Astros 5
FTC Babybears 8

W: Lilly (4-2) | L: Ortiz (2-1)
HR: Yes.

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A hobbled battalion of ballplayers limps across the outfield grass of the Ho Chi Minute Maid Trail at Union Station. Marching behind embattled manager Cecil C. “Coop” Cooper, the squad tries to set aside their fatigue and injuries. The air is thick with the pungent smoke of burned rotator cuffs and scorched elbows.

Ahead on the trail, Colonel W.A. “Spack” McGrimm approaches the team, wanting a word with the manager…

MANAGER! WHO IS THAT SITTING ON THE BENCH OVER THERE?

The starting pitcher sir?

WHEN’D YOU PULL HIM?

After two and a third innings, sir.

WHAT IS THAT YOU’VE GOT DOWN THERE IN RIGHT CENTER?

An exhausted, overworked bullpen, sir.

YOU HAVE A WORN OUT BULLPEN, AND YOU YANK YOUR STARTER AT THE BEGINNING OF THE THIRD FUCKING INNING? WHAT’S THAT SUPPOSED TO BE, SOME KIND OF SICK JOKE?

No, sir.

WELL, WHAT’S IT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?

I don’t know, sir.

YOU DON’T KNOW VERY MUCH DO YOU?

No, sir.

YOU BETTER GET YOUR HEAD AND YOUR ASS WIRED TOGETHER OR I WILL TAKE A GIANT SHIT ON YOU.

Yes, sir.

NOW ANSWER MY QUESTION, OR YOU’LL BE STANDING TALL BEFORE THE MAN.

I think I was trying to suggest something about keeping pitches in the strike zone.

THE WHAT?

The strike zone. The control thing, sir.

WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON, SON?

Our side, sir.

DON’T YOU LOVE YOUR TEAM?

Yes, sir.

WELL HOW ABOUT GETTING WITH THE PROGRAM? WHY DON’T YOU JUMP ON THE TEAM AND C’MON IN FOR THE BIG WIN?

Yes, sir.

SON, ALL I’VE EVER ASKED OF MY MANAGERS IS FOR THEM TO OBEY COMMON FUCKING SENSE AS THEY WOULD THE WORD OF GOD. WE ARE HERE TO HELP THE ASTROS, BECAUSE INSIDE EVERY PLAYER, THERE IS A FRUSTRATED SONOFABITCH TRYING DESPERATELY TO SUCCEED IN SPITE OF YOU. IT’S A HARDBALL WORLD, SON. WE’VE GOT TO TRY TO KEEP OUR HEADS UNTIL THIS INSANITY CRAZE BLOWS OVER.

Aye aye, sir.

 
– FIN

Astros 9
Dickities 3

W: Sampson (1-2) | L: Arroyo (0-3)

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The hometown nine kept the scoring machine humming right along, putting a deep hurt on the Redlegs for their 4th straight win.

The scoring opened in the bottom of the 1st when the Red Messiah pirouetted one out to deep right for a 1-0 lead. It could have been more, but Hairston‘s single had already been erased by the first of Keppinger‘s GIDPs. Sampson got the swinging K on Phillips to end the inning, officially making tonight more successful than his previous outing, by a factor of roughly infinity. Everything else was gravy from there.

The top of the 2nd got off to a rollicking start, as Flapjack and Beaker opened with back-to-back doubles, tying it up at 1 each. Loretta – in for Blum because he rakes Arroyo – followed with a single to plate Pence for the lead, and moved to second on another single by Towles. But after Sampson moved both up on a sac bunt, the rally died off with a pair of ponches from Kaz and Erstad.

The next inning and a half went quickly, with the lone highlight being a sparkling 5-4-3 DP started by a charging Loretta, and turned lightning-quick by Kaz at the pivot. It was Keppinger’s 2nd GIDP in as many at-bats, and kept the tying run from crossing the dish in the form of Ross, who was on 3rd.

Gunther led off the 4th with a walk, and Loretta just missed a smokey off the top of the wall in left, putting them 2nd and 3rd with no one out. The rally found itself on life support quickly, though, as Towles and Sampson earned a pair of K’s, bring Matsui up with 2 down.

Then, the wheels came flying off the Bronson Arroyo Crapwagon in spectacular fashion. Kaz knocked the first pitch into right for a 2-run single, putting the Good Guys ahead, 4-1. Erstad pushed him to third with a single up the middle, before the Torpedo Boat plated him with a solid line single to left to make it 5-1, runners at 1st and 3rd, still 2 outs.

After working into a 3-1 count, Twinkie hammered a single in front of Junior to make it 6-1, and smoke started rising from the carousel. Dusty had finally seen enough, and turned to Lincoln to mop up the mess, while Arroyo left to a rain of boos that had been steadily building for the 3 batters prior. They’ve never forgiven him for the cornrows, I guess.

El Kabong greeted Lincoln with a double, scoring Tejada (7-1), and moving Berkman to third. Having now batted around, Thunderpants stepped in and dribbled a swinging bunt back to the mound for an infield hit to score Maybelline. Lincoln, rushing the throw, fired it off into no man’s land, allowing Tejada to score, too, bringing the damage to 9-1. Mercifully, Loretta finally ended the 2-out rally with a flyout to right that Junior barely snagged on the run, and the Redlegs got busy mailing it in the rest of the way. Friends, when it takes 4 paragraphs to describe a half inning, things are going well.

Sampson was efficient and solid the rest of the way, stretching it to 7 full innings, giving up just 1 more run as he started to tire in his last frame. Wesley Wright worked a scoreless 8th, and the Dickities picked up one last garbage-time run in the 9th from an Encarnacion pat off of Geary.

The whole thing starts again at some ungodly hour of the morning tomorrow, so put on a pot of coffee and get excited that you’re at work instead of staring at the crime against humanity they call a centerfield berm at the Tammy Faye Baker Great American Paddle Wheel And Smokestack Extravaganza. See you in the GZ, where the views always nice, or at least better than cartoonish riverboat bullshit silhouetted against a backdrop of Kentucky.

Astros 2
Phillies 1

W: Oswalt (1-3) | L: Kendrick (1-2) | S: Brocail (1)

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Tonight we were treated to a proper pitching-and-just-enough-to-win-it ballgame straight out of my youth. The Sparky we know and love returned, and not a moment too fucking soon, while Michael Bourn put a boot shin deep where the sun don’t shine in Philly.

In the top of the first, Bourn led off with an infield single, with Utley’s rushed throw pulling Howard off the bag. After a steal, Flapjack brought him home on a sharp double off the wall in left that just missed getting out, giving Roy yet another lead to work with.

Oswalt’s first inning looked like more of the same, as three Phils reached on singles, with Howard’s line drive pushing Werth across to knot it at 1. Then in the 2nd, Roy came from behind to get Ruiz on a groundout, before handling the Chin and Kendrick with no trouble. Somewhere in the inning, the complexion of the outing started to change, with Roy getting a firm handle on his stuff, making more of the pitches we’re used to seeing him make. The curve that got Kendrick had the ‘Stros faithful pausing and raising an eyebrow, reminded of what that thing is supposed to look like when he lets it go.

Then in the bottom of the third, we saw a sequence of two at-bats that have me convinced that everything’s going to be just fine. Straight from the game notes:

Oswalt, third inning, 2 outs, Ryan Howard. 1-0, throws beautiful outside curve for strike. Vintage fastball lower outside corner, no call. Perfect curve over the middle freezes Howard, again no call. Pitches around him on 3-1 to put him on. Burrell up, dirty first pitch swinging strike, tight slider? Fouls back a heater belt-high, outside edge of plate. Fucking murders him on the big curve – Burrell is laughing before he’s done swinging. Absolutely, totally filthy. Oh shit, he might be back.

Yes, sir. Forget the walk, Roy was throwing everything he wanted and then some. That was some nasty shit. Oh… some other gems from the game notes, in case you’re wondering:

Top of the 6th… cheerleaders? WTF? Is that the Funky Chicken?

What the fuck is the Foundation for a Better Life? Sounds cult-y.

Gold, Jerry. Gold. Things cruised along from there, until Bourn stepped up in the bottom of the 5th and yoinked an inside pitch straight down the right field line, banging it halfway up the pole (there’s a joke in there somewhere, but I’m too lazy classy to find it) for a 2-1 lead. His next time up, the shithead fans booed him, presumably because he had the temerity to be traded. How fucking dare he play adequately well for another team after they got rid of him? The gall.

With the slim lead in hand, Roy continued right on dealing, his first few starts fading in the rearview. In the 6th, Phillie patrons barely had time to get up out of their seats – much less head to the concessions for a refill of miserable fucking bastards with a side of everyone hates you – as Sparky set the side down on 7 quick pitches.

After Cheito pinch hit in the top of the 8th, Wesley Willis came on for the first time in several games to work the bottom half. And work it he did, striking out 2, 3 and 4 in the order, with the punctuation K on Howard to end the inning. Rock over London, rock on Wesley. That inning really whooped the camel’s ass. (Too obscure? Not obscure enough? – Ed.)

Then, in the top of the 9th, with the Good Guys clinging to that one run lead and looking to break through, Brownie took the kid gloves off and came in high and hard with “A one run lead in this ballpark? Not exactly taking it to the bank.”

Heh. Hmm. Anyway, that pretty much killed the party, leading us into the final half-inning with the ball in the capable hands of closer… Doug Brocail? Why the hell not. Burrell went down swinging again to start it, followed by a Jenkins dribbler to second, two down. (Before this ends, lets take just a second to stare awestruck at the mammoth fucking jaw on this man. That’s not gum he’s chewing, folks – that is a wad of crumpled steel. I shit you not.) Rollins limped in to pinch hit, reaching on a liner to center just past a diving Loretta. Nothing came of it, though, as the game ended on a swinging ponche by Dobbs.

The win brings the club back to 3 games under for the first time since late yesterday, with a chance tomorrow to make it 2 series wins in a row. Backe takes the bump at noon against world-class asshole Brett Myers. See you in the GZ.