“There’s only one thing in the World worse than being talked about, and that’s not being talked about”

Finally, pitchers and catchers reporting for duty has meaning outside of State Penitentiaries. Many of them will be pulling on different uniforms in different backwater shit-holes of Florida and Arizona. Of obvious interest to us but, due to a couple of notable moves made by other clubs, of little interest in the media any more, is the first action seen by Pettitte and Clemens as Astros.

But how far has this story dropped off the media radar scope? Look no further than our own, venerable Houston Chronicle, which leads its baseball section with a photo of Billy Wagner in a Phillies’ valet parking uni practicing his very necessary self-defense skills.

To be honest, the recent indifference of the media to the Astros is not a problem. When they focus the watery half-light of their collective intellect on our team, they invariably miss the point, re-hash old cliches and get things flat out wrong. Who needs that? Plus, when it comes to missed points, tired cliches and inaccuracy, one needs to look no further than Limey Time.Read More

The Racket. Rahjah. Team Bastard. All were intentionally derogative terms hurled at Roger Clemens and his agents. Having tickled our collective scrotum last time Clemens was a free agent, these twin (triple?) pillars deception kicked us squarely in the bollocks by signing with the Evil Empire. History shows that Clemens got what he wanted, a World Series ring, but it also shows that he received some shabby treatment from Herr Steinbrenner and also engaged in a curious, one-sided feud with Mike Piazza. (I agree with David Wells, if that’d been me, that shard of bat would still be jammed up Clemens’ arse).

As a result, Clemens became something of a pariah around these parts.

But then an odd thing happened. He retired, in all likelihood to allow the opportunity to compete in this year’s Olympic Games in Athens. Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony. The US Olympic team was dumped unceremoniously out of the qualifying stages and The Racket found himself without a gig for the coming summer. Then Andy Pettitte signed with Houston. Then a radio station gave him a Hummer (NTTAWWT). Then the town many called his own, finally embraced it’s wayward…umm…neighbour from 50 miles west.Read More

What the hell? The Astros sign Andy Pettitte, the Coalition scoops up Saddam and the Dow takes up permanent residence above 10,000 (you heard it here first, folks). The Holidays have come early to the good folks of Astrodom, and there may yet be more…

But first things first: this week, I shall be mostly wearing Coco Chanel.

Team Bastard

Now back to the insults. The brothers Hendricks, those arrogant shysters who rubbed our noses in dog shit last time they were hawking a name arm in these parts, seemingly enjoyed a change of heart more pronounced and unlikely than that of James Caan in “Elf”. Suddenly, the Astros were not a stick with which to whack the Yacht Captain and McLane’s offer was not simply bum-fodder. With his home town beckoning and the warmest of welcomes from an owner who was not behaving like John Lithgow obsessing about an over-thruster, Pettitte took time out from his son’s recital to call Santa’s Little Helpers and tell them to make a deal with our ‘Stros. The deal was struck, and the Hendricks’ heart (they have one between them which they keep in a vault) grew three times that day.Read More

During my enforced absence from the TZ at the end of the season (no, I was not sulking or crying in a corner) I’m sure you’ve all picked clean the bones of the Astros’ unsuccessful 2003 campaign. I have read a little of what’s been posted but, after perusing the recent ZipperFlap, I decided that plowing through all of it would be futile, painful and probably not a little annoying. That’s not to say that I think you lot are full of it and that I’m the only one with the answers. It’s simply that I have confidence that those debates which could come to a conclusion have done so without my assistance or interference; and those that haven’t probably never will.

My Two Cents

Of course, as an EgoColumnist, I am tasked with inflicting my thoughts upon you (cracking some shit jokes in the process). So here goes: Why did the chicken cross the road? Because it was performing a fitness test on its dodgy groin.Read More