the floor in the middle of the cabin.  No problem, people just stepped over him, or around him, and the party carried on.  At one point three or four guys were standing there drinking beer, looking over Fred, and dispassionately discussing his present state.  “I wonder if he’ll come to before the end of the party?”  “How many beers do you think he had?”  “I hope he wakes up before he pisses himself, that would be kind of nasty.”  Then one of the guys, wholly unintentionally, dropped an almost full can of Natural Light, right on Fred’s head.  It made a sound I heard clearly, over the music and conversation, all the way across the room.  But Fred hardly stirred.  A halo of beer and foam formed around his head on the rug, and someone said he would probably wake up and wonder if he’d gone to heaven.  Up to then, I’d pretty much always called him Fredward, or sometimes Freddy if I was in a rush.  But from that night on, my cousin was universally known as Fred the Hammerhead, or just Hammerhead.  He seemed to like the nickname all right.  Not that it mattered, we would’ve called him that regardless.

Fred was with us the night of the phosphorous ocean.  That was an early spring night around that same time when a bunch of us were drinking at night down on the beach on Bolivar Peninsula, and a rare incursion of phosphorous caused the whitecaps of the breaking waves to glow greenish-white in the moonlight, shooting right to left across the horizon each time a wave broke.  If you dragged your foot across the sand, the track where you’d dragged it would glow.  At the time, none of us had ever seen that before, plus we’d been drinking for hours.  The night, especially in retrospect, took on an almost surreal quality.  I sometimes wondered if it had really happened at all.  People who were there still talk about it wistfully.  Most of us ran around like idiots, screaming and playing in the glowing water and sand.  Meanwhile, Fredward went to his Silverado and reached behind the seat and pulled out one of those folding shovels like you’d see in an army surplus store.  I’m not sure why he carried it, but it did not really surprise me that he did.  Anyway, while the rest of us were acting like retarded fools, Fred calmly shoveled several hundred pounds of the glowing sand into the bed of his truck.  He figured he’d take some home, spread it around his flower beds and such.  Conversation starter.  Fred was always thinking ahead like that.

I was with him the day his sister died.  She was killed on the beach highway, on her way home.  She wasn’t driving, it was her and three of her friends, and they were all pretty drunk, I heard; as was the guy who crossed the center line and hit them head on.  And probably a majority of everyone else on that highway that day.  Everybody involved in the wreck died at the scene, basically.  We had been down at the beach for the day, and Fred and I headed back to town 45 minutes to an hour after his sister and her friends did.  When we came up on the wreck, we didn’t know what it was at first.  We were freaking out because there were cops everywhere.  We were both pretty loaded, and we thought we’d come up on a DPS sobriety check roadblock.  But it wasn’t; and when we saw what was left of the light blue Cutlass 442 her friend had been driving, we knew what had happened.  I don’t know my immediate reaction, I just remember that my emotions at the time were dulled by being intoxicated.  So were Fred’s; I distinctly remember him being almost stoic when he found out his sister had been somewhere in the tangled mess of that Cutlass.  Even though they were essentially D.O.A., Fred’s sister and another girl were life-flighted to UTMB.  So we jumped back in his truck and turned around and hauled ass to Galveston.  By the time we got there, his sis was long gone.  I remember sitting in the hospital while Fred called his parents and let them know what had happened.  We were sobered up by then, and I felt myself getting emotional, but Fred’s voice never broke.  I admired him a lot for that.  His little sister has been gone now 31 years, but I can still remember parts of that day very clearly.  Too much, too soon.

Fred lives in South Carolina now, in Georgetown, near the ocean.  He’s a civil engineer.  We don’t see each other much anymore, but we keep in touch by e-mail and the occasional phone call.  Fred is a big Astros fan, always has been, and he tries to follow the team as best he can; but he says even with his MLB package and the internet, it is not the same as living close by.  I called him last week, on his birthday, and at one point he asked me, “Are things as bad as they seem?”  Yes, I told him, maybe worse.  That’s what he thought, he said, but he’d hoped he was wrong.  But, he can see it all the way from fucking South Carolina.  Fuck.

While talking last week, we remembered the night of the phosphorous ocean for some reason, and I asked him what he ever did with all that sand he’d loaded in his truck that night.  He laughed and said some of it is in the pitchers mound on the AAA field at the Little League park in his hometown.  The sand had never glowed at all after that night on the beach, and I was glad to hear that.  What happened that night, if it happened, was fleeting.  Only the people who were there are left to tell the story.

Fred’s sister didn’t make it past age 15, and so I will always remembered her as young and pretty and a little bit wild and really funny; and not as what she might have become, good or bad.  I sometimes wonder if she was ever even here at all, if I didn’t dream her up like I sometimes think I dreamt up that glowing night on the beach, so many years ago.

But I didn’t dream her up, and I feel like I will see her again someday.  On a night when the phosphorescent ocean is glowing in the background, the gleam shooting like lightning across the horizon, as the endless waves keep breaking and breaking, out beyond the first sandbar, before rolling up and washing over our bare feet and toes, as we stand together there on the beach.  I will be with her there on the beach that night, and I will put my arm around her when she shivers in the wind, and I will say something clever, and then I will listen to her terrific laugh.  Fred will be there, too, of course; sitting in his lawn chair next to his truck, drinking a beer and listening to the Astros game on the radio.  I’ll be able to hear the broadcast in the background, over the sound of the breaking waves.  The team will have pulled out another stellar win that night, moving decisively into first place.  Yes.  From my dreams to God’s ears.

No one hears his lonely sighs
There are no blankets where he lies
In all his deepest dreams he flies
With sweet Melissa

**********

Astros get swept by the Giants, 0-3.

THE WEATHER

**********

Lady census taker
Come on in and check me out
Sit down here beside me
And tell me what it’s all about

You won’t mind if I feel your thigh?
Mark it down, I’m just that kind of guy
I’m in love with you and I don’t know why
Lady census taker.

Lady census taker
This must be my lucky year
I didn’t mail back my survey
Just so they would send you here

You’ve got those twitchy eyes
The kind that mesmerize
Bet you’ve counted lots of guys
Lady census taker.

Lady census taker
It’s great that you’re getting paid
Though I didn’t realize the feds
Were hiring meth heads these days

Oh, you’re probably a tweaker, but I don’t care
I dig sunken cheeks and long, stringy hair
And that chipped front tooth looks so debonair
Lady census taker.

Lady census taker
You make this full-time cynic hot
The way you hold that clipboard up to your chest
It shows me just what you got

I don’t know if you counted all my children and cars
Or how many nights I spend alone in bars
But I’ll bet you remember our little trip to the stars
Lady census taker.

**********

I still haven’t figured out how to root for this year’s Astros team.   Unlike the sniveling masses, I refuse to throw in the towel on this season and bide my time until the Texans season starts, grumbling about delusional owners and Baseball Prospectus grades for our farm system.  But what’s the alternative?  There ain’t no sunshine when my baby’s gone, and there ain’t no soaring bright hope to focus on this year.  Bourn is still thrilling, and the young pitcher are showing some signs of maturity, but hell, if that’s all you can hang your hat on, what do you do during the other eight batters?

In the previous franchise doldrums in the early nineties, I was a fan hooked on the adventures of Gonzo and Baggy and Bidge, with little regard for the fact that the latter two would someday form the nucleus of a playoff (and World Series) team.  If they won, great.  If they lost, oh well.  Besides, at that point in my life, I was more concerned with figuring out whether Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups or Starburst were the best path to a young girl’s heart.  I never quite figured that answer out, and by the time the Astros were good again, that girl was gone to New York to become a ballerina, and I had a less candy-centric view of romance.

Obviously, it would be treasonous to root against my hometown team.  But even as it regards the players on this team who infuriate me (Pence and Lee), I can’t even bring myself to root against them.  When Pence hits a walk-off double, I’m happy for the dopey little guy.  I even allow myself the hope that he’s turned some sort of corner, that’s he’s finally figured it out and will finally live up to the potential that’s been thrust upon him.

As has sometimes been mentioned here, the root word of fan is fanatic.  I love the city of Houston (kiss my humid ass, Alkie), and I love the Astros.  I’ll be a fan through thick and thin.  But during this thin time, I just don’t know if I can muster enough gusto to be a true fanatic.

Probables

Tuesday, May 11th, 7:15 CST

Macrobrew Stadium

Brett Myers (1-2, 3.60) v. Brad Penny (3-2, 1.99)

Eliza Dushku is an actress whose most recent show, Dollhouse, occasionally featured her getting punched (though not in the way that Limey is currently punching himself).   Up until recently, Dushku dated Brad Penny, because she has either bad vision or bad taste.  So I guess what I’m getting at is that both starting pitchers know a thing or two about women who’ve been hit.

Allegedy.

Ahem.

Penny’s been impressive this year, having hooked himself up to the John Smoltz Memorial Rejuvenation Machine that’s kept in the basement of Busch Stadium.  Or it could just be that being in Missouri, without all the distractions and moderately attractive people in California, he’s had more time to focus on his craft.  One of those two, to be sure.  Against the Astros of years past, Penny has been formidable, with a .217 BA against him; however, Bourn, Blum and Lee all hit him well.

As much as I’m still queasy about Myers as a person, Myers as a pitcher has been a hoss, staying on the mound deep into games and relieving the burden on the ‘pen.  The Co-ards do hit him rather well, with Skippy Schumacher, Ryan Ludwick and Matt “Oww My Balls” Holliday as the most common offenders.

Wednesday, May 12th, 7:15 CT

Yellow Piss Field

Wandy Rodriguez (1-4, 4.59) v. Kyle Lohse (0-2, 5.45)

Paging Brad Arnsberg!  Brad Arnsberg, please pick up the white courtesy phone!  In our heart of hearts, we all kinda hoped that 2009 wasn’t a fluke for Wandy.  I don’t think it’s fair to say that it is at this point, but it’s starting to look like an outlier at least.   Roller Coaster Wandy is back, y’all.  Overall, he’s had success against St. Louie, with only Ryan Ludwick and Skip Schumacher batting over .300 against him; even mighty Prince Albert hits just .212 against him.

Kyle Lohse is so boring, his name is Kyle Lohse.  His last name sounds like it was going to be something long and Germanic or Scandinavian, but it just gave up five letters in.   He’s still looking for his first win, and if Hunter and Caballo hit him the way they have in the past, he’s probably going to have to keep looking.

Thursday, May 13th, 12:45 CST

Dear God It Just Tastes Like Mineral Water Ballpark

Bud Norris (1-3, 7.52) v. Chris Carpenter (4-0, 2.80)

Bud’s struggling, and working with Arnsberg to fix a hitch in his mechanics.  He’s faced the Cards twice, and has been hit well by David Freese, Zeppo Molina, and the ever-annoying Ryan Ludwick.  Ludwick: I hope you get lost in East Saint Louis while searching for hookers, and someone goes all Wire on you.

Carpenter is disgustingly good and apparently a decent human being.  Fuck that noise.  Let’s remind him what it’s like to lose.

Injuries

Astros

Alberto Arias – out for season, strained potential

Tim Byrdak – 15-day DL, horrible Lasik reversion injury

Cards

Matt Holliday – Sore Groin.  Really.  I totally didn’t even know about this before the “Oww, My Balls” joke earlier.  Sometimes things just come together.

Felipe Lopez – 15-day DL, Sore elbow from meeting Eliza Dushku, aka BIMBS (Be In My Bunk Syndrome)

Giveaways

Wednesday: Ice Mountain Autograph Night!  Get player autographs, sponsored by a bottled water company.  So basically all the Cards corporate sponsors make tasteless, low-alcohol content beverages.

What To Watch For

– Bud’s mechanics.  Are you a four starter in a third starter’s body, or a fifth starter/long reliever in a fourth starter’s?

– Bourn’s possible suspension if his appeal doesn’t go through.  Myers says that sometimes umps just need a little bump to keep them in line.

– Hell if I know: I’m going to be watching with my hands half-covering my face, since this one is probably going to be ugly.  Fucking Cardinals.

The 2010 Astros rollercoaster season continues as the San Diego Padres come into town.  The Padres are off to the fourth-fastest start in the team’s 42-year history–a 17-11 record after 28 games.  Going Up!!  The Astros meanwhile have a 9-19 record after losing nine of their last 10.  Going Down!! Getting sick to your stomach?  Has the shitty baseball you’ve been watching make you wanna puke?  No worries, there is plenty of pink stuff this weekend to cure the nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach and diarrhea that ails ya.

Probable Pitching Matchups

Friday, May 7, 7:05 p.m. Mat Latos, RHP (1-3, 5.47) vs Bud Norris, RHP (1-3, 7.25)  Now I would loved to be able to guarantee you a win here folks, but that ain’t gonna happen.  Instead I will guaranfuckintee you a loss.  Mat (where’s that other t) Latos has not faced one single batter in the current Astros lineup which is as good as cash money in Vegas. Get ready for another dearth of Astros hitting in this one.  Norris has no freakin chance.  The only Padre that has faced Norris is Garland and he is on the bench waiting for tomorrow’s game.

Saturday May 8, 6:05 p.m.  Jon Garland, RHP (3-2, 2.06) vs Felipe Paulino, RHP (0-4, 5.53)  Bourn has the most PAs of any Astros vs. Garland and a hefty .500 average against him.  Lee on the other hand is 1 for 11, that’s  an .o91 BA, OBP and SLG.  Piss poor.  Garland has given up only 3 hits each in his last two starts and has had great success with getting easy ground ball outs, which has been a particular problem for this Astros lineup.  Paulino has not hit his stride yet this season, and walks have been a particular thorn in his side.  He has only faced two Holy Fathers in his career, Garland (0-1) and Hairston (2-6, HR).

Sunday, May 9, 1:05 p.m.  Kevin Correia, RHP (4-2, 3.97) vs Roy Oswalt, RHP (2-4, 2.48) Kevin Correia has had relative success against the Astros, holding the team to a combined .254 BA.  Matsui had better sit this one out as his suckitude reaches magnificent proportions against Correia–0 for 11 with 4 Ks.  That’s black hole status right there.  Correia faces Oswalt who couldn’t buy a 5 dollar score with a hundred dollar bill.  Although he worked hard at keeping his comments from expressing too much anger after his last loss, you know Roy was pissed that he hasn’t gotten decent run support from his batters this season. Of course, it is rather ironic that the Astros are playing the Fathers on Mother’s Day…..

Getting a visit from Marcus Welby, MD:  

Padres

• RHP Sean Gallagher sprained a toe on his left foot and whined his way to the 15-day DL May 4. 

• SS Everth Cabrera strained his right hamstring and was placed on the 15-day DL retroactive to April 27.

• RHP Chris Young  is experiencing right shoulder tightness and went on the 15-day DL retroactive to April 7. 

 • 2B Matt Antonelli, who had left hand surgery in April 2010 was recalled from the minors and placed on the 60-day DLApril 30.

Astros

• LHP Tim Byrdak strained his right hammy and went on the 15-day disabled list May 4. 

• 3B Chris Johnson has a strained rib cage went on the 15-day DL retroactive to April 18.  

• RHP Alberto Arias impingement of the right rotator cuff  went on the 15-day disabled list retroactive to March 26, and he was transferred to the 60-day DL on May 4. He had season-ending surgery April 22.

Its Pepto in the Park Weekend!

With Mother’s Day being Sunday and all, (hint–it is probably too late to order Proflowers or a Pajamagram, you better run to the mall Lowe’s or Academy and get mom something she really doesn’t want or need, like a new lawn tractor or a new shotgun) the Astros are celebrating by bombarding you with anything and everything pink.  Now I may be in the minority here, but I prefer to show my support of my team by wearing the team colors, and the last time I looked, there wasn’t a pink jersey or pants or socks to be found on the field.  However, if that is what it takes to get your woman interested in going to the ballpark, I guess the ends justify the means.  So here goes it for Pepto in the park:

Friday–Pink Cap, CocaCola Value night, Friday night Fireworks

Saturday–Pink Tote Bag, Young Professionals night

Sunday–Pink T-shirt, Price Matters Days, Family Sundays

The numbers don’t lie….. 

3-Shutouts by Padres pitchers in a four-game series against Milwaukee last week.

4-Number of runs the Astros need for a win.  Here’s the scoop:Houston is now 8-3 when scoring four or more runs and 1-16 when scoring three or fewer.

5-Maximum innings pitched for Bud Norris in his first five starts this season. Norris has averaged just better than 4 1/3 innings per start and has an ERA of 7.25.

9-The number of Astros home runs–that is less than 4 different major leaguers (Konerko-12, Ethier, Johnson and Wigginton -10)  Insert obvious quote here:   “You’d like to have more than we have right now, that’s for sure.”—Manager Brad Mills

31-Thou shalt not steal does not apply to the friars this season.  They have 31 stolen bases, ranking the Padres second in the Majors behind the Chicago White Sox.  Q and Cash better warm those arms up, these priests are breaking this commandment first and asking for forgiveness later.

Check out the GameZone.  And don’t wear pink.

The shitty, cellar dwellers of the West Division Arizona Diamondbacks roll into Houston to take on the really shitty Houston Astros, cellar dwellars extraordinaire who have splatted out six in a row in grand style, without even Senator Carl Levin to yell at them.  Atlanta was the latest team to have their way with your home town team, outscoring them 21-4 in the sweep which featured wayward pitching, pedestrian defense, and lots of swishing around at the plate.  As bad as a bunch of Kansas City faggots?  Not quite.  At least those boys know how to turn on a ball.  Anyway, it’s a four game shit sandwich and we’ve all got to take a bite.

Pitching Matchups:

Monday, May 3rd at 7:05pm

Cesar Valdez, RHP (0-0, 0.00) v. Felipe Paulino, RHP (0-3, 5.40)

The D-Backs are calling up Valdez to start in place of Kris Benson who got hit with a purse or something.  Valdez was Arizona’s minor league pitcher of the year in ’08 but sort of sucked last season though he has been pretty good thus far in April.  Since this is his debut and it’s against Houston, look for a lot of weeping and hugging and hand wringing from the Astros hitters.  He’ll be opposing Paulino who has great shit and feels pert as a ruttin’ buck and all but tends not to locate at some really unfortunate junctures in games allowing the opposition to run around the bases a lot.  “Patience” seems to be the word of the day when it comes to Paulino, but it would be nice if he could sorta kinda start figuring this shit out a little.  Wouldn’t hurt, Felipe.

Tuesday, May 4th, 7:05pm

Ian “Nigel” Kennedy, RHP (1-1, 4.45) v. Roy Oswalt, (2-3, 2.73)

MLB.com says that Kennedy has pitched a lot better than his record indicates.  Well, that should make him as happy as a puppy with two dicks now that he’ll be facing the nancy boys in Houston.  But, he’ll have to hold on just a damn minute because there’s no doubt that Roy has a big case of the Red ass after losing to Cincy last week and he’ll be out to set things right.  Trouble is, he didn’t pitch that bad in the loss, but had no support behind him.  No guarantee he’ll be getting it on Tuesday, either.

Wednesday, May 5th, 7:05pm

Rodrigo “Neville” Lopez, RHP (1-1,4.50) v. Brett Myers (1-2, 3.82)

Lopez throws a lot of junk and is wily and skulks around and will sneak a knife on the field and that kind of shit.  He was a non-roster invitee that won a spot in the rotation, so that says something for him.  Or, that Arizona is shit out of luck, one or the other.  He’ll be going against Myers who has been pretty steady and hasn’t lost his shit even once this season, though I’m predicting something gets thrown or kicked by the All-Star break.

Thursday, May 6th, 7:05pm

Dan “Percival” Haren, RHP (3-1, 4.50) v. Wandy Rodriguez (1-3, 3.64)

Haren has reportedly had control issues this year, both on the mound and with his bowel movements, so he’s working on getting his shit together.  All in all, he’s still the dominant pitcher of last season and a damn good hitter, too.  Wandy has had back spasms of late blamed on mechanics and over reliance on hot coffee enemas.  He’s trending a little better in his last several starts, so hope springs eternal if you’re an Astro.

Injury Report

Arizona:

Kris Benson: right shoulder strain (a Gucci purse will do that, Kris).

Conor Jackson: strained hamstring.  Serves you right, you cocky little shit.

Miguel Montero: torn meniscus despite an outstanding name.

Leo Rosales: stress fracture in foot.  Ignorant bastard.

Brandon Webb: shoulder stiffness complicated by piles and the Yellow Jack.

Houston:

Alberto Arias: done with a torn rotator cuff.  Go make yourself a fucking sandwich or something, Alberto.

Chris Johnson: strained intercostal.  What a load of horseshit–get your ass up and run, Johnson.

Wandy Rodriquez: back spasms my ass.  Pitch or be deported.

Giveways:

Tuesday is “Two for Tuesday” or some other lame ass bullshit.  Otherwise, Pam ain’t giving away shit due to being away at another conference for busy executives or something.

Astros team president, Pam Gardner (front row, far left) at a recent organizational sales retreat.

Other items:

Mills is dicking around with the lineup, moving Lee to third and other stuff.  Couldn’t hurt.  Maybe an animal sacrifice or a return to a lard enriched diet at the post game spread would be worth a try.

Dave Clark is teaching the outfielders how to jump up and catch balls going over the fence or going off the fence and such.  Next week’s topics: how to hit the cutoff man and correct etiquette for requesting a happy ending in Milwaukee.

Manzella has been booting balls a lot and Mills decided to sit him.  “Hey, Tommy: if you want to kick balls around, Round Rock is a damn good spot for doing it.”  Not really.  Everett had a bit of a tough time the first time that he got called up, so it’s not unexpected for Manzella to struggle.  Still, it would be a good thing if Tommy could kind of get his shit together.

I suggest both Red Stripe and Modelo Especial for outdoor patio drinking sessions this time of year.  They go good with practically anything, excepting Skyline Chili.  For that, I recommend strychnine.

Richard Boone was a highly underrated actor.  Watch him in opposite Paul Newman in “Hombre” and you’ll see a humdinger of a performance.

I took the missus to see Chelsea Handler a few weeks ago and I’m pretty sure that I was the oldest person there, at least the oldest straight male, represented in shockingly low numbers.  Lots of good looking twenty and thirty something females all dressed up and giggly from a few too many Cosmos.  If you were a young heterosexual male and stationed yourself outside the exit as the show ended, it would have been similar to bears catching salmon swimming upstream.  

There’s a helluva baseball team in Austin right now–the Longhorns have been beating the shit out of everyone–they’re now over 20 wins in a row.  Look for crowd shots at Omaha featuring JimR. and MRaup shirtless, holding John 3:16 signs.  Or, maybe just holding on to something cold and frosty in a cup that tastes like summer and baseball and good times.

Remember that time when the Astros were terrible and everyone in the media was dogging them? Then remember how they climbed out of the cellar and ripped off eight wins in ten games and everyone pretended like they weren’t surprised? And then remember them getting absolutely crotch-kicked by the shit-ass Reds? That was awesome.

On the plus side, the Braves suck just as bad as the Astros do. They’re on a 1-9 skid at the moment, and hoping that some home-cooking against a team that’s just as awful as they are will turn this shitp around.

Turner Field

Friday, April 30, 6:35pm FSH-HD

Saturday May 1,  2:10pm BIG FOX

Sunday, May 2, 12:35 FSH-HD

Projected Matchups From Astros.com

Friday

Brett Myers (1-1, 3.81) v. Tommy Hanson (1-1, 2.14)

So far, Myers has been exactly what this rotation needs. A guy that will battle and eat some innings, and keep the club in the game if they can score a few runs. His last start, by the numbers, looked pretty awful. Brett gave up 11 hits over six innings, but managed to keep the damage to a minimum on the way to a win, only allowing two runs.

The Bravos sport a robust .339 batting average against Mr. Myers, which doesn’t bode well for the Good Guys. Chipper (12-35, 3 homers), McCann (12-33, 2 homers), McLouth (3-8, 2 homers), Matt Diaz (3-4),  and (who the fuck is) Martin Prado (3-3) have done most of the damage.

Tommy Hanson is one of 3 brothers that play on the Charlestown Chiefs… What? Oh, right. He’s some guy I’ve never heard of on the Braves. Big difference.

The Stros have faced Hanson once, and sport a shiny .240 average against him. Feliz (2-3), and Kabong Berkman and Matsui (1-3) are all the damage that’s been done to him. Feliz has the Good Guys lone RBI. Oof.

Saturday

TBA v. Tim Hudson (1-1, 3.28)

I like the look of this matchup! The Astros are hoping that Wandy, with an extra day of rest, can fill this spot. Back spasms are making him miss his scheduled start Friday. Wandy’s stats against the Braves aren’t exactly stellar anyway, so no rush to get back, big guy!

The Bravos bat .317 as a team against Eny. Chipper (4-12, 2 homers), Diaz (5-12), Yunel Escobar (4-9), all do pretty well against him. It isn’t a matter of one guy just crushing Wandy, but everyone seems to have a few knocks against him. This could be a long day for Astros fans and a short day for Lil’ Lefty.

Timmy Hudson is a cocksucker. I don’t have any particular reason to say that, I just don’t fucking like the guy.

The good news for the Good Guys is that they knock Timmy around a little bit. The team sports a .330 average against him, with Kabong (11-27, 10 RBI) leading the charge. Matisu-san (5-16), Kep (3-7), and Blummer (4-12) all knock him around pretty good too.

Sunday

Bud Norris (1-2, 5.60) v. Derek Lowe (3-2, 5.79)

Norris has never faced the Bravos. Bud has really scuffled early on. His first three starts lasted exactly 5 innings, and his fourth start only lasted 2.2. Bud clearly isn’t trusting his stuff enough.

Derek Lowe is still pitching in the big leagues? Wow. News to me.

The Astros absolutely whallop Rob Lowe’s less successful brother. Kabong (14-35, 2 homers), Twinkie (8-26, 2 homers), Kaz (8-18), Bourn (5-10, with a triple), and PENCE!!! (3-7) all rake against him.

Notable Giveaways and Promotions

Friday: Brings Friday Night Fireworks to Turner Field. Fucking Copycats.

Saturday: Entertain yourselves, damnit!

Sunday: Kids run the bases. Meet Terry Parker. Bark in the Park. Meet Marty P… You know what? Click on the link and read about it yourselves. I don’t know who the hell Terry Parker or Marty Perez are, and frankly, I’m in too big a rush to write out all this bullshit.

Ridiculous Fantasy Injury Report Disguised as MLB.com Injury Report
Astros

Alberto Arias has been shut down for the year after surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff. Ow.

Chris Johnson has a straight Intercostal Muscle. I don’t know what that is, but he’s supposed to be back within the week.

Wandy Rodriguez has back spasms. Not news, we already talked about this.

Braves

Yunel Escobar is day to day after straining his left adductor. Isn’t that some kind of doppelbock?

Jair Jurrjens is day to day with a strained hammy and an overdose of the letter J.

Scott Proctor tore a tendon in his left elbow. Ouch. It’s unsure when he’ll be back.

Jo-jo Reyes is out with a really girly name. And some kind of knee problem.

Jordan Schafer is out with some kind of wrist problem that required surgery. Thanks MLB.com for such in-depth descriptions on these injuries. You’re making me look soooo smart.

Our Things to Look For

• Yokels, a lots of ’em.
• Hordes of adoring Hooters waitresses and underage girls squealing every time Chipper Jones comes up to bat.
• Some cocksucker in the Gamezone reminding us all of Walt Fucking Weiss. (Beat you to it, cocksucker)
• The stink of bad baseball. So help me BBGs, the next time Hunter Pence clanks an easy fly ball or Carlos Lee loafs a pop up into a double, I’m going to snap and kill someone.

Prediction: The Goddamn Braves take two out of three. You’re better served watching playoff hockey.

The Astros (8-10) have won their last three series and abandoned the cellar to its rightful owners, the Pirates. And even climbed over the Reds to boot. Even after that shitty 0-8 start, a winning record for April is still possible.

Now the Reds (8-11) come slinking into town after their own 3-3 homestand. Dusty Baker had a come-to-Jesus meeting with his team over the weekend to address several cases of slapdickery. Jesus Himself couldn’t actually attend the meeting, since he’s recuperating from Tommy John surgery with the rest of Dusty’s projects.

Since the Dickities’ last roadtrip went 2-5 and ended in a five-game losing streak, Dusty is insisting on a good trip this week. After visiting Houston the Reds will be going to St. Louis, so good luck with that Dusty. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to remember that last year the Reds were 12-4 against the Astros and 5-2 at Minute Maid.

For the good guys, Lance Berkman has 48 homers against the Reds, which is one behind the Astros’ team record held by Jeff Bagwell.

Minute Maid Park

Tuesday, April 27, 7:05 p.m. CDT – FSH-HD
Wednesday, April 28, 7:05 p.m. CDT – FSH-HD
Thursday, April 29, 7:05 p.m. CDT – FSH-HD

Notable giveaways

Thursday – A reusable totebag from Methodist Transplant Center. You don’t want to know what they used it for the first time.

Projected Matchups from Astros.com

Tuesday
Aaron Harang (0-3, 8.31) v. Bud Norris (1-1, 4.26)

Harang is having a harrable season so far. In just under 22 innings, he’s given up 29 hits (including six homers) and 22 runs. Like Carlos Zambrano, Harang may get bumped down to the bullpen, though in his case it would make sense. But for now he’s the official starter Tuesday.

Berkman and Blum have worn out Harang in the past. Lance only has 13 hits in 51 at-bats against him (.255), but seven of those hits ha-rang the bell. Blum is 10-for-17 against Harang, with two doubles and a triple. Lee, Feliz, Bourn, and Quintero have all homered off Harang as well.

Norris hasn’t faced the Reds before. The Astros have won his last two starts, but he hasn’t lasted more than five innings yet.

Wednesday
Mike Leake (1-0, 3.92) v. Felipe Paulino (0-2, 5.94)

The Dickities’ took their Leake in the first-round of last year’s draft. He’s already made three starts this year and finally got a win against the Dodgers. It was the first victory by a Reds starter in 16 games, so you can tell Dusty’s Baker’s plan is working to perfection. Leake’s given up two homers and nine earned runs in just under 22 innings.

Paulino has already faced the Reds five times but only has a 1-3 record against them. Jay Bruce has two homers off him, and Votto and Nix each have one.

Thursday
Bronson Arroyo (0-2, 7.43) v. Roy Oswalt (2-2, 2.42)

Arroyo has 17 appearances and an 8-6 record against the Astros, which sounds pretty good until you realize that Roy Oswalt is 23-1 against the Reds. However, last year Roy got four no-decisions in four starts against the Reds.

Berkman (14-for-47, five homers) and Carlos Lee (13-for-38, four doubles, two homers) have blasted Arroyo in the past. Hunter Pence also has four doubles and a triple off him. However, Blum is only 4-for-24 against Arroyo, and Quintero is 1-for-15.

Current Reds are a combined 50-for-177 (.282) against Roy. Brandon Phillips is 10-for-31 with five doubles, and Laynce Nix is 5-for-12 with two homers.

Injury Report

Cincinnati – Edinson Volquez is out until at least late July with his suspension and injury. A suspinjury, if you will.

Houston – Alberto Arias is out for the season, and Chris Johnson is out until mid-May. Matsui might be back for this series.

Loose Dribblers

* It’s just not Carlos Lee’s month. In addition to the obvious batting woes, he also got ticketed by Houston police over the weekend – Impeding the Flow of Traffic, and Failure To Signal.

* Did you see that Bobby Bonilla will go back on the Stem payroll next year? The fucking Mets still owed him nearly $6 million when they waived him in 2000, so his agent got the dumbasses to agree to pay Bonilla $1.19 million every July from 2011 to 2035. The $1.19 million payment is more than a dozen Mets are making this season.

* Do you know why you can’t take Hunter Pence to White Castle? He’ll never stop eating sliders.

* I’m keeping the TV sound turned up during Saturday home games now, just to listen to Jeff Bagwell. His mumbly voice is kind of hard to hear, but the comments are excellent.

* On the other hand, I’ve added a new insta-mute commercial to the list – the one with those fucking hipster douchebags singing about “take this town” or whatever the fuck. It usually takes Dane Cook or that douchebag Frank guy to get onto the Instant Mute Button list, but the opening notes of that Fox commercial do it. In fact I can hear those goddamn notes right now in my brain, so fuck you Fox.

Discuss today’s game in the Gamezone.