Brewers 7, Astros 3

W: Greinke (10-4)
L: Norris (5-8)

The house is quiet, except for the occasional jangling of the tags on the dog collars when they shift in sleep on the couch. Everyone’s gone for the weekend, leaving me here to watch the Astros and fill in the rest of the time in the usual manner, stringing out indecision over whatever other pursuits I’d rather do than some sort of needed chore, so that I can savage my psyche later for not getting those things done.

Times like these, the quiet tail ends of slow weekends, are prime opportunity for reflection. In my case, reflection is a dark, evil road that can lead me to painful examinations of the minutiae of failure and regret. The first step is to put on some music, something that draws the demons out of their lairs with the scent of food. Maybe a disc with a particular song that reminds me of someone? Maybe something less specific but darker? No, why not stand up and call the demons out. I think I’ll select the cool, smooth cylinder of a familiar, pervasive, unsolvable, everpresent and immutable anguish. Something that celebrates and illustrates just enough of the pain so that I can fill in the blank spots with my own and fire up a special hellbrew for the evening.

Echoing words, voices, thoughts
Remembering what you forgot
And I was just hanging out

It starts out playing on those tones we all know too well, the searing imbalance of unrequited feelings. Ah yes, l’amour. L’affect de la coeur. The smooth, slow ramping up with the lyrics that are just specific enough to slice into that first layer, just sharp enough to let the blade slide under and pull the skin up, just a little bit…right there…

So that the next song can slide all the way in and fill the vein, fill the paths all the way to the heart, all the way to the brain. That delicious darkness, that overwhelming burn that is your story, my story, our story and it hurts, hurts to remember it and dredge it up and replay it over and over and over. What is it that makes this pain call me back? What is it that makes it irresistable? Replaying the pain, feeling the confusion and the hurt and the anger all over again, the sickening knot that doubles me over, wrenches me from mouth to crotch in some circular spasm, tendrils of shame and sadness wrapping around me and tightening with every line in every verse.

And all at once it’s not important
What fell in place just falls apart again, I guess
Not having, I can only hope
It’s only time and you know I’ll wait

I know that I love this pain. I seek it out in so many ways, some finely tuned and some blunt approximations. Now that the mad rush is raging, it’s a matter of sustaining it. I may feel sick, I am certainly aware of the pool of sludge I’m bathing in, but knowing that gives me the fuel to hate myself that much more, to feed this weakness and shame and be energized in some strange negative way by it. I don’t take pride in being broken inside but now it feels like some kind of exotic animal that needs to be taken out for a few paces around the block and if someone notices the shiny edges of the darkness then so much the better. Look at me as I disappear…

Sometimes there’s enough fuel to last for days. I have my favorite means of feeding it, to be sure, but it’s rare that I can afford to devote days dancing on the knife-edge of this particular madness. And madness it is, make no mistake about it; I can’t begin to count the number of times the cool blade has cleaved so close to devastating my life and those around me.

The best part, the really good part is when it burns itself out. I can recognize it, see that the fire is banking and I know that it will be over soon, like that roller coaster ride that loops the track twice so you know what’s next. After the inadequacy and helplessness fades into smoke there is a quiet peace that is more welcome than joy, cleansing and cooling me. The sun does come up in the morning and the overgrowth that was threatening to slip outside has been burned back a bit.

Somehow, this beast hasn’t consumed me; it answers my call and it heeds my leash. The question is, will I someday turn it loose? I hope not. I know what it can do.

In your dreams you’ve seen it all
Through a window so far off
Remember watching while your
Lightning blue eyes reflected sunrise

Through the dawn I’d seen it, too
I caught a glimpse I thought was you
And I was overwhelmed
Lightning blue eyes against the daylight

——————–

Hey, 40 games under .500! So what. Big deal. It’s not a measuring stick, no more than anything else. We all know this team is bad, so bad that they sold off what others would buy just to get some teasing hope for the future. 40 games under, 50, 35, it doesn’t mean anything in the Grand Scheme.

The parts that do have meaning are that August is a cruel and difficult month in baseball, especially if you’re on a team that is playing to see if some of the guys from the minors can earn spots with the big club going forward. The grind of the season gets magnified in August, so when Norris can’t get his pitches over or when Happ’s baby steps forward put him back on his ass, those things become the bright snapping flags waving in the continual stiff breeze of losing.

The Brewers, sweeping their first series at Minute Maid, scored six of their seven runs with two outs. Again, they seemed almost nonchalant in their scoring, confident that they would win and so did just enough to kick the Astros around without having to stretch. Milwaukee is a good team and the clear differences between them and the Astros couldn’t be more pronounced. Folks, if you were wondering what it would look like to see the differences between a good minor league team and what it takes to win in the majors, look no further because you’re seeing it night after night in Houston.

Greinke didn’t dominate with good stuff, he was staked to a good lead and was able to throw what he wanted to when he wanted because he knew the Astros wouldn’t threaten. Indeed, the usual miscues on the basepaths and failures with runners on proved him right and kept the home nine from even appearing to be in the game.

The youth movement continues. Altuve got two hits, drove in one and scored by running through a Dave Clark stop sign. Bogusevic got a pinch hit and scored a run; Downs broke his schneid and Lee drove in two. Martinez looked capable in left, and Shuck has a good eye at the plate.

Them’s the turds to be polished on this evening, before they jet off to face an Arizona team that is fighting the Giants for first place in the NL West.

In the night your love’s a beacon
That’s the light l’ve been seeking.

I’m pleading, baby take away the pain.