The Astros fly into Birdland with their tails between their legs and whimpering like a sick puppy.  Coming off a series where they were outscored by 20 runs in 4 games, the outlook doesn’t get much better.  The Redbirds have stocked their arsenal with the likes of Matt Halliday, Mark DeRosa and Julio Lugo, hoping to put the rest of the NL Central firmly in their rear view mirror.  Well, those fuckers better watch out because we put Ortiz to rest and called up Bud Norris.  That’ll teach’em.

 Friday, July 31   7:15 p.m.

Moehler vs Boggs

Moehler’s last start was probably his crappiest of the year.  You would expect him to bounce back.  He does, after all, fare not so bad against the Cardinals.  However, it is the luck of the draw that he faces an unknown.  Yeah, that pimple faced shithead that the Astros can’t hit the broad side of the barn against.  This time that newbie’s name is Mitchell Boggs.  But wait, he is not entirely unknown.  Five, count them FIVE current Astros have faced him in 6 total ABs with a combined batting average of .500.  Woohoo!!! We may just win this game.  Not.

Saturday, August 1st   6:15 p.m.

Rodriguez vs Carpenter

This game features a matchup of two pitchers that could both be considered for NL pitcher of the month for July.  Wandy was 4-0 with a 0.75 ERA in five July starts  while Carpenter countered with a he went 4-0 record and  a 1.62 ERA in his five starts.  Wandy has been especially stellar against the Hole of Poo, who is 3 for 23  and slugs only .130 when facing the lefty.   Plan on seeing some unlikely heroes for the Astros in this game.  Bourn, Coste, Pudge and Matsui all bat above .500 against the Woodworker.  Great pitching matchup be damned.  Expect a  18-17 slugfest outta this one folks.

Sunday August 2   1:15 p.m.

Norris vs Wainwright

Norris is expected to make his first major league start in the place of the Wizard who has a lower back strain, but has not yet been placed on the DL.  Time for voodoo dolls of red feathered friends and all the fried chicken you can shove dow n your pie-hole.  We need to reverse the trend that we see with the hometown nine and hope that the Cardinals shit in their pants when they see our rookie.  Why should it always work against us?  Time for that trend to end.  It is also time for Hunter to get his shit together, and Wainwright is one of his favorite prey.  Pence leads all Astros who have faced Wainwright more than 2 times with a .350 batting average.  Count on him to flail wildly, shoot and miss, and bring down the team’s combined .237 BA against Adam.

Who needs a band aid?

The Astros DL list sure has expanded lately.  Berkman, Erstad, Hawkins,  and Boone are definitely out for the series, and Oswalt is a most likely no- show, too. 

The Cardinals will probably sit Brendan Ryan out with a bad ankle for this series.  Greene, Garcia and Glaus are all rehabbing and will not be seen this go-round.

Want stuff?

Get your Whitey Herzog autograph Friday. Former Cardinals manager Whitey Herzog will be signing from 5:30 to 6:30 in Ford Plaza. First 150 people in line will be guaranteed one autograph. No bats allowed. Good.  The Cardinals need to play Friday’s game without bats.  Maybe we can win one.

Saturday you can get your set of 2009 Upper Deck Cardinals cards.  You don’t get the entire team, though.  Only 5 cards per kid. Great for starting forest fires.

Ever wonder what would happen if a Cub mated with a Cardinal?  Just show up early to Sunday’s game to find out.

GROSS. I'm gonna go puke now.

Yeah, been a bad week.  So I’m a little pessimistic about this series.  Fuck the Cards.

Get your Cardinals hatred out in the GameZone.

I haven’t been this torn about a subject since realizing the Scarlett isn’t a good actress as much as she is a good whisperer.  I love the city of Chicago almost as much as I hate the Cubs.  The fucking Cubs.  If they resided in a city that I despised (like Jacksonville), my hate would multiply and increase in power like motherfucking Voltron.  As is, I’ve spent plenty of time in Chicago (even visiting Wrigley once), and I find the people to be friendly, the weather pleasantly brisk, the restaurants fantastic, and it tops the list of cities to which I’d move if Harris County is finally swept out to sea by a God angry at us for tolerating Joel Osteen’s pseudo-Christian pap.  Still, I haven’t come to praise Chicago, but to bury the Cubs.

As a young fan, most of my hate was reserved for the Braves, with their blandly dominant pitching staff and Halle Berry-dumping outfield and Bobby (Sucking) Cox.  However, like a good wine or Jennifer Connely, my hate has gotten better with age, and its character has changed as well.  With the Braves now operating like the rich man’s Expos, there’s no particular reason other than history to hate them, but the Cubs.  Oh the Cubs.  Oh fuck the Cubs.  Even my sweet, beautiful wife once muttered “fuck the Cubs” when we saw a guy in a Soriano jersey on the street.  If it weren’t a jackass kind of thing to do, I’d teach my toddler nephew those three words posthaste.

Fuck the Cubs for Alfonso Soriano, the slugger who swings more than a 70’s suburban party in San Fernando Valley and plays defense like a six year old FFPS goalie.  I’d take Michael Bourn over 3 of you fuckers.

Fuck the Cubs for Carlos Zambrano, the fat asshole with the big mouth, with his stolen fucking no-hitter and the teammates who hate him. Eat a damned salad and enjoy being Jose Rijo without the World Series ring.

Fuck the Cubs for Lou Pinella, the smartest idiot manager in the league.  It says a lot about how smart Lou is that he keeps getting jobs despite being the sort of jackass who you wouldn’t want to work with in a cubicle, much less a clubhouse.  Get anger management and host an ESPN show with Bobby Knight.

Fuck the Cubs for Mark Cuban for wanting to buy this team.  Serves your dumb self-promoting ass right not getting them.

Fuck the Cubs for their fans who travel so well.  If there were oil & gas jobs in Chicago, we wouldn’t have this problem.  Now we go to the belly of the Beast, where fat fuckers spilling beer on women and cursing in front of children in ways that would make Richard Pryor blush are just part of the “charm”.  Put on a shirt, bitchtits.

Fuck the Cubs for Steve Bartman, the goat, and the Curse.  Maybe the reason you haven’t won a World Series lately is that your only Gold Glove winner in recent years is the first baseman who is only healthy for 48 hours a season, and a pitcher who excretes worthless awards through his pores.  Become freaking White Sox fans and spend time in part of the city where black people live, you racists.

Fuck the Cubs for Sammy Sosa, Michael Barrett, Alex Gonzalez, and all the other dearly departed morons.  So glad you all found greener pastures.

Fuck the Cubs for you.  You, the lazy, nice Astros fans who gave you season tickets to the Cubfans who stink up our stadium with the smell of desperation and Goose Island.

Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking before five.

Probable Pitchers from MLB.com

Monday, July 27th

7:05 PM CST, Wrigley Field

Wandy Rodriguez (10-6, 2.72) v. Fat Fuck (7-4, 3.48)

Yeah, which of these starters’ names will you see on the ESPN ticker?  Fat fucking fuck. Wandy continues to be the stealth ace, wracking up quality starts by the fistful.  Derrek Lee (the extra “r” is for injured Reserve) and Ryan Theriot hit him pretty well, but Soriano is his double bitch (1-14).  The Astros beat the Cubs last time Wandy pitched, but he didn’t get a decision.  Win #11 would be sweet on the North Side.

The world’s worst Hugo Chavez impersonator found a way to beat us on Opening Day, and with the Cubs riding the top of the standing in preparation for their end-of-season meltdown, it’d be nice to get that ball rolling today.  As we know from past experience, El Gordo is rather good against us, with Pudge and Caballo as the only ones who’ve solved him regularly. Score early, score often, gents.

Tuesday, July 28th

7:05 PM CST, Ivy Hell

Roy Oswalt (6-4, 3.66) v. Ryan Dempster (5-5, 4.09)

Two pitchers who are better than their numbers would indicate.  However, Roy has shown signs that he’s still ace good, while Dempster can still lay claim to the title of “over-achiever”.  Among the FTC, I have no clue who hits him well because Baseball-Reference just stopped working.  Sorry.  So if Fukudome gets an RBI off him, you’ll have no idea if this was a rare occurrence. Whatever will we do?

Dempster sounds like Dumpster, which I hope to god none of his classmates in elementary school overlooked. He’s pitching with a broken toe, so I don’t feel like making fun of him too much.  He’s like their Brocail, only without the bottomless well of scowls.

Wednesday, July 29th

1:20 PM CST, Bleacher Sunburn City

Mike Hampton (6-7, 4.74) v. Randy Wells (6-4, 3.10)

The one time I went to Wrigley was in 1999, and I saw Hampton pitch.  Richard Hidalgo had two outfield assists, Hammy was dealing, and I got to be the recipient of Cub Hate after we won.  Good times.  For old time’s sake, I’d like to see some decent corner outfield defense this series.

Wells is a rookie, but has faced the ‘stros once this year, and (naturally) we didn’t score a run.  Now that we’ve got that little ritual out of our system, it’s time to club the shit out of the clean cut bastard.

Injuries

Astros

Puma: strained eating metaphors (overuse)

Boone: better, stronger, faster, ready to rehab

Brocail: scaring the shit out of Double-A pukes

Hawk: MRI? MRIght.

Cubs

Ryan Dempster: broke toe.  Still scheduled to make a start.  That’s pretty hardcore.

Chad Fox: has a boo-boo on his elbow and a SpongeBob band-aid.

Derrek Lee:  More competing diseases and injuries than Montgomery Burns

Ted Lilly: pursuing a life-affirming career as an Easter florist

Aaron Miles: strained elbow trying to shave his goatee into an “M”

David Patton: shot in the groin with pearl-handled revolver

Geovany Soto: wishes he was Chris Coste

Giveaways:

Jack Shit. Luggage tags and a kids’ batting helmet.  Ever used a giveaway helmet as a real helmet?  Doesn’t work, does it?  Here’s hoping Lil Cub Fans get some brain damage…wait, that may explain CubFandom in general: generations of shitty plastic helmets.

What to Watch For:

HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE

Discuss in the Game Zone!

Minute Maid Park

Following a 3 game pecker-slapping of the Co-Ards, the Good Guys play host to the Goddamn Fucking Mets.

Unsurprising Newsflash of the Day: I hate the fucking Mets.

The GFM (Goddamn Fucking Mets) are 2-5 since the All Star Break, and have basically stunk up the joint with their ridiculous payroll/lineup so far. They’re 10 1/2 games back of the Phightin’ Phillies and frankly, I couldn’t be more excited about it.

Friday July 24, 7:05 p.m. FSN-HD
Saturday July 25, 6:05 p.m. FSN-HD
Sunday July 26, 1:05 p.m. FSN-HD

Projected Matchups from Astros.com

Friday

Johan Santana (11-7, 2.92) v. Mike Hampton (5-7, 4.63)

Despite GFM suckitude, Santana has continued to be a dominant number one pitcher. He’s got a 15 inning scoreless streak going, and is one of the premier starters in the game. Also, he’s the most dominant pitcher after the All Star break in the history of baseball (with 75 or more starts), sporting a ridiculous 59-17 record.

And on to the good news, Santana has a career .98 ERA against the Astros, and Houston hitters sport a horrific .213 average against him in 239 plate appearances. Miggy (11-34, 2 HR) and Kabong (10-32, 3 HR) have done pretty well against Johan, but everyone else is pretty awful. Don’t expect to see Coste (0-8, but he did draw a walk once)starting against Santana. Erstad (10-41) would probably be a better choice.

Hampy has scuffled pretty badly against any team not named the Pirates, so this one could get ugly in a big ass hurry. Mike ‘s ERA after his last two starts (both notably not against the Pirates) is over 9, and things aren’t exactly looking up after checking his numbers against the GFM.

The Mets bat a robust .375 against Hampton as a team, with a 1.078 OPS. That isn’t a typo. David Wright (3-13, 1 HR) and Gary Sheffield (7-27) scuffle against him, but the rest of the lineup pretty much beat Hampy like the rest of the TZ beat up towlie once upon a time.

Saturday

Jon Niese (0.0, 5.91) v. Russ Ortiz (3-4, 4.33)

Thsi game was supposed to belong to former Astro Fernando Nieve, but ‘Nando managed to tweak a leg muscle running the bases and is on the DL. So, Who the fuck is John Niese? I don’t know. Obviously, neither do you. He’s been in the minors for the Mets since mid-May, and apparently has been dominating the shit out of AAA hitters, sporting a .72 ERA in his last 7 starts down in the minors. That isn’t a typo, .72. He hasn’t been named the starter, but Astros.com declares him the “most likely candidate”. And really, writing about TBA is boring, that dude sucks.

The Astros have never faced him, and we all know how well that usually turns out.

Reliable Russ Ortiz, after basically calling Cecil Cooper 10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag, went out and bitch-slapped the Dodgers for 6 innings in his first start after the break, giving up 2 earnies and not getting a win because Arias decided to trip all over his own dick, making approximately 253 errors consecutively in one inning.

Russ has problems with the usual suspects: David Wright (6-11, 1 HR), Gary Sheffield (5-13, 3!!!!! HR), and Carlos Delgado (2-3). The rest of the GFM just do okay against him, which is… ok.

Sunday

Livan Hernandez (6-5, 4.93) v. Brian Moehler (7-5, 4.92)

The grizzled one has scuffled a lot in the last month, losing 4 starts in a row before finally facing the Nationals and notching a win against his former club. Livan’s ERA in July 10.93 even counting his 7 innings of 2 run ball against the Nats.

Now on to the good news. The Good Guys hit Livan at a .341 clip in 167 at bats, including Thunderpants and Erstad (4-7 each), Miggy (6-16), Kaz (10-35), and the recently DLed Twinkie (10-33).

Moehler checked in with a quality start in his last outing, going 6 1/3 inning and giving up 2 runs on his way to a win against the Redbirds. After some seriously bad outings earlier in the year, Brian appears to have righted the ship and is pitching pretty damn well for the slop throwing veteran that he is.

Moehler has not fared very well against the GFM, as indicated by the .333 batting average and 1.006 OPS they sport against him. The only good news is that a signifigant chunk of that damage is done by Carlos Delgado (9-29, 4 HR), who, as you’ll read about in a few minutes, is still on the DL. Other current Stem that crush Brian: Carlos “Holy Moley” Beltran (10-19, 4 doubles), Jose Reyes (5-14), and David Wright (5-13).

Notable Giveaways This Series

I have no idea what the fuck a webkinz is, but this is what it looks like. If you know what it is, just keep it to yourself. I’m happier not knowing. Anyway, they’re giving them away on Friday night.

Saturday they’re giving away a Young Professionals Pack. There is absolutely no info about what the hell that is either, so I’m just assuming it’s some kind of folded up hooker in a backpack. Oh, you also might get one of these. Both of those go to the first 10,000 lucky fans.

Sunday you don’t get shit. Deal with it.

Combined Injury Report

Mets
Holy shit! These guys are banged up about as badly as the Padres were.

Carlos Beltran – Out until late July due to his mole becoming self-aware. Both Carlos and Molos are in therapy right now.
Alex Cora – Out recieving hormone therapy for having a name that sounds way too much like a female.
Carlos Delgado – Broke his hip when he lost his grip on his walker rounding 3rd on a home run.
John Maine – Right Shoulder Fatigue. (Insert masturbation joke here)
Ramon Martinez – Actually a puddle of Pedro Martinez’s hair-grease that came to life.
Fernando Martinez – An early attempt at a hybrid of Fernando Nieve and Pedro Martinez. This experiment failed horribly when Fernando injured himself climbing out of the test-tube he was created in and immediately went to the DL.
Fernando Nieve – Post partum depression. (See above)
J.J. Putz – Anyone with the last name Putz is bound to end up on the DL eventually.
Jose Reyes – Groin fatigue after being fellated for 5 years straight by ESPN’s Baseball Tonight crew.
Gary Sheffield – Available as an emergency pinch hitter. Also, his giant ego is being used as a substitute apple for the Met home run celebration until Mets officials can figure out what the hell is wrong with the regular one.
Billy Wagner – Finally popped off to the wrong person. He 86 year old grandmother laid him out with a right cross after Billy said grandma “has honestly got to step up and know that we’ve just used every other pie filling in the fridge” after having a slice of her homemade apple pie.

Astros

Aaron Boone – <3s the Astros.
Doug Brocail – is rehabbing in AAA then AA.
Chris Sampson – can come off the DL July 25th. Suffered shoulder spasms in his throwing arm.
Lance Berkman – strained his calf while reaching for his gummi-bear stash he keeps in his sock. Tried to play through it, but finally admitted he needed some time off for it to heal. Word on the street is that the hot-dog vendors in the stadium are upping their inventory 100% for Lance’s DL stay.

Our Interesting Things To Look For:

Follow the action in the Game Zone, that is of course unless your daughter is bleeding. And if she is, for Christ’s sake, put a leash on her and take her to the vet!

The Astros took the first two games of the Dodgers series and could have had more, but they went all dick-fingered and bumbled away the next two games.

To add insult to injury, the Astros’ flight out of LAX suffered an embarrassing delay. Mike Hampton was putting his carry-on bag into the overhead bin and accidentally threw it onto a different plane two runways over. By the time things were sorted out, Brad Ausmus had driven two balls deep into the gap and a flight attendant scored.

Now the Astros are back home to finally face the Jakes, who they haven’t seen since the first week of the season. Get used to seeing the Shitbirds though, because the Astros have four series with them the rest of the way.

The Co-Ards – or as they are colloquially known this year, “Albert and his Eight Slapdicks” – have been leading the Central for a while now. But it’s not like they’re running away with this thing, because the FTCubs, Brewers, and Astros are all close behind. Not even the dumbshit Dickities are out of it yet.

So the Astros are just four games back with four series left with the Jakes. Plenty of time to catch those assholes … just as long as the Astros don’t end up getting them in a rundown, because epic dumbfuckery would certainly follow.

Minute Maid Park

Monday, July 20, 7:05 p.m. – FSH-HD
Tuesday, July 21, 7:05 p.m. – FSH-HD
Wednesday, July 22, 7:05 p.m. – FSH-HD

Notable giveaways

Monday’s giveaway is a decent Apollo 11 cap.

Then apparently it’s Welfare Days with the usual Double Play Tuesday deals, and on Wednesday it’s Price Matters Day, when you can get a ticket, hot dog, and soda for $10. And coming soon: Brother Can You Spare a Monday, and Grapes of Thursday.

Projected Matchups from Astros.com

Monday

Kyle Lohse (4-5, 4.26) v. Brian Moehler (6-5, 5.08)

Lohser is 5-4 against the Astros and 1-0 this year. He had a complete-game shutout against the Good Guys way back on April 12. Pretty much everyone on the Astros has seen Lohse at some point, with Carlos Lee leading the pack at 54 AB’s against him. Lee’s gotten 19 hits off him, including four homers, for a .352 average.

Pudge is 11-for-32 (.344) against Lohse, and Pence is 8-for-20. Berkman only bats .200 against Lohse, but he also has two homers.

In his last start, Moehler got his first home win in 10 tries. He’s 4-0 in seven career appearances against the Jakes, but he hasn’t faced them this season. PooHoles is a disturbing 9-for-15 (.600) against him, with two doubles and three homers. Schumaker and Duncan have also hit Moehler well.

Tuesday

Todd Wellemeyer (7-7, 5.56) v. Wandy Rodriguez (9-6, 2.81)

Wellemeyer hasn’t faced the Astros this season. Again, Carlos Lee is the Astros’ best hitter against him at 4-for-9 with a homer. Berkman is 3-for-10 with a homer and Kata is 2-for-5. Everyone else is well below those numbers.

In 10 career appearances against the Co-Ards, Wandy is only 2-7 overall and 0-1 this year. The two Jakes who have hit him hardest (Khalil Greene and Troy Glaus) are both on rehab assignments. PooHoles is 3-for-20 against Wandy, and Ludwick has seven strikeouts in 15 AB’s.

Wednesday

Chris Carpenter (8-3, 2.26) v. Roy Oswalt (6-4, 3.65)

After pitching only five games total over the last two season, Carpenter has come back to make 14 starts this year. The Astros haven’t seen him this season, but he has a 5-3 career record against Houston in 11 starts.

Only the Astros’ veterans have faced him, with Pudge going 9-for-26 (.346) and Berkman at 8-for-29. However, six of Twinkie’s eight hits were homers. Lee, Erstad, and Tejada have faced Carpenter a total of 63 times, but the only extra-base hits they produced were one homer and one double. Also, Blum is 3-for-10 against Carpenter.

Roy has 25 appearances against the goddamn Jakes with a 9-7 record. He has one loss against them this year, which came in the first week of the season. Pujols has 23 hits in a whopping 73 appearances against Roy, with five doubles and five homers. The only other Shitbird with a homer off Roy is Chris Duncan. DeRosa and Ankiel have also hit Oswalt well.

Injury Report

St. Louis – Spicoli is in the minors recovering from anxiety; Troy Glaus is also rehabbing in the minors. Jaime Garcia is out for the season.

Houston – Doug Brocail is starting a rehab assignment in Round Rock, while Chris Sampson is still out. Berkman has the mild calf strain and should be back for this series.

Dropped Balls

* In another unique marketing gimmick, the Astros plan to unveil Second Guess Sundays, where Cecil Cooper will accompany one lucky fan to the concession stand and send back all his food. And then Coop will send the fan to the bathroom whether he really needs to go or not, hold a quick press conference, then hurry to the dugout to take over from Geoff Blum.

* Sounds like the Pirates are still cleaning house at the trade deadline. I wonder what someone would pay for Ann Wilson with a Dirty Sanchez.

Discuss today’s game in the Gamezone.

SEASONS IN HELL Vol. I, No. 5

Astros (44-44) @ Dodgers (56-32)

July 16-19, 2009
•Chavez Ravine, El Lay
•”City In The Smog” (On a clear day, UCLA)

Little fish, big fish
Swimming in the water
Come back here, man
Bring me a Dodger

VENTILATOR BLUES. The other day I was driving back from lunch, and I decided to take a short cut I knew down some side streets to get back to work. Soon I was sailing along, going over some figures in my head, humming a Marilyn Manson song to myself, driving through these little picturesque Old Beaumont neighborhoods, and thinking about how clever I was. . . I was just at peace with myself, really.

Then I came around the last turn before an intersection with a major thoroughfare, and I had to slam on the brakes. Parked along this side street, along the side of a strip shopping center, was a big McLane Trucking semi-tractor/trailer, with the back door part way up and a ramp down to the street. Two guys with hand trucks were unloading something going somewhere, just taking their time. There was traffic coming the other way, so I had to sit, because the street wasn’t wide enough for me and the oncoming traffic to pass next to this big truck.

As I sat there and waited, I was calm at first. I had just got finished singing the last verse of “The Dope Show” to myself, and realized with satisfaction I remembered all the words this time. But as the minutes crept by and the oncoming traffic kept on coming, I realized all the time I’d saved by taking the shortcut was being eroded away. I was being forced to give up an advantage I had secured for myself, goddammit it, through no fault of my own, and as I sat there staring at “McLane” in large bold letters on the ¾-rolled up back door of the this trailer, something in my mind snapped.

It didn’t help that Drayton McLane’s pro baseball team had just subjected us to another desultory series, playing half-assed baseball at home against the Nationals, the worst team in the major leagues; all this with a chance to get over .500 and make an emphatic statement about their second-half chances just before the All Star break, a chance at a psychological boost for the team and its fans heading into the brief mid-season respite.

But, no, I thought, how could that ever happen? Not with an owner who had himself a Nieman-Marcus team and then opted to go cut rate, bringing in a smiling, vapid Wal-Mart manager fond of motivational cheers and cheesy bromides; cheap knock-off Wal-Mart players who somewhat resemble the ones in the tonier stores, but cost a lot less; a cut-rate front office – hell, he even chintzed on the radio announcers, replacing quality with a couple of generic markdowns I still haven’t learned the names of after 4 or 5 seasons of them, nor do I care to. That goddamn McLane, I thought, sitting there in the heat, looking at the back of his goddamn truck – that motherfucker is personally out to cheapen the quality of my life, with everything he does. Well, not this time. I grabbed the gun from under the seat, and reached over to open the door of my truck.

I don’t know what stopped me from doing what I had every intention of doing that day – mainly, standing there in the street with my pistol, methodically blowing out every tire on that tractor and trailer that was sitting there with Drayton McLane’s name all over it, causing me so much annoyance. I’ll teach these motherfuckers. . . but then, I wasn’t really mad at the poor truck driver and his helper. They were proles like me, trying to make a living working for some rich bastard who picks his teeth with money while casually averring that us have-nots just need to learn to think like champions. Motherfucker. Then he foists a Wal-Mart baseball team on us and tries to act like it’s the real thing. It was Drayton McLane I was really shooting at, those 9mm cartridges ripping through the recap tires (of course) were really tearing through him and his cheap-ass, metaphysically corrupt philosophy of how to do things, and his fucked up ideas about just how gullible we all are. “Fuck you, McLane,” I was screaming, as I reached for another clip. People were gathering around now – at a distance – to watch. “This is the last fucking time you. . .”

But I didn’t do it. The mental image I had of me doing it, standing there in the street like fucking Dirty Harry, killing this truck, caused me to start laughing at myself. I was amused too by the idea of the poor driver, huddled down behind a nearby dumpster on his cell phone, calling 911: “Yes, ma’am, he’s wearing tan Dockers, and a casual short-sleeve button-up shirt, eggshell color maybe, kind of looks like a Hickey Freeman. . . yes, ma’am, he’s got a 9mm Beretta, yes ma’am. . . yes, every single tire on my rig. . . he keeps saying something about ‘another effing great idea by Pam & company’, I don’t know who ‘Pam’ is, no ma’am. . . ” Drayton McLane (and his truck) are just lucky I am a mentally healthy individual, more or less, and that I normally end up laughing at myself when I get really torqued about something stupid, instead of starting to shoot. But that is still no excuse for what he is running out there onto the field every night, at MMPUS and elsewhere, trying to make us all believe it is a real, contending baseball team. Um, no, it is not. McLane is the old man greeter at the door, Cooper is the department manager who smiles at your complaint but doesn’t really give a fuck, and this is really a fucking Wal-Mart team, put together in some sweat shop for 20 cents an hour overseas. American Cheaply made, should win the pennant break in a few months time.

**********

Thursday (16th)
9:10 p.m. CDT, FOX-Houston

Friday (17th)
9:10 p.m. CDT, FOX-Houston

Saturday (18th)
9:10 p.m. CDT, FOX-Houston

Sunday (19th)
3:10 p.m. CDT, FOX-Houston

**********

We live on the edge of a body of water
Warmed by the blood of the cold-hearted slaughter of the otter
Wonder how she feels? Mother seal?
It’s no wonder the Pacific Ocean is blue

PACIFIC OCEAN BLUES. I used to despise the Dodgers with as much venom as I do now the FTCubs. Well, almost as much. Of all the old NL West opponents, I think I hated the Dodgers the most, more than Atlanta, more than the Giants, even. Part of the reason was that the Dodgers were consistently good, and often took part in undoing the Astros hopes. The rivalry was probably at its peak in 1980 and 1981, when the Dodgers, fresh off of 2-3 NL West pennants and a couple of memorable World Series appearances, had the division wrested from them by the upstart Astros; in 1980 in a one game playoff in LA; and almost again in the screwed up, bifurcated 1981 season, when – the Dodgers won the “first half” of the season by virtue of being ½ game up on the division when the players were suddenly locked out the second week in June. The Astros won the “second-half” of the season (the Reds actually had the best record in the division overall and were the ones who really got fucked over royally in the deal. . . too bad, so sad, Dickities) only to lose to LA in an extra round of playoffs necessitated by MLB turning the post-season into a tee-ball league type round-robin tournament. Everybody gets to play, everybody gets a ribbon. Bud Selig did not have a hand in that particular mess – he was too busy selling used cars in Wisconsin at the time – but he should have.

Up above the sunny skies in South California
There’s a wounded rocket flying high, heading homeward
It came from a hollow, under a hill
And soon there’ll be nobody left to kill
In California

I also hated most of the Dodgers players, individually and collectively. I had a grudging respect for Reggie Smith and, to an extent, Davey Lopes; but, ooooh, the rest of ‘em. . . I hated Steve Garvey with a passion. And Mickey Hatcher and Rick Monday and Steve Yeager and Mike Scioscia (who I have since come to respect.) I couldn’t stand Don Sutton or whiny-ass Tommy John or the Aggie lefty they had for a few years, I can’t remember his name at the moment. And let’s not forget Dusty Baker, or the drunk-ass “Five O’clock” Bob Welch, with his drunk-ass buddy Rick Sutcliffe. Or Bill Russell. I especially hated Bill Russell, though I cannot remember exactly why. I think he started a fight one time or something. And all the rest who came and went. And then there was Tommy Lasorda. There aren’t words to describe my withering distaste for that fat-ass, self-promoting sack of crap.

On through the 1980s, the Nolan Ryan no-hitter, the 22-inning game, etc., the Astros-Dodgers rivalry festered and flowered. The Dodgers seemed to usually get the best of the Astros, which only made me hate them more.

Then in 1994 the NL reshuffled the divisions and, suddenly, half the old rivalries were gone. Evaporated. Still, it took a long time for my enmity for the Dodgers to subside. But it has by now. It has been over fifteen years since Houston and LA mattered all that much to each other, and the old feeling just isn’t there anymore. Most of the old adversaries are long gone. This recent batch of Dodgers is quick and successful and – dare I say it? – have become a team I grudgingly admire. They play something like the old Dodgers did, built on good pitching; with an offense based as much on speed and opportunism as raw power. They have been quite successful of late, pillaging in the Western provinces for a couple of years now; and they have even earned a bit of affection from me for completely fucking over and unceremoniously dispatching the HurriCubs in last season’s NLDS. I even like Charlie Steiner now, who has emerged as the voice of the Dodgers for many, since Vin Scully has basically eased into semi-retirement. To my surprise, Steiner is quite listenable. He just did not do anything for me back in his New York/ESPN days; but he has made a smooth transition to the West Coast. I hear him a fair amount on XM, and he is mostly pleasant to listen to, is informative, and calls a good game.

Last night, Captain Black went dancing at the Whiskey A-Go-Go
When a well-known groupie knocked him back, busted his ego
Stoned out of his head, he crawled off to bed
The following morning he went to the pad
The missile was standing, pointing to the skies of
California

However, the Dodgers being the Dodgers, they insured my nascent admiration for them would have a wet blanket thrown over it, by going out and acquiring Manny Ramirez mid-season last year from Boston, where he had entirely worn out his welcome. In baseball terms, it was a brilliant move. Manny had a fabulous last half of the season out in the El Lay sun, and was a large factor in the Dodgers success. In a way, Manny is kind of a modern day version of Richie “Dick” Allen, the extremely talented mercenary and sometime malcontent the Dodgers imported for a year in the early 1970s and dropped into their mostly Punch-and-Judy batting order in hopes of getting over the hump. It didn’t quite work for them then, but you’d have to say it has this time around.

Of course, Manny hasn’t had much at all to do with this season’s success, sitting out most of it on suspension for using performance enhancing drugs, some kind of Viagra or something, I never did quite get it straight. But he is back now, and I cannot think of any negative scenario his return means for the Dodgers. They’ve already been through the traveling freak show atmosphere that comes with employing Manny after bringing him in last year, and it did not hurt them any. Fears he would somehow negatively affect the Dodgers team chemistry did not materialize, either. If Manny gets back in and starts hitting anything like he did last season, wow. The Dodgers, currently 7 games up on the rest of their division, might finish 15 games ahead.

But before I get to effusive about LA, I would do well to remember that this team essentially sprung from the loins of the hated old 1970s-1980s Dodgers, after all. The fucking Steve Garvey Dodgers. The Kirk-fucking-Gibson Dodgers. The fucking Tommy fucking Fat-Ass fucking linguini-in-clam-sauce Lasorda fucking Dodgers. Those motherfuckers, the ones I used to hate so much. So, you know what? Fuck the Dodgers, these Dodgers. Fuck ‘em all (save for our old friend Brad Ausmus, of course; unless. . . my friend BudGirl might, well. . . tell you what, I’d better let her make any further comments on that aspect.)

The red balloon was flying high, watching the weather
Captain Black was trying hard to get it together
Immediate names came into his brain
A rocket from China, a Russian plane
He pushed the wrong button and soon there’ll be no place called
California

**********

PITCHING MATCHUPS

Thursday July 16 (9:10 p.m.)
Houston – Wandy Rodriguez (8-6, 2.96)
•”He’s so high, you can’t get over him
He’s so low, you can’t get under him
He’s so wide, you can’t get around him
Help me, somebody. . . ”

Los Angeles – Randy Wolf (4-3, 3.45)
•Wolf has been healthy in 2009 so far – this will be his twentieth start of the season, which leads the NL. He’s really a 6-inning pitcher these days, with Joe Torre tightly managing his pitch counts bringing in his relievers early and often. This results in a hell of a lot of no decisions, but in a very pedestrian sense, Wolf gets his job done – he keeps his team in games. The Dodgers are 12-7 when he starts.

Friday July 17 (9:10 p.m.)
Houston – Roy Oswalt (5-4, 3.85)
•”You thought you knew where I was and when
Looks like I keep fooling you again
You thought that you’d got me all staked out
Baby, looks like I’ve been breaking out
I’m a dark horse, running on a dark race course. . . ”

Los Angeles – Chad Billingsley (9-4, 3.38)
•Billingsley is 24 years old, and in his 4th MLB season already. He is tied with Wolf for the lead league in starts. A strikeout pitcher all the way; his K/IP ratio is down slightly from last season, but that is quibbling. He hasn’t had a win since mid-June, four of his last five starts were no decisions.

Saturday July 18 (9:10 p.m.)
Houston – Mike Hampton (5-6, 4.52)
•”The student body’s got a bad reputation
What they all need is adult education
Back to school it’s a bad situation
But what you want is an adult education. . . ”

Los Angeles – Clayton Kershaw (7-5, 3.16)
•Kershaw is 21 years old, a stylish lefthander in his second major league season. Out of Dallas, he is right behind Wolf and Billingsley in the games started category. He has won his last four decisions (in six games.)

Sunday July 19 (3:10 p.m.)
Houston – Russ Ortiz (3-4, 4.44)
•”Who could ever be so cruel?
Blame the devil for the things you do
It’s such a selfish way to lose. . .
But I know it’s nobody’s fault, nobody’s fault
But my own.”

Los Angeles – Hiroki Kuroda (3-5, 4.67)
•”My mama borned me in a ghetto
There was no mattress for my head
But, no, she couldn’t call me ‘Jesus’
I wasn’t white enough, she said
And then she named me ‘Kung Fu’
Don’t have to explain it, no, Kung Fu. . . ” *

* – For anyone who missed him, I pity you. Curtis Mayfield was a rock ‘n’ roll genius.

**********

WATER, WATER EVERYWHERE. I am writing this series preview from the sunny climes of the beach, specifically from Caplen, on the Bolivar Peninsula.

I’ve written series previews down here once or twice before, and at least one was for a Dodgers series, too, I believe. Anyway, as I am sure I related somewhere previously, it is a tradition in my family to pack up the household and move to the beach for 2-3 weeks in the middle of the summer, to escape the heat back in town, literally and figuratively. This time is a little bit different than any others, though. This is our first significant time down on the peninsula since Ike came through.

The beach is so weird to me now. The landscape has literally been transformed. The Bolivar Peninsula is really just a big sand bar; big enough that your normal everyday weather doesn’t affect it all that much. What Ike did was move the whole fucking peninsula around. It eroded some beaches and built up others. Tons and tons of sand washed up onto the land and settled. One of the first things you notice is there is very little green anywhere. All the open marshland as well as the carefully cultivated lawns in the subdivisions are now covered with sand. The sand dunes that used to run from High Island all the way down nearly to Point Bolivar are entirely gone. You can see the gulf from anywhere on the peninsula now, which I actually kind of like. By the same token, I was looking out the north-facing windows of the cabin yesterday, one of the relatively few cabins that survived intact, and I realized that the tugboat and barges that appeared to be moving magically across the landscape were actually sailing up the Intracoastal. I’d never been able to see the ship canal from the beach side of the highway before. I’ve been coming down here all my life, and now it is hard to recognize anything. People have told me with all the landmarks washed away, they could not find their own property after the storm. It was just one giant sand pile. They were using old surveys and GPS to find the buried roads and streets. The whole effect of this lack of almost any significant landmark is kind of surreal.

Actually, though, I am amazed at how much has come back down here already, and there are numerous signs that the recovery effort is ongoing. There is heavy equipment everywhere, mostly Galveston County crews rebuilding the beaches. When I saw it a couple of weeks after the storm came through, I did not think Bolivar would ever be habitable again. But it is slowly coming back. Until the next storm comes through, anyway.

A couple of evenings ago me and the beagle were taking a walk down the beach, just before sundown. He was having a great time, sniffing out who knows what and running off in every different direction at once. He chased wading birds, and dug up a pair of bikini bottoms and brought them to me (I have no idea.) He is a pretty dog, all beagle but a mix between the standard breed, and a “lemon” beagle on his mother’s side. He is almost all white, with just a patch here and there of brown and black. He looks like a show dog, but he is not. What he is, is wild as hell. And he can pretty much run free down here (unlike in town), and he was enjoying our walk very much, and I was happy for him.

While the dog was doing his thing, the man was walking along, alternately staring out to sea and at the horizon and the setting sun, and looking ahead at miles and miles of empty beach before us. What a gorgeous scene, I was thinking. I was looking down, too, trying to avoid stepping on anything really sharp. This part of the beach, near Gilchrist, has always had a lot more shell than the rest of the beach down here, I don’t know why. As I looked down at millions of fragments of broken up seashells, it occurred to me that what really defined this picture postcard scene more than anything else, was death. Death loomed everywhere. In the broken shells, on the empty beach. Looking inland at the barren landscape that used to be full of beach houses and people drinking and laughing and barbecuing and shooting off fireworks. All gone. There were dead bodies, too. Most of those were found with everything else that used to be on this peninsula, washed up on the far shore of Trinity Bay, in southern Chambers County. There are many more, I am told, that have yet to be found.

I’d like to be really dramatic and say part of me died in that storm, too; but that would not be accurate. I am sorry for what happened down here, sorry for everyone’s losses, but I find myself strangely unmoved by the complete leveling of a place I spent so many happy hours, from childhood up to last summer. It just doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. It is still the beach, after all. Despite all the hell-raising and womanizing and surfing and whatever else I did down here for all those years, the truth is that all that ever really mattered to me was the beach itself, the wide stretch of smooth sand and then the ocean. That part is still here.

My life went where it went, but I always, always had the beach in the back of my mind. I still do. Just the physical act of sitting or walking on the sand and looking out to the gulf is so powerful. I can sit out there for hours and just stare at the horizon, listening to the surf. I took up surf fishing several years ago, not because I am such a fanatic about catching fish, but rather so I would have a cover when I wanted to come down here and just meditate. A guy sitting on the beach for hours staring out to sea with a fishing pole in his hands is one thing; a guy just sitting there all day looks a little weird after awhile.

But just looking was never really good enough for me, either. I was never more than a half-ass surfer, but I really didn’t care. I just liked the feeling of riding on a wave, the accompanying lifestyle, and the fact the pursuit caused me to spend every available moment on the beach, with people as inspired and crazy as I was.

But even more than surfing, my favorite thing of all is to swim in the surf, at night and preferably alone.

**********

INJURIES

Houston – Aaron Boone (heart condition), 60-day DL, 2010 – Thanks to Boone, I went and got my ticker checked. . . “Ticks just fine,” my doctor said, then he told me about his new boat; Doug Brocail (strained left hamstring), 15-day DL, early July maybe – Brocail has missed three entire seasons due to injury in his 18 years, and parts of two others; he has pitched in just 7 games this year.

Los Angeles – Ronald Belasario (RHP) (right elbow), 15-day DL, mid-August – former Magnum, PI and Airwolf producer blew his elbow out in a bar; Jonathan Broxton (RHP) (big toe), day-to-day, will linger all season – Just about anything gets you on the injury list these days; Hong-Chih Kuo (LHP) (left elbow), 15-day DL, return unknown – Whatever; Doug Mientkiewicz (1B) (right shoulder dislocation), return possibly mid-July – Wow, I had entirely forgot this guy; Eric Milton (LHP) (back), 15-day DL, out for the season? – He doesn’t really have a job to come back to, anyway; Will Ohman (LHP) (left shoulder), 15-day DL, return unknown, needs MRI – Deteriorating shoulder not a good sign; Xavier Paul (OF) (staph infection) 15-day DL, return unknown – Staph will kick your ass, no lie; Jason Schmidt (RHP) (right shoulder) 60-day DL, surgery scheduled, return unknown – Out since early 2007, his right arm is basically duct-taped to the shoulder; what a joke.

**********

INTO THE SEA, EVENTUALLY. I picked up the somewhat dangerous habit of swimming in the ocean at night when I was 12 years old. My scout troop was camping out at Gilchrist, not far from Rollover Pass. That was probably the best campout I ever went on. The surf was really rough that weekend, and we body-surfed all day long. Then at night, we sat around the bonfire we’d made from driftwood, and listened to our scoutmaster (who was a pervert, we later found out) tell stories that were either supposed to be funny or scary, I forget which. That got boring pretty quickly, and me and a friend of mine slipped away in the darkness and went down to the water’s edge. I wanted to go swimming, but he was too scared to. So I went by myself.

I have always been a strong swimmer. Not for speed – I never swam competitively – but I could swim all day and never get tired. And I had no fear. That spring, in order to qualify for Second Class scout, I’d participated in a mile swim. They would take all the boys to a spot on the Neches River, above Collier’s Ferry on the Jefferson County side, and we were to swim from there a mile downstream, to a pick up point on the far bank of the river, in Orange County.

A mile sounds like a long way, but actually it was a pretty easy trip. In the springtime the current in the Neches is pretty strong, one can almost float a mile as fast as swim it. In fact, the toughest part of the mile swim was getting across the river to the opposite bank before you passed up the pick up point. That current was strong. . . you’d be in the water and see big cedar logs passing you up, and sometimes a drowned dog, or a water moccasin. . . it is a wonder no kids drowned. I doubt seriously the mile swim is still conducted in this manner.

WE LIVE AS WE DREAM, ALONE. Anyway, that night at the beach I swam out into the surf alone, and it was the most incredible feeling of freedom and loneliness, I’ll never forget it. I was hooked. Since then, I have gone swimming in the ocean almost every chance I got. I like swimming at night especially, because no one knows you are out there. You are on your own. If you get fatigued and start going under, no one is going to save you. You’re fucked. On the other hand, knowing no one is watching over you, being your ‘lifeguard’, is part of the allure. People say, “I’m all alone,” all the time. But when you are out in the water by yourself at night, so far out the lights on the horizon from the beach highway are just tiny dots, you know you really are all alone.

I read a story once about Clint Eastwood. In his early 20’s he was in the military reserves, and one night he and another guy were flying from Alaska, I think, down the Pacific coastline to somewhere in California. About 2 miles offshore in northern California their plane shut down, and they ditched in the surf. The plane sunk quickly, and Eastwood and his buddy realized if they were to live, they’d have to swim 2+ miles at night, through the cold and rough Pacific, to the California shoreline. So that is what they did.

That story is just incredible to me. At that point Eastwood hadn’t even begun acting yet. He had his whole fabulous career and life ahead of him. But I am guessing he probably had his life-defining moment out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean that night, when he was barely twenty years old. It had to seem like it was all downhill from there.

I DON”T KNOW IF I’LL MAKE IT HOME TONIGHT. I really got into night time surf-swimming in earnest in my twenties, and have continued up to today. I’ll just disappear for a couple of hours, no one knows. Usually, when I get to the water’s edge, I swim straight out against the surf for 750 to 1000 yards. Depending on the tides, that is past the third sandbar, the water is probably 25-30 feet deep. That is a tiring swim, so once I am out there I float for a little while and rest; then once I’m rested I swim parallel to the shoreline for a mile or so, then head on back in.

And that is it, really. A friend once told me that at dusk and just after is when sharks like to look for dinner. I hadn’t known that, but I will occasionally feel a sand shark ramming into the side of my leg with it’s snout. That is startling, and it scares the hell out of you, which is why they do it, I think. Sometimes I’ll come back in criss-crossed with welts from jellyfish; though I’ll admit that they usually look a lot worse than they really are. Mostly it is just stings from cabbage-heads, which itch more than hurt.

I’ve been asked, Why? Almost immediately I will hear Perry Farrell’s voice in my head. If you ask why, you’ve really asked and answered the question. Why? Because it makes me feel free. Because it makes me feel all alone. In short, why the hell not? I could (theoretically) get swallowed whole out there by the biggest sand shark in recorded history, there one minute, gone the next. Or I could huddle in the safety of my beach cabin, safe from a seemingly unthreatening hurricane that seemed unthreatening right up until the moment the giant dome of water it was pushing ahead of it suddenly showed up on my doorstep, and washed me away like so much flotsam and jetsam; only to wash up days later mangled and tangled up in a bunch of trash and debris on the shoreline of a remote marsh in southern Chambers County, where I might not be found for years and years, if ever.

Given a choice, I’ll take my chances swimming with the sharks.

**********

Astros split the series, 2-2.

California survives earthquake after fire after mudslide after drought, we get wiped out by one wayward, half-ass hurricane. Joe Niekro and Dave Smith are dead, Steve Garvey and Tommy Lasorda live on. I was born a pauper to a pawn on a Christmas Eve, when the New York Times said, “God is dead, and the war’s begun.”

I’ve got the revolution blues
I see bloody fountains
And ten million dune buggies
Coming down the mountains

I hear that Laurel Canyon
Is full of famous stars
But I hate them worse than lepers
And I’ll kill them in their cars

— “Revolution Blues”, Neil Young

THE WEATHER
It never rains in Southern California (but it pours, man it pours.)

++++++++++

Buddy, ain’t this LA? I’ve traveled such a long way
Buddy, ain’t this LA? I’ve traveled such a long way
And I still don’t know where I am going
But without my baby, I’d better not stay

++++++++++

When you’re out there, in this world alone
There’s gonna be many a night, you’ll miss your happy home
It’s gonna rain down tears, rain down tears
And you’ll need a shelter somewhere

++++++++++

Trip the light fantastic
Dance the swivel hips
Coming to conclusion
Button up your lips
Walking, walking in the rain

**********

Your semi-surging 41-42 Houston Astros play host to the raggedy assed Nationals, staggering into the All-Star break with a sterling 24-58 “record.”  It’s hard to be that crappy, but they’ve done it, despite having some fairly good players like stud third baseman, Ryan Zimmerman and ex-Horn and full time slugger, Adam Dunn.  Meanwhile, the Astros have toyed around withthe concept of being a .500 club for several weeks now, but thus far are still kicking around the idea.  With five (5) games in four days with the Sultans of Suck, it’s maybe time to follow old Bum’s advice and “kick the son of a bitch in.”

Thursday:

TBA v TBA

This is the continuation of the May 5th shitfest in D.C., so Washington is the home team and the Bushnecks are the visitors.   Harry Reid and Sheila Jackson Lee get Drayton’s seats and McLane is made to shout, “Yes We Can!” every time Rep. Lee breaks wind.

Rep. Lee (D-Houston) shown in file photo burying a skinny white guy she sat on.

They’re going to pick up the game in the 10th inning  which means that Cooper can resume his long interrupted nap with the first pitch.   Houston can’t use Oswalt, Byrdak, or Sampson (thank you, Jesus) but can use anyone else including LaTroy who was pitching when they suspended the thing back in May.  Washington isn’t supposed to use Joel Hanrahan who has since been traded to Pittsburgh, but in the spirit of being a real fucked up franchise, they’re trying to arrange something through the league office in order to get him into the game.  Selig has indicated he’s inclined to go along with it as long as Houston will agree to another home series with the FTCubs in Milwaukee.  That’s how they roll in the National League, baby!

John Lannan, LHP (6-5, 3.45) v. Russ Ortiz (3-4, 4.11)

Lannan has a winning record and a decent ERA for a pretty crappy team, so that means something.  He’s also left handed which should guarantee him a job well into his AARP years.  He had a very decent outing in his last start against the Braves, holding them to three runs over eight innings.  Ortiz took a complete dump all over the mound in his last outing against the Giants, getting shelled with eight runs.  He’s had some respectable starts, so the Nationals may be the tonic for him to regain the right track.  Probably helps that Backe’s not around anymore with all of his Galveston Ball voodoo tricks he had been throwing at Ortiz.  Had Russ freaked out even more than Bush’s last visit with the team.

Visibly shaken Astros pitcher, Russ Ortiz after former president GHW Bush inquired Ortiz regarding his "taste for snails or oysters."

Friday

Scott Olsen, LHP (2-4, 6.04) v. Roy Oswalt (5-4, 3.81)

Olsen threw 8 2/3 innings, giving up three runs in his last start against Atlanta.  Sounds promising, right, until you figure he’ll be going against Roy in Oswalt’s last start before the break.  Olsen and the Nationals are DOA for this one–Roy will kick ass and take names and you can take that to the Sports Book at Caesar’s.  Stay out of the keno lounge; I had a hooker that looked like Donna Summer ask me for a “date” in there, once.  My dad was standing right beside me, which was an interesting added dynamic.

Saturday

Craig Stammen, RHP (1-4, 4.88) v. Mike Hampton (5-5, 4.16)

Stammen is a middling sinker ball pitcher and has been throwing relatively well as of late.  Hampton was strong in his last start against the Pirates, no doubt helped by the encouragement he received from patrons of the Third Base Sports Bar in Austin.  You just can’t discount the power of good vibes.  Mike, in turn, is continuing his support of good schools in Houston, as well as supporting their young graduates through one on one mentoring.  Mike Hampton is the Houston Astros Sportsman of the Month.

Astros pitcher, Mike Hampton offering tips for success at after party of the Klein High School Spring Sports Banquet

Sunday

Jordan Zimmermann, RHP (3-3, 4.52) v. Brian Moehler (5-5, 5.52)

Zimmermann had been one of the more effective starters for the Nationals but fell apart in his last start against the Rockies, due to rookie jitters and having too long of a last name–all those letters on the back of your jersey start weighing you down by the middle innings.  Moehler has been Moehler, giving the team anywhere from five to seven innings each start and would be helped by a little more generous run support (who wouldn’t).  He should be able to leave it all out there as the team goes on va-cay for the all-star break.  Word is that Brian will be shopping for shirts.

Astros pitchers Brian Moehler and Jeff Fulchino shown at "Boys Night Out" shopping extravaganza

MASH Report

Washington:

Roger Bernadina (CF) broke his right ankle playing “floorball” with MRaup.  Don’t read anything into this.

Matt Chico (P) has a sore elbow, a result of watching the torrid action between Bernadina and Raup.

Jesus Flores (C) has a broken shoulder.  Got slammed, no doubt in the above melee.

Terrell Young (P) has shoulder inflammation from pushing away throngs of Nationals fans.

Houston

Boone is sticking with his story of having a heart condition.   Probably cruising high school parking lots with Hampton.

Brocail threw a bullpen the other day followed by throwing down two quarts of Bud and beating up a carload of Russian mafia types.  He’s feeling better.

Giveaways

Friday

Show up and you get a “Minute Maid Park Grass Planter.”  I had no idea the organization had turned so progressive.

Saturday

It’s “Young Professionals Night” at Minute Maid.  If you have $48 and are 21 and up, you get:

A ticket in the FiveSeven Patio bar area.

Eight wings or nachos

16 ounce beer or soda

Astros souvenir mug

2 pack of Trojan “Ribbed for Her Pleasure” condoms

Pictorial History of “Women in Astros Baseball” featuring team president, Pam Gardner

Astros team president, Pam Gardner shown here encouraging young female Astros fans (file photo)

Travel size container of AstroLube.

Endorsed by Astros players for the lubrication of gloves and selected fans

Odds and Ends

Berkman has had a mediocre first half and didn’t get invited to the St. Louis soiree.  He’s not an obvious egomaniac but it’s not much of a guess to think that not being an all-star will give him a little added fire for the second half.  He’s going to rake and take names and will even hit well at Wrigley.  Book it.

Carlos Lee hasn’t been bad, but he hasn’t been the 2008 Carlos.  Could be too, that he catches fire in the second half.

Will be interesting to see how Tejada and Ivan hold up during the dog days.  Could be they seek out the services of Galveston voodo daddy, Brandon Backe for fatigue remedies.

Former Astros hurler, Brandon Backe, now owner of Galveston area "Voodo and Tarot Card Palace."

Houston’s pitching staff is showing vague signs of jelling, which bodes well for whatever chances they have for a second half run at the playoffs.  Certainly, Oswalt and Rodriguez have stepped up and it appears that if they can solidify something for the fifth starter, you’re looking at a winning team.  82 more games will tell the tale.

The TalkZone has, as usual, been active with numerous subjects, including:

Cooper can’t make out a lineup for shit.  He’s getting some damn solid advice from the boys at SnS but thus far, he ain’t listening and it’s not too much of a stretch to think that complete anarchy may result when it comes to the resumption of the May 5th game tonight.  Hopefully, Blum will be around to keep the thing from going straight into the ditch.

“Ryan Braun is an asshole.”  Goddamn it, I’d love to see Houston activate Danny Darwin for one series with the Brewers.   Braun would have to be treated for PTSD for the rest of the season.

Brisket is tasty and there are various ways to go about the task of cooking it.  You can get good brisket in a lot of places but do yourselves a favor and make a pilgrimage to Lockhart before you die.  Don’t ask for sauce, either.

Senator Harry Reid told the Euros that soccer is America’s favorite sport and that he, himself prefers it over football and baseball.   This should be a wake up call to all of you Pinkos in here to throttle the shit out of Reid before the Bushnecks get hold of this and get back into power.  Of course, they’re a little distracted right now writing love letters and arranging their new offices in the basement of the Old Executive office building that they may never hear about it.  But, that’s a damn awful thing for Harry to say.  Might as well have said he don’t like brisket.

Sometimes, good hitters will play possum.  By that I mean that they will set up pitchers just as pitchers normally set up hitters to throw off their timing.  An example of that is a story my old American Legion coach told us one time.  He had a cup of coffee with the Reds and they brought him up for spring training with them.  He was a  catcher and his first game with them was against the Giants with Willie Mays.  The first time up, he signaled for curves on three straight pitches, with Mays flailing at each.  Thought he had him figured out–he had discovered the chink in Mays’ armour.  The next time up, he signaled curve again and he said that the next time he saw the ball it was going over the light tower in left center field.  Mays winked at him when he crossed home plate.  Think about that when you watch a good hitter on his second or third trip up against a pitcher.  As much shit as he catches sometimes, I’ve seen Berkman do it before.  Dick Allen who used to play for the White Sox and Phillies was a master of it.

Five games against the Nats.  Kick some ass and pound that Budweiser.