The Good

The Hitters

The Legends as a team 4th with 23 triples. They are also 4th in homers (63). They also have been caught stealing 22 times, good for the third lowest total in the league.

Matt Cusick has dropped in many categories but his OBP is still solid at .381 (9th)

Colin Delome’s 6 triples tie him for 3rd most. His slugging % is .513 (8th)

Brian Pellegrini is tied for 7th in HR (13)

Craig Corrado is tied for 6th most stolen bases (27). He has only been caught 3 times as well.

Pitchers

Not too much good going on here, except the the bad isn’t as bad as it was last month.

The Crowd

The Legends fans are still coming to the park. Their average attendance of 5308 is good for 3rd in the league.

The Bad:

The Hitters

The Legends are in the cellar in hits and average, second from the bottom in strike outs, and third worst in runs, and OBP. No individual Legend is in the bottom 10 of any category.

The Pitchers

Lexington’s pitchers share a 4.70 team ERA which is the next to worst in the league. They have surrendered the most hits and runs. However, they have only the 2nd worst amount of earned runs. They also have the worst WHIP in the league.

Leandro Cespedes has allowed 51 runs and 43 earned runs which both tie him for 9th most in the league. His 15 home runs surrendered tie him for second worst in the league.

Carlos Ladeuth’s 9 homers given up tie him for 9th most surrendered.

So I don’t write much around here, but I figured in the wake of the recent turmoil and our decision to hang ’em up after 6 years, I should probably chime in to 1) remind everyone that I exist and 2) just talk a bit about what the experience of running this site with Kev has meant to me. If you’re not interested in the nuts and bolts of the site or my personal ramblings, you can check out now and save yourself some time. But I figure there’s been a lot worse crap written on this site, and if that can fly as content, well then I think y’all can tolerate me for a spell.

I can tell you that it doesn’t seem like 6 years since we kicked this thing off. It was Kev’s idea — we both had an interest in the Web, and of course we were both Astros fans. Kev had the bug before me growing up. He followed the 1980 and 81 teams. I hitched my wagon to the Astros in 1986, which of course was a hell of a time to be an Astros fan. I was 12 years old when Kevin Bass struck out in the bottom of the 16th inning in the greatest game ever played and I was genuinely heartbroken, but ironically enough it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship that will last until there is no more pro ball in Houston, or until I kick the bucket.

I have no shame in being a proud fan of a team — I’ve worn the hair off my head with an Astros cap since ’86 and have a stack of jerseys that don’t fit any more. It takes balls to stick with a team through thick and thin, and I always found fans like myself and Kev hard to come by. In the Internet’s early days, the first thing I did in when the middle school library got itself a Prodigy connection was spend my lunch period hunting down message boards that were talking Astros. I found them, and I became a regular contributor, bringing my 13-year old wit full force on the poor bastards who happened to be in there. I thank them for tolerating my ramblings — these days I wonder if I had been run, would I have ended up doing what I do.

So suddenly it’s 1996 and I’ve graduated college with my English degree and I wonder what the hell I’m going to do with my life. I owe thanks to the State of Louisiana for employing me as a COBOL programmer (of all things), as they are desperate to correct the dreaded Y2K problem before all hell breaks loose at the millenium. It’s at this point that Kev and I start talking about an idea for an Astros web site. We both have a need — we need to know how this stuff works for different reasons. If you’ve ever spent more than about 2 minutes looking at COBOL, you’ll understand that I was desperate to do anything else. The State was developing a “Web team” — I wanted in, but I needed to know what I was doing.

So an HTML 3.0 book later, Astros Connection launches amid no fanfare whatsoever. Inspired by the old message boards, we manage to track down a wobbly CGI script that functions as a classic threaded BBS. By some miracle of Jesus, Kev gets it working and he and I spent countless hours exchanging ridiculous messages with each other. We diligently register the site in search engines (we’re so lucky we did this when we did — it’s just not that easy anymore). To my amazement (I am still amazed to this day), OTHER PEOPLE start making posts to the board…and reading the content…and coming back. It was just so funny to me that anyone would know we existed at all, let alone have an interest in what either of us had to say. It didn’t take long to realize that we were onto something.

We quickly got too big for our britches. Site traffic grew exponentially as we quickly established the site as the first of its kind — a fan site that was regularly updated. People knew it and depended on it, and suddenly we had a responsibility. In one of the first interviews we did, one of us commented that we’d be watching or listening to the game anyway, so we’d just as soon give our take about what happened. It was a pleasant alternative to the traditional media that was already becoming inane by then and has become a fucking caricature of itself in recent months. We realized we weren’t alone in our opinions and that made us all the more eager to share them. Kev and I’s roles switched — he to the editorial and me to the technical. This was something that brought me great joy. By this time I had written the StatMonster, which was a major achievement for me technically. The feedback I got from that application encouraged me to do more and push the site into more of a data-driven direction. I had big plans for the way the site should function, but we were quickly burning through site hosts who weren’t able to handle the load presented by the droves of freaks who were finding their way into the already legendary TalkZone.

With the last redesign, the site found its way to EATEL, which is also where I found myself employed after my stint with the State ended. EATEL is a regional phone company based in Gonzales, LA, and they brought me in to do web development. I run their web development production shop now, and I owe them thanks for laying some fresh tracks for the Big Freight Train when it looked like we may have hit the end of the line nearly 2 years ago (Ashley Phillips, Jason Domangue, Eric Doolittle – thanks). My dream for the site was realized at this point, as nearly the entire site was converted to a dynamic data-driven platform that allowed us to update content more efficiently than ever. Even the TZ got a back-end facelift that gave the TZOL unprecedented control over his domain. It may not sound like much, but it was quite an achievement and it is still the project of which I am the most proud. And I’ve built a lot of web sites at this point. The database is truly a work of art — some of the best parts of this site are what you don’t see. It was a labor of love all along — many hours that I can’t explain spent troubleshooting code that I cussed up and down til it worked in the middle of the night. I quit caring about how much traffic we were getting a long time ago — it just evolved into something we felt like we had to do. But now we’ve decided not to, and are very happy with the decision.

So on the eve of bringing this train into the station, how do I feel? Great. I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to this site. I owe my career to it — it gave me a guinea pig on which to operate and a feather in my professional cap that no one else could match. It challenged me to be a better programmer and a better problem solver. It let me discover talent I didn’t know I had. It gave me a creative outlet for my weird ideas. It gave me the forum of knowledgable Astros fans I had always been looking for. It brought me many good times and new friends. It brought me and Kev closer together — I’d put us up against anyone when it comes to designing a great web site. He’s a hell of a designer and a better writer than I’ll ever be. He’s also a great bass player, and I figure if I keep after him we’ll likely be playing Buffett songs in BR taverns sooner rather than later.

All good things end. We swam the turbulent seas of the site for 6 years, and have outlived countless sites that I thought were the best thing since sliced bread (and a lot more that sucked). I take pride in the fact that we stuck to our guns to the very end. We always did things on our terms. We ran the TalkZone our way — if you were an ass, you got run; if you were talking anything other than baseball, you got run. We were never afraid to tell the truth, and as much as we love the Astros, we never ever kissed their ass. I want to thank everyone who ever lent us a helping hand, wrote a column or series preview, wrote us fan or hate mail, or made a post in the TZ, GZ, or ill-fated SZ. Although most of you know me as a shadowy figure of few words, know that I know all of you and appreciate what you’ve done to contribute to the success of this site. It is as much yours as it is ours, and I know you respect what we’ve done and intend to do. Thanks for reading and for being around. You’ve contributed to an experience that I wouldn’t trade for anything, except maybe a championship.

The Ken Caminiti steroid flap has become yesterday’s news faster than the Astros bullpen can blow a lead, which tells us more about drugs and baseball than most of the pundits did when the story first broke.

“This could change baseball forever,” intoned Chris Rose of “The Best Damn Sports Show Period.”

“Let’s give full marks to Caminiti for his truthfulness,” wrote Mark Purdy of the San Jose (CA) Mercury News. “Then let’s do something else. Arrest him. I’m not joking. This might convince major leaguers of just how seriously some of them have strayed into dangerous territory.”

Who honestly believes that we could scare big leaguers straight after decades of handing out amphetamines like mints at a restaurant and dozens of cocaine arrests?

In America, real candor about drugs is less common than a Jose Lima game without several home runs. Lurking behind the latest huffing and puffing about performance-enhancing drugs in baseball, and the proposed remedies, are two ideas that seem perfectly reasonable but that are as detached from reality as Timothy Leary in his prime.

The first idea is that gifted, rich athletes have to be incredibly stupid to “risk everything” with steroids or other performance-enhancers. The second is that drug testing will put a real dent in steroid use and will help “level the playing field.”

If you believe either or both of these ideas, please join my fantasy baseball league immediately so we can make many trades.

The reality is that there are huge incentives for major leaguers to do whatever it takes to gain an edge. Just as in track, where you demolish your opponent if you win a race by half a second, in baseball the difference between winning and losing is often Manute Bol-thin. One pitch, or one play that you make or don’t make, frequently tells the tale. How many times has a season come down to a single game or an inning?

Then think about what’s at stake: the huge money, the fame, the whole enchilada of celebrity in America. If that’s not a powerful draw, why is “Survivor” a hit?

In addition to these incentives, baseball players and the rest of us have grown up in a culture that in fact urges people to take all kinds of drugs. Want proof? Watch television for an hour. You’ll see ads that say, “Can’t sleep? Take this. Want to grow that hair back? We’ve got a chemical that can do that! Are you socially anxious? Ask your doctor to give you this.”

As sociologist Jay Coakley writes in a book entitled Sport and Society, “Do employers tell executives not to use hormone therapies to keep them fit for work? Do wives tell their husbands not to take Viagra? The majority of adults in most wealthy, high-tech societies use tranquilizers, pain controllers, mood controllers, antidepressants, decongestants, diet pills, caffeine … Why should athletes have to [abstain] when others competing for valued rewards do not?”

OK, so we’re a nation of unstoppable drug-takers. The solution? “Let’s test everybody. Let’s get at the truth,” said Expos’ skipper Frank Robinson to the Chicago Tribune. “We’ve got to test. I feel very strongly about that,” bellowed Commissioner Bud Selig.

But would random drug testing actually deter baseball players from taking performance-enhancing drugs? Don’t bet on it.

The first problem is that it’s easier to move several months’ worth of steroids out of your system than it is to hit the cutoff man consistently. Tom Verducci of Sports Illustrated, who wrote the Caminiti story, also noted that “so-called designer steroids are chemically altered not to leave the drugs’ known signatures on urine tests.”

Designer steroids are an example of classic-yet-contemporary American ingenuity. The rise of workplace drug testing has fueled the parallel growth of a cottage industry in drug-test-avoidance, where entrepreneurs make clean urine and substances that mask other substances readily available.

“Only stupid and careless people get caught,” is how Dr. Charles Yesalis, a Penn State professor, longtime baseball fan and expert on performance-enhancing drugs put it to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. “People with a lot of money can hire people … to make sure they don’t flunk drug tests. Drug testing is done mainly for public relations, to make the media feel good and fans feel good.” It’s hard to imagine that baseball players, highly motivated and flush with cash, wouldn’t avail themselves of these and other methods to get through the biggest pass-fail tests of their lives.

Drug testing is hardly a panacea, but its public-relations value could make some sort of program a shrewd move for the game. The best idea I’ve heard came from Don Malcolm on the baseballprimer.com Web site, where he suggested that union chief Don Fehr should advise the players to agree to random drug testing in exchange for the owners ditching their contraction plans.

That could be a neat twin killing.

So what’s the solution? Are we headed for a world in which the old put-down about a player “not hitting his weight” could still make you a .280 hitter?

Again, not likely. And even though it’s much easier to spot the flaws of the current setup than it is to devise a solution, we probably have to start with an idea that may be hard to swallow.

You can’t pay some of the most physically gifted, ultra-competitive people on the planet buckets of money and make them cultural icons and not expect them to do whatever it takes to hold on to that elite status. The truth is that if you wanted to devise a setting to maximize the incentives for people to take performance-boosting drugs, you couldn’t do much better than big-league baseball.

The conclusion? Drugs are here to stay; we need to figure out ways to live with them, in baseball and beyond. History, honesty and common sense all lead to that conclusion. The starting point for a solution to baseball’s drug problem is to give an unconditional release to notions like “zero tolerance” and making the sport “drug-free.” At best such notions are delusional fantasies; at worst they diminish any hope of progress.

Let’s buck the historical trend and start dealing with the world as it is, not as we might wish it to be. That might be harder than hitting against Roy Oswalt, but to do otherwise is strictly fantasy league.

Steve Beitler is a writer and has been an Astros fan since 1962. He can be reached at [email protected].

DAY ONE

Knoxbanedoodle and Spiers For Hall Of Fame’s Astros Farm System road trip actually begins like this: we are in Providence, Rhode Island, in Spiers’s apartment, watching Oswalt strike out the side against the Pirates in the top of the eighth. He is throwing 98 MPH gas, the game is tied at one, and in the bottom of the inning Vizcaino pokes a little two run single into left field. We win.

Things are good. We keep saying: “Oswalt,” or “Dude, Oswalt,” or occasionally just: “Dude!”

Cooperstown, here we come.

DAY TWO

It is located in the middle of nowhere in the rolling countryside of New York State. Knox remarked that it looked like a nice place to live, failing to take into account that it is surely covered by 10 feet of snow all winter. The Hall of Fame is a beautiful museum that happens to be dedicated entirely to baseball. We were struck by how few inductees there actually were. As much as you hear about undeserving players getting in, you really have to see just how few players are inducted to really appreciate it. What is it – 1,500 or so people? And, of course, not all of them were players. Touring this not-magnificently-large room, perusing the hallowed few imprinted us with an altogether appropriate sense of awe.

If you haven’t heard, they’ve got Ty Cobb’s false teeth there. Also, there was an incredible display on the evolution of baseball equipment. They start with a hand-crafted bat from the mid 1800s. It’s about five feet long and four inches in diameter (roughly the size of one of Brad Ausmus’s bats). We noticed some Astros curiosities (Astrosities?) in the section that lists all the modern-day no-hitters. The last pitcher to lose a no-hitter was with the Astros, and two of only three or four no-hitters to allow runs belonged to Astros as well.

Milo is well represented in the Hall. In the section concerning commentators they play a constant loop of famous calls. Milo has Hank Aaron’s record-breaking homer and Mike Scott’s no-hitter to clinch the division in ’86. There is a massive blow-up of the Dome in the stadiums room. Otherwise the HOF is overwhelmingly east coast oriented. A Yankees fan might actually see his ego inflate to three or four times its original size walking around the Hall.

DAY FOUR

Pluta pitched this game but we got to see Rohlicek working between starts before the game. He throws hard and has extremely crooked pants (high leg kick – good form). He was working with the B-Cats pitching coach on holding runners and seemed very attentive – very un-Nuke Laloosh.

Prior to the game, Pluta spent a long time kneeling in center field imploring divine aid – possibly in throwing his breaking pitches for strikes. He got very distracted with his inability to do so while warming up before the game. Ultimately, he allowed 3 runs in 5 innings – all of them in the 4th (great recovery with men on 2nd and 3rd and no outs). The Snappers mostly got to him by sitting on his fastball (which was consistently 92-94 on the day), though he did hang a curve that ended up an RBI double. Spiers noted at one point that Pluta probably wasn’t accustomed to pitching in the cold – and Jesus it was cold! 48 degrees and windy at game time – which was 4:00 in the afternoon.

C.O. Brown Stadium is old and mostly empty. It has the scent of death on it. We were hangin’ with the die-hard fans behind home plate – a 70 year-old woman with a cowbell who razzed the umpire like there was no tomorrow. Another old guy behind us sporadically shouted very simple commands to the players: “Get a hit!” or “Strike him out!”

Mike Jones, Brewers uber-prospect, is a rangy right-hander with a graceful delivery. He throws everything and does not have an overpowering fastball. He used to throw in the mid-90s, back in high school, but was in the mid to high 80s all day. He didn’t allow a baserunner until two outs were recorded in the 3rd, and didn’t allow a hit until the all-or-nothing B-Cats right fielder Steve Checksfield (.194, 6 HR, 38 K, 4 BB on May 19) sent a seeing-eye single through the right side to lead off the fifth. The good guys proceeded to take full advantage of Jones’s lack of command in the inning, employing for a stretch an innovative new strategy that we’ll call the “Whatever You Do Don’t Swing” technique. 3 walks and 3 hits, including a bases clearing, 3-run double off the bat of impressive left handed first-sacker Todd Self led to 5 runs in the frame – a lead Pluta, Campos and Tremblay would protect.

I (Knox) was most excited about seeing Rodriguez and I got to see a very mixed performance. Leading off in the first he absolutely drilled a line drive at the center fielder for an out, and that would be his best-hit ball of the game. With 2 outs and a runner on second in the 3rd inning (who had walked on 4 pitches and advanced on an errant pick off throw) he saw 3 straight balls and then took a mighty cut at the 3-0 offering. WTF? I guess he was just looking for a juicy pitch to get out of his slump. Anyway, he fouled it off and flied out to center on the next pitch, thus snatching an out from the jaws of a walk. He got it right in the big fifth, though, walking and eventually scoring. He struck out swinging twice to round out the day.

Defensively he was very solid. The Snappers three run 4th should’ve been a two run fourth thanks to an exceptional throw to the plate by Rodriguez from center. The runner would’ve been out by a mile if only Obradovich (whose defense looked miserable) had held on to it. Other than that, MROD was positioned well and caught everything in his area.

This team seems to get along well with each other. Before the game the position players played hot potato with a couple balls and had a helluva time. Pluta is another short fireballer. Tremblay looked like your run-of-the-mill junk throwing lefty. Campos was solid, going 3 innings and striking out 2. The B-Cats don’t hit a ton of homeruns, but today they were patient and they were fast. We tried but were unable to find out if this might be the last year the Cats are an Astros affiliate. Pluta got one ground out and that came in the 5th, his last inning. He also was seen stepping on the chalk on more than one occasion.

DAY FIVE

Either the radar gun in Lexington is a bit slow or pitchers in the Sally League manage to dominate with fastballs in the 78-82 MPH range. Needless to say, this doesn’t jibe with a league where a 2.09 ERA (as of 5-20) is only good for 9th best. And who does this sterling number belong to, you ask? None other than Kannapolis Intimidators left-hander Craig Szado before taking the mound against the struggling Legends. Ernnie Sinclair started off for the good guys. Aside from seeming to have cup issues for his entire start (not quite Travis Wade bad but still sort of nauseating) he also didn’t have the kind of fastball (slow gun or not) to make scouts drool. It wasn’t hit hard, but it was usually hit. He recorded the vast majority of his outs with breaking stuff and change-ups. Of his 4 Ks on the night, three of them were looking. He allowed 5 hits and 2 runs in the first four innings, then settled down to retire 9 straight thru the 7th.

Szado did not fare as well. The bottom of the first went like this: Caraway singles and steals second, Wright singles, Mckee hits a 3-run bomb to left, Soto reaches on an E4 and advances to second on a wild pitch, German singles, Gimenez singles for an RBI. Then, with four runs in, nobody out and men on 1st and 2nd, he retired Jimerson, Whiteman and Helquist to round out the Lexington order. This was a sign of things to come, as over the next four innings he would face the minimum. Jason Stumm and Paulino Reynoso relieved him, going 3 innings and allowed an insurance run to Lexington in the 8th that happened like this: with one out, McKee doubles, Soto walks (the only walk of the game for either side), and German singled for the RBI. Gimenez K’d and Jimerson flied out with runners on second and third to end the inning.

Barzilla relieved Sinclair in the 8th and pitched 2 shutout innings, earning his first save of the year. He’s a little guy who, according to the highly suspect Lexington radar gun, throws very, very soft…like, 2001 Tulsa Drillers soft.

All in all, it was sort of hard to tell whether we were watching a display of solid pitching or a case of the Intimidators simply not getting the job done.

Jimerson is a bad ass centerfielder. Though he struggled at the plate (0-4), he tracked down quite a few dangerous fly balls and made a great play ranging far to his right to cut off a would-be gapper and turn it into a single. Speaking of fast, this team’s got some serious legs. Caraway motors. He and German both had stolen bases in spite of the Intimidators catcher, Gustavo Molina, who has a cannon. Whiteman was nailed so bad on a straight steal that he didn’t even slide. And on the subject of great catchers, Gimenez didn’t get to showcase his arm very much. The Kannapolis centerfielder stole a base off him in the 3rd when his throw was a bit short. But after Sinclair threw his last warm-up pitch in the middle of an inning we saw him throw an absolute laser to second that didn’t seem to get higher than 4 feet off the ground and arrived with perfect accuracy right where the base-stealer’s feet would have been. That was cool. Barzilla doesn’t look like the type who’s going to pile up the Ks, but of the six outs he recorded 5 were on ground balls. (Oh, it was fucking cold, again. 50-degree weather in Kentucky in May. Lord, Lord, why hast thou forsaken us?) Tommy “I Never Saw A Pitch I Didn’t Like” Whiteman still isn’t walking much, but he had two hits on the night. German impressed at third base today, making a great play in the ninth on a swinging bunt. We agreed that Milo’s call would go something like this: “Here’s Molina coming to the plate. He’s 0-3 so far with three – uh-oh…better hurry! Whoa! Put a blue star next to that one! And now it’s Wigginton….” Also, Applebees Field in Lexington is awesome! They had a barbershop quartet outside the ballpark before the game started (singing, naturally). Just generally a very active and pleasant atmosphere. Lots of people showed up in spite of the weather, and I don’t know that I’ve ever been part of a spunkier crowd. The razzing, chatter, cheering and ribbing from this crowd was downright inspiring. The stadium itself is still sparkling new. Only qualm I have with it is that it’s easy to miss the action on the field when maneuvering around. Other than that, it is a far cry from the cement mausoleum that is C.O. Brown Field in Battle Creek. And finally, here’s a sign of the times: at one point in this game, two guys with last names starting with soft “g’s” were on base for the Legends, German and Gimenez. We are looking forward to seeing Eny Cabreja go tomorrow and extending our winning streak to 3.

DAY SIX

Jimerson is fast. Drilled a single the third sacker got his glove on but couldn’t handle, stole second, then third – and taking second was on a pitchout. Acevedo was getting fastballs blown by him consistently. Nothing resembling offense in this game, with the only run coming off an error. Wright fell down and dropped an easy fly ball. Acevedo did so as well in the 9th. Both also made great plays on foul pop ups, with Acevedo hanging on after colliding with Whiteman. Fortunately, no one was hurt.

Cabreja was working fast and mixing a fastball, curve and change. His curve was his best pitch, getting a lot of whiffs and called strikes. He mostly spotted his fastball, only getting whiffs high and out of the zone. Whiteman was about as smooth as they come at short.

Elder Statesman Mike Gallo has no problems with the Hickory Crawdads – who sport unis with just “Dads” written across the chest, which we thought was pretty cool. 1B/DH Young made Frank Thomas look more like Adam Everett, weighing in at almost 300 pounds.

It was 53 degrees today before the sun went down. Spiers wore two pairs of pants with a sweater under his jacket and was still miserable, mostly because we lost. Alas.

Onward to New Orleans.

DAY EIGHT

This was our first time to Zephyr Field and we were both duly impressed. The ballpark is not unlike the Dell Diamond, with seats very close to the field and access to every part of the stadium without being cut off from the game. New Orleans smells like crap, but Zephyr Field smells sweetly of frying grease. Also, not unlike its counterparts in Round Rock and Houston, it teems with hot girls. The only drawback that we could see of the stadium was its unfortunate placement – smack dab in the flight path to and from Louis Armstrong International Airport.

The park really is huge – 409 to dead center (I heard Bill Brown say 420 once, maybe I am mistaken) and over 400 to the power alleys. We were both expecting to see some scrub going for the Z’s and so were understandably elated upon reading in the paper that it would be Wade Miller, making his second rehab start. As we sat alongside the bullpen before the game, Z’s pitching coach Tom Hickey signaled C.J. Nitkowski and Kirk Bullinger over to sign a ball held by a kid who was with his dad. Nitkowski lived up to his rep as a generally swell guy, and Bullinger was very nice, too. Then WaMi came over and started pumping fastballs to Raul Chavez.

Miller threw almost nothing but fastballs during his warm-up session, and was apparently having some minor problems with his delivery mechanics which Hickey talked to him about. It was interesting to note the difference between Miller warming up and, say, Pluta or Sinclair. After throwing a few hanging curves or sliders in the dirt, the latter two pitchers got a little angry – or at least distracted. They’d work faster and eventually have to be calmed down by their respective coaches. Not so with Miller, who remained patient and collected throughout his session, in spite of not having pinpoint control. Maybe having won 16 games in the Bigs last year has something to do with that.

On the real mound, Miller was tenacious but fallible. His curve ball was repeatedly drilled, and his fastball isn’t quite up to speed yet, only breaking 90 two or three times. However, his location was good enough that it, along with a good slider and nasty change, kept the Sacramento hitters from getting in a groove. He allowed 2 earned runs (3 runs) and five hits in 5+ IP, striking out five (two swinging) and walking only one. Ineffectual relief work by “The Crotch Grabber” Travis Wade allowed both runs to score in the 6th. All in all, Miller looked a lot like a guy making his 2nd rehab start and the first to go past 3 IP: promising but rusty.

Offensively, several strange things happened in this game: 1. Frank Charles hit a triple. 2. Raul Chavez stole a base, and 3. Adam Everett collected two hits, one of the infield variety but the other a clean double over the left fielder’s head on a 1-2 count. He also scored twice and drove in one. 5 NO players had 2 hits on the day, and the good guys won 6-3.

It would appear that Derek Grubbs, the PA and Entertainment Director at RR got a lot of ideas from the Z’s. Many of the sound effects and much of the music is the same…. One thing that the Z’s would do well to copy from the Express is the quality of their Jumbotron. The snapshots of the Zephyr players were so terrible that we agreed every NO batter was either 500 pounds, or Cro-Magnon man…Barry Wesson looked like some kind of unholy offspring of Jabba the Hut and Howie Long. Speaking of Wesson, 6 RR alums played tonight, including Tom Shearn (who has apparently stuck with the horse that brought him to AAA, throwing strikes, throwing hard) and excluding Ginter, who got a day off. Some funny stuff happened at first base in the bottom of the innings, too. At least, we liked to think so. See, Carlos Pena has just been demoted by the A’s, as had Lane by the ‘Stros. At one point, Lane got on first and we guessed at the conversation, “How was your cup of coffee?” “Fine. Yours?” Later, Everett reached first. “You know, I was an opening day starter.” “Tell me about it.”

They serve Newcastle at Zephyr Field. And, at last, the weather was beautiful.

DAY NINE

Since everybody probably saw the Astros game we attended we won’t talk much about it. It was great to see Redding do so well, especially after starting off so poorly. It was great to see Biggio come through in the 9th after a fantastic at bat. Most everything else about the game sucked. The team is finding a way to lose, and today even Gene Lamont chipped in. Oh well.

Should be Saarloos in Round Rock.

DAY TEN

And it was – and I lost the scorecard – but it was a beautiful night and RR defeated the Mariners 4-1. We wondered where Snelling was and then saw his name on ESPN’s bottom line the next day saying he went 2-4 for the Mariners.

For those of you who don’t know, Saarloos dominates the Texas League with a change-up, slider, curve and subpar-but-accurate fastball. Let’s call him Little Maddux, except where “Mad Dog” (has there ever been a more inappropriate nickname?) relies on his change Kirk relies more on his slider.

It was a glorious night at the Dell Diamond, which is the undisputable jewel of the Astros farm system. All I can remember is that the Express batted around in the first inning and scored three runs, while Saarloos pitched shutout baseball for (I think) seven innings. It is also possible that we hit the Hooters Shiner stand and ever-handy Andy (beer man) one too many times. But who can blame us? What a game! What a team! What an organization!

The heist by Ruben Rivera of Derek Jeter’s bat and glove pulled off recently in the Yankees clubhouse during spring training, not surprisingly elicited the legend of Leo Durocher’s theft of Babe Ruth’s watch in 1929.

However, while searching for information on the subject I have ALMOST drawn a complete blank. The almost is what I found in Robert W. Creamer’s book, BABE – THE LEGEND COMES TO LIFE. “And here is a legend, seldom printed but often talked about in baseball circles, that says Leo Durocher stole Babe Ruth’s watch, which is not true. What is true is that Ruth did not like Durocher.”

The legend appears to have grown, whatever the truth, and was kept alive by Ruth who took advantage of the incident and continually exploited it at the expense of Durocher. If nothing else is true in this whole situation – it is certainly accurate that Babe Ruth hated Leo Durocher.

Two publications, USA BASEBALL WEEKLY and the Houston CHRONICLE, and I’m sure others have done so, quoted Detroit pitcher Elden Auker from his recent book, co-authored by Tom Keegan, a New York POST columnist, that (Auker) learned of the incident when he became friendly with the security staff of a Detroit hotel. The story bears repeating here – quoting Auker:

“Babe noticed he was going through his money faster than usual, and it was right about the time some other players noticed things were showing up missing–money and watches and other valuables. Babe was missing a gold pocket watch. He marked five $100 bills, setting a trap for the thief. He came in one night, and while Durocher was sleeping, he went through his bag. The pocket watch tumbled to the floor, and he found the five marked bills. Babe woke him up and cleaned up the room with him. They were making so much noise, security came up and keyed the door. The security man told me it’s a good thing he did key the room, or the Babe would have killed him.”

In my mind that is very difficult to believe. But, now let me quote again from BABE ? author Creamer is writing and quoting Ruth and prefaces the piece with: He resented Leo’s cockiness, and the two never got along, although Leo tried to?-at first.

“Durocher was in a hotel elevator late one night with a couple of other players when Ruth got on. ‘Oh, am I drunk,’ said the Babe. ‘Somebody’s got to undress me and put me to bed. You guys have to help me.’ The other players backed away rapidly, but Leo said. ‘I’ll help you, pal,’ Ruth said, ‘Thank you pal.’ Leo helped him off the elevator and down the hall to Babe’s room. The next morning Ruth decided he was missing something?-MONEY in one version of the story, his WATCH in another. Although he was drunk on the town the night before and had been in the Lord knows what places, he blamed Durocher. As Leo said, in a half-angry, half-mocking tone, ‘Jesus Christ, if I was going to steal anything from him I’d steal his god-damned Packard.'”

More from the book, and this is important. Ruth continued to harass Durocher. One night on the train as he was getting undressed by his berth, he called to Durocher. “Hey Leo you want to see something?” He held up a glittering bit of jewelry. “See that Leo? Isn’t that beautiful? That cost me seventy-five hundred bucks, Leo. I’m going to give it to Claire when we get to New York. Tonight I’m putting it under my pillow. And, Leo, I want it to be there when I wake up in the morning.”

Ruth’s hatred of Durocher never waned. He never let Durocher up when the opportunity arose in a crowd, with other players, and would goad him unmercifully. I feel that the Babe’s dislike for him was his way to sustain the legend of 1929.

Late that season a Cincinnati fan named Sidney Weil, who had made a fortune in the automobile business and stock market, bought control of the Reds. It was Weil who acquired Leo Durocher, not wanted by the Yankees or the American League, over to the National in a waiver deal for Clarke (Pinky) Pittenger, a journeyman shortstop who never reported to New York.

Now, here’s the rest of the story. On June 16, 1938 Babe Ruth was hired by Brooklyn’s new executive vice-president, Larry MacPhail. The Dodgers had fallen way behind both the Giants and Yankees in attendance. MacPhail felt Ruth would help get Brooklyn out of the attendance doldrums by filling in as a coach, batting practice pitcher, and mainly as an attraction to all in baseball – after all he was still the Bambino – at least in name. Ruth signed for $15,000 and he saw it as a great opportunity, not only to get back in the game, but more importantly he would be on the inside for the Dodgers managerial job for 1939 since Burleigh Grimes was looking to retire.

Picture this – Ruth was joining the team that had acquired Durocher the year before from the Cardinals and only a month before Ruth’s arrival, had been named by Grimes as the team captain. Ruth fulfilled his duties well and the Brooklyn players liked him and enjoyed his presence, except for Durocher. The face-to-face meeting finally happened. A dispute arose on a hit-and-run call while Ruth was coaching first and Durocher was at bat. The two engaged in a heated argument in the clubhouse, they tangled and scuffled before being separated.

The season ended and one month later Ruth read in the paper that Durocher had been appointed as the new Brooklyn manager and Ruth, once again, tearfully retired from baseball.

Did Leo Durocher even steal a watch? If so, did it belong to Babe Ruth? If so, did the Babe openly accuse Leo of the theft? Maybe the whole thing never really happened. Legends hold many secrets!

Gene Elston served as the voice of the Houston Astros from 1961-1986. He is the author of the books A Stitch In Time and That’s The Way The Ball Bounces.

For more information about his career and the effort to elect him as the recipient of the 2003 Ford C. Frick Award, visit www.Gene-Elston.org.

How could anyone forget the coming of the 21st Century and the problems that arose because it was erroneously believed the first decade of the new Millennium would begin in the year 2000.

Many people are confused about the calendar system now in universal use. Our era, known as Anno Domini (A.D.) began in the year “one” (there is no year “zero”). The first decade ran from year 1 through year 10.

Statistics and records are two of the many things that have made the game of baseball so great. However, it has been some twenty or so years since I have seen anything in print regarding the players who have participated in the most decades. And, that story was in error in many cases since the author was counting the beginning of the decade as year 00. I thought it was time to correct and update the decade story.

Playing in four or five baseball decades is not easy to achieve. A lot depends on Mother Nature – those having the best chance to reach those marks are those born within the final four years of a decade – for example – 1947 through 1950.

Our research shows only one player saw action in five decades and he was P/OF/1B NICK ALTROCK who broke in at age 22 with Louisville in 1898. That would be his only season in the National League. He would not appear in the majors again until 1903 with Boston in the American League. Note that at this point in his career he has already played in two different decades. His fifth decade came in the 1930s when he played one game in 1931 and one in 1933. The final game of his career was with Washington when he was 57 years old. In the final ten years of his career – 1912-1933 – he played in only 17 games. NICK ALTROCK (the only five decade player) also played with the White Sox in a career that covered 37 years (1898-1933) was active in only 19 of those seasons.

Now let’s look at the strange case of MINNIE MINOSO OF/3B (1949-1980) with Cleveland, Cardinals and Washington. When Minoso retired following the 1964 season he had played in three decades. He un-retired and played in three games in 1976, then did not appear again until he played two games in 1980 when he was 58 years old. OOPS! 1980 is in the same decade as 1976! That was one of the biggest errors of Minoso’s career – he barely saw action in four decades — certainly not five.

Both NICK ALTROCK and MINNIE MINOSO are merely TOKEN five and four decade players.

HERE ARE THE OTHER TOKEN FOURS:

JIM O’ROURKE OF (1872-1904) – one game in 1904 with Giants after sitting out ten years – age 54

KID GLEASON P/OF (1888-1912) – one game in 1912 with White Sox after sitting out four years – age 46

JACK RYAN C (1889-1913) – one game each in 1912 and 1913 with Washington after sitting out nine years – age 45

DEACON McGUIRE C (1884-1912) – after missing 1909 season played in one game in 1910 and one game in 1912 with Detroit – age 49

DAN BROUTHERS 1B (1879-1904) – after missing eight seasons played two games in 1904 – age 46

HERE ARE THE “FOUR DECADE” PLAYERS:

RICK DEMPSEY C (1969-1992) – Twins, Yankees, Orioles, Indians, Dodgers and Milwaukee – 24 years – age 43

JIM KATT P (1959-1983) – Washington/Minnesota, White Sox, Phillies, Yankees and Cardinals – 25 years – age 45

BOBO NEWSOM P (1929-1953) – Brooklyn, Cubs, Browns, Senators, Red Sox, Tigers, Yankees and Philadelphia A’s – 20 years – age 46

JACK QUINN P (1909-1933) – Yankees, Boston Braves, White Sox, Red Sox, Philadelphia A’s, Brooklyn and Reds – 21 years – age 50

NOLAN RYAN P (1966-1993) – Mets, Angels, Astros and Rangers – 27 years – age 46

EARLY WYNN P (1939-1963) – Senators, White Sox and Indians – 23 years – age 43

HERE ARE THE FOUR DECADE PLAYERS STILL ACTIVE:

RICKY HENDERSON OF (1979-2001) – Oakland, Yankees, Blue Jays, Angels, Mets, Mariners and Padres – 23 years – age 43

MIKE MORGAN P (1978-2001) – Oakland, Yankees, Blue Jays, Dodgers, Mariners, Orioles, Cubs, Cardinals, Reds, Twins, Rangers and DiamondBacks – 21 years – age 42

JESSE OROSCO P (1979-2001) – Mets, Indians, Brewers, Orioles, Cardinals and Dodgers – 22 years – age 44

TIM RAINES OF (1979-2001) – Expos, White Sox, Yankees, Oakland, Orioles – 22 years – age 42

This is not a study of some of the greatest ball players – this covers only the passage of time – however, four of them are in the Hall of Fame – JIM O’ROURKE, DAN BROUTHERS, NOLAN RYAN and EARLY WYNN. One of the greatest and most interesting players who just missed the four decade mark is TED WILLIAMS. In his first year 1939 he hit .327, drove in 145 runs with 31 home runs. He closed out his career in 1960 batting .315 with 29 homers.

My favorite all-time decade personality is CONNIE MACK. He made his debut as a catcher in the National League in 1886 and while with Pittsburgh became player/manager in 1895 and 1896. When the American League was formed Mack took over as skipper of the Philadelphia Athletics in 1901 and for the next 50 years managed that team and eventually took over as owner through 1950. He played and managed in seven decades and hung ’em up when he was 88 years old. Had he managed just one more year (1951) he would have made it into his eighth decade.

Gene Elston served as the voice of the Houston Astros from 1961-1986. He is the author of the books A Stitch In Time and That’s The Way The Ball Bounces.

For more information about his career and the effort to elect him as the recipient of the 2003 Ford C. Frick Award, visit www.Gene-Elston.org.

There is no question the quality of our lives has improved over the last 100 years. However, very often today we hear the phrase “life used to be so simple.”

Life WAS simple in the National League in 1900 when the circuit decided the 12-club league was too unyielding and top-to-bottom, competition was nigh impossible, the league voted to reduce to an eight-club organization.

Four teams were told to “take a hike!” (Louisville, Cleveland, Washington and Baltimore). Life was simpler because those teams’ only recourse was to demand total indemnification, which they received. This would include some 70 players as well as the franchises, and the four clubs had the right to dispose of the players they controlled without outside interference.

I’ll repeat, life was simpler then because there was no middle man, or to be more specific, no UNION. Now, I have nothing against unions, I belong to one myself. There was, however, at that time a simple explanation – the league did what they had the RIGHT to do, decide how many teams they wanted. The players under contract to the four teams expelled, were acquired through free agency, purchase or trade and those teams had full rights for their distribution to other clubs.

It sounds so simple, yet today when contraction was proposed the union was waiting to get in on the act – as if they had some financial investment (without expenses) in major league baseball as well as the disposition of the players.

For the past 35 years baseball owners have been putty in the hands of the Players Association. Beginning in 1966, when Marvin Miller took over the union, major league baseball began to lose control of their own destiny. Miller first struck at minimum salary; then, bargained the increase of payments to the players pension fund; owners approved the 10-5 rule to veto trades; the owners win one when Miller gives up the fight for free agency by substituting arbitration – the owners are sucked in; Miller suggests Andy Messersmith and Dave McNally agree to play the 1975 season without contracts – BINGO!: – through arbitration the two players are declared free agents — now the union has both free agency AND arbitration — then collusion.

The Players Association has become so powerful they believe they are part of management. Here’s the routine: The owners suggest – the union takes them to arbitration.

Elimination of teams was SIMPLE in 1900. it may not be as simple today as it once was, however the rights of the leagues and the teams’ control of their players hasn’t changed. Major league baseball controls the National and American Leagues and the 30 teams comprising those two leagues own their own players — or is that an over simplication?

Gene Elston served as the voice of the Houston Astros from 1961-1986. He is the author of the books A Stitch In Time and That’s The Way The Ball Bounces.

For more information about his career and the effort to elect him as the recipient of the 2003 Ford C. Frick Award, visit www.Gene-Elston.org.

Here’s a tip-o-the-cap to baseball franchises avoiding the use of corporate names on their ball parks!

It’s like a waft of fresh spring air, to tradionalists like me, to hear as the baseball season returns, the names: Wrigley Field, Dodger Stadium, Veterans Stadium, Busch Stadium, Fenway Park, Comiskey Park, Yankee Stadium and Skydome.

Even now, our remembrances drift back to the formulative years of this great game, back to the thoughts of other long-gone playgrounds: Polo Grounds, Baker Bowl, Crosley Field, Tiger Stadium, Braves Field, Shibe Park, Ebbets Field, Connie Mack Stadium, Cleveland Stadium and League Park.

Meanwhile, some of the most recent names have been obliterated from the national scene, some destroyed, while others still stand as silent monuments to days gone by, shoved along with their historic names and deathly silence that once upon a time heard the roar of the crowds and the sounds of the game. For baseball has lost: Three Rivers Stadium, Riverfront Stadium, Candlestick Park, Astrodome, Tiger Stadium, The Kingdome and County Stadium.

Some current stadiums have new names, while some of the new modern edifices have been labeled with something new, something completely foreign to the game of baseball. For example: Edison International Field, Comerica Park, Network Associates Coliseum, Safeco Field, Tropicana Field, Bank One BallPark, Cinergy Field, Coors Field, PNC Park at Northshore, Qualcomm Stadium, Pacific Bell Park, Miller Park, and Enron Field.

17 of the 30 franchises are still holding out in the naming rights game. The Astros, I hope, will have a change of heart and join the 17. In the meantime, I do believe, the Astros should honor the remaining seven months of their contract with Enron. Some in the Astros organization believe the association has hurt their image and their ticket sells will decrease, that some people are under the mistaken idea that Enron owns a piece of the ballclub. It does not. The eventual decision on naming rights is now in the hands of the U.S. Bankruptcy Court. We all know ballpark names do not win or lose games, nor in any way hinder ticket sales. Baseball fans will always be there.

When this decision is made, I would hope Houston will have a baseball stadium named, not for dollars and cents, but a name that will endure a long time, a name that blends in with the history of Houston. My suggestion is UNION STATION without the superfluous (the ballpark at). In baseball history no ballpark has ever been referred to as a station–but look at excerpts from the dictionary: “the building connected with a stopping place – a post for sphere of duty or occupation – a place of specialized observation – a place established to provide a public service.”

Not a Park, Stadium, Field or Grounds — nor corporate name.

Gene Elston served as the voice of the Houston Astros from 1961-1986. He is the author of the books A Stitch In Time and That’s The Way The Ball Bounces.

For more information about his career and the effort to elect him as the recipient of the 2003 Ford C. Frick Award, visit www.Gene-Elston.org.

The movie Eight Men Out was on TV tonight, and I watched it. Again. This movie is the story of the 1919 World Series and the Chicago White Sox, later known as the Black Sox, who conspired with gamblers to fix the Series. Watching Eight Men Out reminded me of Ted Williams. 

Ted Williams is going to die soon. He has been in and out of the hospital many times lately. He’s an old man. Almost blind. Wheelchair bound. And the greatest hitter who ever lived. Oh, I know, you can make your case for Babe Ruth, you can make your case for Ty Cobb. Maybe you can even make your case for Barry Bonds. But you can darn sure make your case for Ted Williams as the greatest hitter who ever played the game.

I saw him play. In 1960, his final year, Ted Williams and his Boston Red Sox came to Chicago to play the White Sox. That’s where I lived, and me and my dad and my Uncle Joe and my cousin Jerry went to see them play one cool, clear night on the glorious south side at the venerable old Comiskey Park. Everyone knew that Ted would retire at the end of the year. This was probably our last chance to see him hit. And as he came to bat, the scoreboard in centerfield flashed a sign: “Congratulations to Ted Williams: 503 career home runs.” Just then he smacked a fastball deep to center field. The crowd rose to watch our swift centerfielder, Jim Landis, race to the wall. He leaped, crashed into the canvas fence, and came down with the ball, robbing Williams, but only temporarily, of his 504th home run.

I was there. I saw this.

And now, somewhere in Florida, Ted Williams is an old man, soon to die.

For the last several years, Ted Williams has campaigned vigorously to have Joe Jackson put into the Hall of Fame. Joe Jackson, better known as Shoeless Joe, was a star on the Chicago White Sox from 1915 to 1920. Joe was an uneducated fellow from South Carolina. Never learned to read and write, but oh, how he could play baseball. On the strength of his record, Joe Jackson would seem a natural for the Hall of Fame. He had a career batting average of .356 and was generally considered one of the premier players of his day.

Joe Jackson is not eligible for the Hall of Fame. He was banned from professional baseball for life as a result of the Black Sox scandal of 1919. Jackson was one of the eight Chicago White Sox accused of throwing the World Series. Although the eight were tried and acquitted in court, major league baseball, wanting to purify its image, banned all eight for life. Thus the movie Eight Men Out.

Ted Williams has long maintained that Joe Jackson was not part of the fix. The numbers bear him out. Shoeless Joe hit .375 and never made an error in the 1919 World Series. Furthermore, there is no evidence that he ever took a penny from the gamblers who were behind the scheme to fix America’s premier sporting event. So Ted Williams is trying to get Shoeless Joe into the Hall of Fame.

I saw Ted Williams play. And I wonder sometimes, if my dad saw Shoeless Joe. He could have. The most famous story told about Joe, the one that even non-baseball fans have heard, concerns a little boy in Chicago who had heard all the talk of the fixing of the World Series and of the crooked ballplayers on the White Sox. The story is that the little boy in Chicago stopped Shoeless Joe on the street and said: “Say it ain’t so, Joe, say it ain’t so.”

It occurs to me that the news of the fixing of the 1919 World Series broke in 1920. It occurs to me that my father was, in 1920, a nine year old boy, living on the south side of Chicago. It could have been him who talked to Joe Jackson that day. It could be my dad who said: “Say it ain’t so, Joe. Say it ain’t so.”

And I was a 10 year old boy that night at Comiskey Park, in May of 1960, when Ike was in the White House and a young Senator from Massachusetts named Kennedy was beginning to attract attention. My dad sat beside me as we watched Jim Landis rob Ted Williams of a home run. But I never asked my dad about Shoeless Joe. I never asked him about the Black Sox and what that was like for him, what he remembered of that.

I can’t ask him now. Dad has been gone since 1976, a very long time now.

So tonight I saw the movie Eight Men Out about the Chicago White Sox of 1919, who sold their souls to gamblers and rigged the World Series. It makes me think about Shoeless Joe Jackson, who probably was innocent. Thinking about Shoeless Joe makes me think about Ted Williams, who is trying to get Shoeless Joe into the Hall of Fame. And thinking about Ted Williams makes me think of that fabulous catch by Jim Landis at Comiskey Park in 1960. Thinking about that catch makes me think of my dad, and all the questions I didn’t ask him before he died, all the conversations we never had.

And people who don’t understand all this sometimes ask me… “why is it that you love baseball so much?”

I promise this has something to do with baseball, and not just my children. Bear with me.

I have two children. Austin is my daughter. She’s 15 and she’s Ivy League smart, very pretty, and very talented. She is more fun to go to a baseball game with than anyone I know. She yells with joy at every strike and despises the wave.

My son, Andy, is 10. Andy is sweet, and as patient as Job. He is also dyslexic, dysgraphic (who knew there was something called dysgraphia?), and ADD, though not the hyperactive kind. He also has a beautiful swing, a good glove, some size, and some speed. He will never make the honor roll, but he’s liked by his classmates, works hard, is kind and thoughtful, and fearless on the base paths.

This is Andy’s 4th year of little league. This year he moves up to kid pitch.

Batting is not the hardest thing in sports for Andy. Watching his swing is all joy. The glove, too, is easy for him. Andy’s problem is learning to throw the ball.

Think about how counter-intuitive throwing is. There are a thousand mechanical imperatives: where your shoulder turns, how you grip the seams, how your ball hand drops and then raises, where your eyes look. Since his first day of little league Andy has thrown sidearm. It’s more work to raise the elbow, but at 10 the most likely destination of a sidearm throw is 5 feet to the right of the target.

At least if you’re left handed, and along with the dyslexia, dysgraphia, and ADD, Andy is left handed.

To cure his slinging sidearm, Andy has worked to learn to tuck his glove. At the end of a throw, his glove should rest tucked against his chest. By not dropping his glove arm, he should have better balance. By adding opposing force, he should increase power. He also has a better chance of protecting against a line drive to the face. Most of all, though, if Andy tucks his glove he is more likely to come over the top.

Now unfortunately Andy tucks all the time. Think of a pitcher in a wind-up. A pitcher lifts his glove leg, then as the pitcher’s glove leg drops, the ball and glove hands also drop. The glove foot moves forward as the ball hand moves up and the glove hand moves out towards the target. But Andy’s glove hand no longer moves out. It rushes straight to the tuck. Imagine the precarious balance of a one-armed pitcher and you can imagine how awkward Andy looks when he throws.

If Andy were right handed, maybe it wouldn’t matter. But left handers are cursed with pitching. The first thing a left-handed kid hears when he picks up a ball is that he should pitch. And now Andy must pitch, or not pitch.

Andy’s first season, way back in fall t-ball, he played shortstop. That spring he played first base, then he moved to second base for a spring, then to third for a fall, and finally last spring he spent a season as catcher. Except for third base, which was uneventful, and shortstop, which no lefthander should ever be asked to play, they all had their moments. Catcher was maybe the most fun, and he was very good. But tonight his new coach asked me, he played catcher last year? But he throws left? Left handers don’t catch. Left handers don’t play second or third. Left handers play the field if they can run, or first if they can’t.

Or best of all they pitch.

Pravata said recently that little league is not the majors, and he’s right in a way, but like all complicated things he’s also wrong. Somewhere in little league Craig Biggio first learned to run the base paths, Jeff Bagwell learned that wacko stance, and Barry Bonds hit his first home run. Roger Clemens surely pitched in little league, and I’m sure his dad wondered if he would ever consistently put the ball over the plate. What those kids learned then is some of what they walk onto the field with now. I would even suggest that in some ways what they did then was as spectacular as what they do now.

I read a quote recently by the poet Donald Hall, about how baseball connects American males through generations. When I watch the Astros, I see them through my favorite player, who is 4 foot 8 and 90 pounds. In content, professional baseball may not be little league. Subjectively though, through the context of my own eye, they’re both the same, or at least part of the same thing. When I see baseball, I always see Andy and what I’ve learned from him about the game. I hope that someday he sees me in the game, and thinks of what he learned from me. I hope he likes what he sees as much as I do.

My goals for Andy are very modest. He’s got a lot of things on his plate, and I want him to know that he’s very good at something. I want him to be a valuable team member. I want him to have a choice about playing high school ball. Maybe Andy pitches this year, maybe he doesn’t, it all comes down to an upcoming tryout. For the first time he’s on a good team with some older kids and several kids his age who are as good or better than he is. If he pitches, I know he’s going to bang a bunch of right-handed batters’ shins if he lets his elbow drop. I also know that as a father, I can’t do more than watch, play a lot of catch, and try not to remind him too often to get his glove out before he tucks.