throws like a girl

Moving day

In much the same way that I have hung up my signed Roy Oswalt photo above my desk but not yet unpacked my suitcases at home, I am relocating this blog in the most half-assed way possible. Future updates can be found here at all-baseball.com.

Why did I move? No particular reason except that I have been a huge fan of The Cub Reporter for years and think all-baseball.com, especially with its recent partnership with Most Valuable Network,  is a terrific site. Though already I am regretting placing myself among people who both update regularly and think cogently about their teams. It is too late now, though.

As for the discussion of Ron Santo's worth, I just want to add that I think he is a dreadful baseball announcer but an utterly charming radio personality. I am glad I won't be listening to him tonight, though. That Cubs series wore me out.

Something happened on the field: Astros win first game in nine days.

One way you can tell that the Astros finally won last night is that Cubs Fan, who is under most circumstances serene about the Cubs/Astros rivalry and frequently upbraids me for being so unpleasant when our teams are playing each other, got a little exercised on the subject of Roy Oswalt and smirking and Lance Berkman and fake head injuries and even indulged in some creative visualization about a Michael Barrett line drive and the bones of Oswalt's hand.

You get the idea that Oswalt is just a teeny bit embarrassed by the Barrett beaning last August 22, when he got tossed before putting in three full innings, but completely unwilling to admit responsibility for his actions. In today's Chronicle, our philosopher-king observes:

"I forgot about it last year with me, I guess ... It's part of the game, I guess. Something happened on the field. If you're going to let it linger on for a year, it's pretty long."

There you have it.

...

Ron Santo is the good kind of homer, a man with a simple heart who just wants his beloved team to win. This homer-ism expresses itself in grumbling about the fans in other towns, the ballparks in other towns, the weather in other towns. He takes pleasure in the other team's pain. When Craig Biggio (hello, Craig Biggio! No comment!) let a Neifi Perez groundball roll through his legs, Santo hooted, "Man, that was a soft-hit ball, too!" And when Jason Dubois hit a pinch-hit home run in the fourth, Santo failed to mention that it barely fell into our comically short Crawford Boxes. We are talking first row.

I don't like Ron Santo nearly as much as I did a week ago -- Cubs Fan observes that it must hurt my feelings to hear how much this man I've grown fond of dislikes me, as an Astros fan -- and so when he got sullen and quiet during Houston's three-run seventh inning, I will confess: I was glad.

Milo Hamilton is the bad kind of homer, a man who goes out of his way to express his pleasure in Houston's management team, its commercial sponsors, its promotional schedule and its roster decisions. Every Houston pitch that gets called a ball is debatable, every questionable strike is clearly within the zone. Every slow-moving pop fly almost makes it out of the park (to be fair, when your left field is 315 feet from home plate and your right field 326, every slow-moving pop fly probably does almost make it out). Milo Hamilton would point out that actually, those are the Landry's Seafood Crawford Boxes where Dubois's shot landed last night. But he likes every town he visits and every out-of-town restaurant he dines at, and he goes out of his way to speak admiringly about the unspectacular careers of every third-base coach or manager in the league, and you can tell he doesn't take any of it too personally.

There are unexpected pleasures in listening to the opposing team's broadcast, or watching a game from the opposing team's ballpark. I was delighted in the second inning of yesterday's game when Kerry Wood came to the plate and struck out, and a huge cheer erupted in the background that Ron and Pat ignored. One of these days, listening to the Pirates, I'm going to crack the code of how to cheer happily and sincerely for a team that is destined for ignominy. That is my project for this first diaspora season of mine. But today, there's too much potential for bad feelings on both sides. I'll be listening to the home team.

...

I experienced my first real fantasy/reality conflict of interest when Wrathful Little Darling Kerry Wood took the mound last night. I had fallen to last place in my fantasy league, a situation that had become all too similar to my reality, and so I really wanted to get some points from Wood. At the same time, however, I wanted him to lose lose lose. Wood managed to put together three innings which were the best of both worlds -- he quickly gave up three runs to the Astros, then proceeded to strike out five batters in a row.

I was sorry to see him leave the game. When Wood is not playing the Astros, he is one of my personal favorites, and I keep waiting for the pieces to come back together for him. The report last night was shoulder tendinitis, and I'm thinking that perhaps he has rotator cuff problems similar to Wade Miller's from the last few seasons. After half of 2004 on the DL and a couple of months of inaction this season, Miller is poised to make his big-league comeback after a couple of impressive rehab starts. I hope that Wood is also able to pull it together, even if it takes some time on the DL.

After all, with the suspensions handed down from last week's Red Sox/Devil Rays fracas, I've got a lot of new Darlings to choose from.

...

Meanwhile, Brad Lidge has pneumonia, Adam Everrett is too sick to play (he says he is available in an emergency situation, but with his .239 batting average, I can't quite imagine the sort of emergency that would require his services -- "Okay, Adam, we really need someone to ground into a double play right here. This game is taking way too long"), and Viz is batting in the fifth spot. This is not a recipe for Astros victory, I am afraid.

Occupational therapy.

I knew tonight's game had the potential to be frustrating, and so during my lunch hour today, I headed over to the hardware store and bought this elaborate ready-to-assemble "multi-function trolley" (as the box describes it) to keep my hands busy during the broadcast. Sure enough, I cursed and swore each time Jeromy Burnitz stepped to the plate -- and I don't care, Cubs fans, I still don't want him -- sure I yelled WOO HOO as Jason Lane made that fantastic catch at the top of the seventh with two outs and two runners on, but I kept my hands on my new multi-function trolley (Note to T.: I USED THE MALLET) and focused on finding all the right screws. And so maybe the Astros lost tonight, but at least I have a place in my new kitchen to store my knives.

I do not know what I will do to get through tomorrow night's Kerry Wood v. Brandon Backe matchup. Perhaps I could install a new ceiling fan in the bedroom. And maybe it will fall off during the night and kill me before we get to Sunday's Mark Prior v. Roy Oswalt.

...

The Astros looked marginally better tonight, actually scoring some runs for the first time since last Sunday, though poor base-running cost them two potential runs, as both Jeff Bagwell and Brad Ausmus got tagged out on the way to home plate. Clemens pitched better, I thought, than he did last Saturday in St. Louis (though with less impressive results), and went 2-for-2 (woe to the Astros when their best hitter of the night was the pitcher, though I was grateful for that Bagwell bomb in the third even if it was a solo shot). Willy Tavares made what sounded like a spectacular throw to the plate to get Derrek Lee for the third out in the eighth inning.

...

In observance of my continued exile, I listened to Pat and Ron instead of Milo and Ash (in actuality, it was just the pleasure of listening on the radio and not the internet that made my decision). Ron complained repeatedly about the humidity and the high temperature, and when I heard the fans stupidly start up the wave somewhere around the eighth inning ("That's pretty dumb," grumbled Ron, "they ought to pay attention to the game") I felt such a wave of homesickness wash over me that I actually sat down and cried for a minute -- but maybe that was just because my Astros were losing.

Not even spectacularly bad.

At what point does a team become historically bad? This morning, the Houston papers were struggling to make the case for infamy. It's been 12 years since the Astros have been shut out in consecutive games, and 17 years since they failed to score a single run in a series. I'll point out that the Detroit Tigers were already 3-20 by this point in the 2003 season, which makes the Astros' current 8-12 record look almost respectable.

... 

I guess the best part of living in the Midwest is that I don't have to think about the Astros unless I want to, most of the time. For instance, Wednesday  when I came out of a meeting and searched fruitlessly for the score to that afternoon's Pirates/Astros game -- due to the craptacular nature of my new work computer, I can't access mlb.com without crashing  -- I managed to convince myself that the boxscore I found was actually from Monday's game (both were, of course, 2-0 losses) and was able to preserve this fantasy for close to half an hour before my colleague T. e-mailed me in disgust.

That changes this weekend when hometown favorites the Chicago Cubs travel to Houston, and I am surprisingly sorry for it, even though it means I'll have access to the first local TV coverage of the season. But really, who wants to see these struggling Astros go down swinging to Maddux, Wood and Prior? Who wants to hearing the starting lineup and know that it doesn't matter if your pitcher has an 0.32 ERA, he's probably going to get another loss?

The only consolation is that when I spend the next several days listening to Cubs fans celebrating, it won't be from within the confines of my team's own ballpark. And that afterwards, while the Cubs fans of my acquaintance will all move on to fresh victories over Milwaukee and Philadelphia, I will sit here quietly hating them.

Honestly, I'm reluctant to write much about the Cubs, whose domination of the Astros for most of last season led to some tetchy words, mostly on my part, between Cubs Fan and me last season. (Consequently I am less than thrilled by any attempts to revive the hostility between Roy Oswalt and Michael Barrett.)  I will say this: If my team can make Ron Santo moan in pain, just once, I'll consider it a successful weekend.

...

throws like a girl would like to offer you words of comfort about how it's a long season, or point out how well Lance Berkman is hitting in extended spring training, or refer you to similarly bleak runs during the 2004 season, when it felt like the Astros were 0-for-June. But I haven't come up with any yet.

I listened to Monday night's game on the Pirates flagship station, for no particular reason. I was hoping I might get some clue how you go about cheering a team that doesn't have any serious prospects as a contender. The Pirates faithful seemed surprisingly cheerful. In the top of the eighth,  when the Astros launched a brief, utterly futile comeback and put two runners on base, the fans started chanting, "Let's go Bucs!" until the Pirates got the third out (courtesy of a single pitch from Rick White, and if he was ever once that effective during his tenure as an Astro, I will eat my cap). And best of all, their broadcasts were mercifully free of advertisements pretending the Pirates are going to win the division.

Unlike  the Astros, who are running this one particularly irritating spot about the extra pep in Ausmus's pickoff throw, because "every out brings them closer to October." (In much the same way, one presumes, that every minute at the water cooler brings throws like a girl closer to 5PM.)

Oh, Astros. It is not your year. Can't we acknowledge this and then find some other reason to go on?

...

The thing is, there's not really much I would do differently, if I were the Astros, as far as the lineup goes. However good Chris Burke might be at 2B, there's no denying that he is also better in LF than either Biggio or Luke Scott, who is 4-for-39 for the season. Jason Lane has certainly not produced much in the last week, but I am more than happy with his .313/.349/.588. Willy Tavares is more of a center fielder than anyone had a right to expect. I would play Raul Chavez more frequently than Brad Ausmus, since Chavez is hitting 120 points higher, I might wish that Bagwell would sit a little more often in favor of Mike Lamb (but then again, you can't see Lamb's clanking glove on the radio), but I don't actively dislike any of this year's roster, and this is a major accomplishment.

I believe there are better days ahead for the Astros. Not necessarily great days, but better ones. It would be nice if they started this weekend, against the Cubs, so that I might gloat happily at my desk on Monday morning.

...

Like many fans of less competitive teams, I have lately turned to fantasy baseball. My Wrathful Little Darlings are in fifth place out of sixth, so in a way it is a lot like cheering for the Astros, only with more fisticuffs. My sole criterion for drafting a Darling is that he have a reputation for anger mismanagement. I would have very much liked to draft Jose Mesa, who "vowed to drill Omar Vizquel every time he stepped in the batter's box" but I am unwilling to give up Kyle Farnsworth or Steve Kline to do it.

 

St. Louis 1, Houston 0

It was exactly the sort of ballgame that was worth traveling half a day to see, in all but one crucial respect, which is that the Astros lost it. You may recall that my boss and I were discussing the merits of a dominating, no-hit pitching performance versus a get-out-of-trouble-constantly pitching performance. I got both in St. Louis yesterday.

And anyway, It's not too difficult these days to totally dominate the Astros bats. (She added grudgingly. One day I may be happy that I witnessed a 10-inning complete game shutout, but that day hasn't come yet.) And please don't think Clemens' performance against the Cardinals wasn't worth some compliments -- in two separate innings, he managed to load up the bases, bringing Roger Cedeno to the plate. As a former Astro, Cedeno was contractually obligated to put the hurt on my team, as all former Astros seem to do. And as a former Met, my archnemesis, he was even more obligated. Instead, he flied out and ground out both times, personally stranding six runners. Thanks, Roger! Both of you!

Here is something worth noting: Chris Burke can be pretty awesome in left field. I'm not sure what kind of time he has put into that position in the minors -- very little, I'm guessing -- but even though he has only played there seven times now, he is impressive. He caught a line drive that was coming straight down the left field line in a superb diving catch that even the St. Louis fans surrounding us had to admire. throws like a girl is not going to make any comparisons to Craig Biggio's own performance as an impromptu left fielder, since I have recently declared critical amnesty for him, but draw your own conclusions. I'm just glad to have Burke in the lineup again. Of course, once Lance Berkman returns -- and he'll be starting a rehab stint in Florida on Monday -- the Astros will then have to decide which of their outfielders hits the bench. Will it be Jason Lane, leading the team in batting average and tied for most steals? Will it be Willy Tavares, who looks entirely comfortable in CF and is hitting .327 to boot? Or will it be Burke? I'm betting on the latter.

Here is the sad truth: Despite the fact that the offense is anemic and the defense can be somewhat porous, there is simply not enough room on the roster for all the good players. Again, I'm not saying anything against Craig Biggio, who, by the way, tried to kill me with a sharply hit foul ball yesterday. No, I am especially not saying anything bad about him.

Courtesy of my former colleague J.'s father, a Cardinals season ticket holder, we had seats in the third row just beyond third base. Prime foul ball territory. During a Biggio at-bat, the ball came hooking sharply toward our seats, moving so quickly there was barely time to react. I ducked down and covered my head with my arm -- you can tell I won't be catching any baseballs any time soon -- and as a result, the ball struck the Cardinals fan behind me squarely in the chest. He claimed that he was all right because he was wearing so many layers. But as J. and T. observed, he was with a group of buddies and probably didn't want to look bad. We're guessing that when he pulled all those layers off last night, he had seams imprinted on his sternum.

Missed me, Craig Biggio!

...

Anyway, yes, it was a terrific game, and on the basis of Mulder's performance, he deserved the win. But Clemens deserved the win, too. He threw 126 pitches in seven innings -- the most he has thrown as an Astro -- and got out of every jam he created. Even though I know I should accept this loss without complaint, I just can't.

My boss pointed out that the Radke home run earlier this week after five innings of hitless baseball was the sort of play that would turn off the casual fan. It's just so unfair that a game can turn so suddenly, that excellence goes not only unrewarded, but punished. This is pretty much how I feel this morning.

...

Some notes about Busch Stadium. First of all, it is a beautiful space in which to watch baseball, despite the all-concrete aesthetic. It is delightful to look up and see the clouds threading their way across the pattern of arches -- repeated at that very big arch just down the street -- around the rim of the bowl.

Second of all, it is cold in there in April. It was overcast when we arrived, and though the sun came out in the later innings, it was still chilly. At third base, Morgan Ensberg kept his right hand tucked in his back pocket for the length of the game, except when the ball was in play. (Maybe, suggested J., he just likes the feel of a hand on his ass, and maybe Clemens does, too, because Brad Ausmus came out for about 47 mound conferences and the obligatory ass pats over his seven innings.)

Third, it is shabby. A new ballpark in the Camden Yard/Coors Field aesthetic is going up just beyond right field. The Cardinals are making a big deal out of the coming demolition of Busch Stadium. J. tells me that the seats are being sold off at $500 a pair, and in the middle of the game, some Cardinal great -- who cares which one -- was driven around the field in a white Mustang convertible by Fredbird, the Cardinals mascot, to rip off a 73 on the right field wall and display a 72 -- the games remaining in the old ballpark. In the meantime, the Cardinals organization has apparently decided to neglect all repairs. The Diamondvision screen in right center is missing several key panels, making every roster photo look like the player has eye black under his left eye and a couple of teeth missing.

It is weird and disheartening to see this casual disregard for their ballpark, especially considering the Cardinals' apparent infatuation with their illustrious history -- there are statues and signs all over the place extolling this World Series victory or that Hall of Fame player. They opened the game, in fact, with video highlights from Game 7 of last year's NLCS, where the Cardinals robbed Houston of their first-ever World Series appearance. "Let's see  some footage of the Cardinals getting swept by Boston in the Series," I grumbled, but there is really very little indication that they were in the 2004 World Series at all.

Fourth, I don't know if I would call the St. Louis faithful the best fans in baseball, but they are certainly attentive and also courteous. T. and I, who were cheering our Astros as loudly as we ever did at Minute Maid, got some good-natured ribbing from the fans around us, but they were mostly tolerant, and, like I said, they appreciated a good play no matter which side had executed it. Meanwhile, when I spotted a couple of fans in Astros caps outside the ballpark before the game, I shouted, "Go Astros!" at them. Because I had left my cap at home by accident, my loyalties were not fully in evidence, and those Astros fans shot me a dirty look, assuming I was mocking their pain.

These are my people: the ones who assume you are making fun of them when you yell Go Astros. Screw you and your 10 innings, Mark Mulder. We'll be back this afternoon.

And I will love you like I used to.

It is hard not to fall completely in love with Ron Santo, who brings a passion and despair to his color commentary for the Cubs which is simply unprecedented in professional broadcasting. Just now, as Jerry Hairston worked on stranding two more Cubs runners in the top of the seventh against St. Louis, he was nearly speechless. After Hairston checked a swing on a low and outside pitch, Pat Hughes, play-by-play guy, asked, "Did he swing?" Ron answered listlessly, "No." Then silence. Then a quiet, "C'mon, Jer." Then more silence. Hairston then looked at strike three, and Ron expectorated a quick, "Jesus!" before catching himself.

This is a game that the Cubs are currently leading by two runs. But this is the same man who said last night, in the top of the ninth, that the Cubs needed some more insurance on their 7-1 lead over the Reds.

...

So, yes, while I have been neglecting writing about the Astros, it is true that I've been listening to the Cubs on the radio, but I promise, I solemnly swear, it is only after the Astros have finished up for the day, and only because even Cubs baseball is better than no baseball at all. But tonight, thanks to mlb.com, I caught a peach of a game between Houston and Milwaukee, in which Roy Oswalt threw 96 pitches in a complete game, 74 of them for strikes. Between this outing and last Friday's blowout against the Reds, which I initially missed but was able to catch on archive for the first time ever without someone spoiling the result for me beforehand -- there are a few advantages to living in the Midwest, one of which is that no one ever talks about the Astros score unless they happen to be playing the Cubs.

I am trying not to take it personally that Oswalt seems to be pitching the best he has since 2001 now that I have left town. This morning, my new boss was rhapsodizing over last night's White Sox/Twins game, in which Brad Radke threw 50 pitches, 42 of them for strikes, before he gave up a home run ball in the fifth inning. Meanwhile, Orlando Hernandez was reportedly in trouble every single inning, and managed to squeak out of it each time without giving up a single run. I thought to myself: Roy Oswalt can pitch that well! And then I thought: I prefer watching a pitcher get out of trouble, like Roger Clemens against the Braves on Monday night.

This weekend, I'm meeting up with former colleagues J. and T. in St. Louis, where I will see poor Roger Clemens go up against Mark Mulder, who is starting to look quite good in Cardinal red. Can't the man catch a break? Can't he go head-to-head with, say, Paul Wilson of the Reds?

...

Ron Santo is now bitching about the lack of Kleenex in the broadcast booth. I am sorry, Astros fans. This beats one of Milo's painful interviews with Yvette the promotions gal by a country mile.

...

I was startled to hear, over and over again tonight, that the Astros have the most stolen bases in the National League right now. I guess I haven't quite shaken the Jimy Williams years -- no complete games, and no running game. It would be a shame to waste Willy Tavares' speed, it is true. But Jason Lane has just as many.

Oh, Jason Lane. Every time he hits a home run -- and he has the most hits on the club right now, by the way -- I think about the fact that he's 29 years old now, and only just getting his start as an everyday player. You understand the Astros' reasons for not bringing him up sooner -- there was Hidalgo, there was Beltran, there was Craig Biggio who had to go somewhere -- but every time Lane gets a hit or swipes a base, I get the feeling that there is a great career that is never going to reach its full potential, because the Astros waited too long. I hope he is not too bitter.

...

Also, as much as I'm enjoying the running game, I can't help but be a little wistful for the hitting game of yore. I can't help remembering when a one-run lead didn't fill me with despair.

...

Speaking of Craig Biggio, I am increasingly reconciled to his continuing place in the starting lineup. Part of it is distance; talking with my new boss about Biggio's career, I am forced to acknowledge his increasingly certain HoF numbers. And the other part is the news this weekend that Biggio had just tied Ted Williams' career hits record (he has now, of coursed, passed it). Granted, Williams lost more than six seasons to the military, but really: anybody whose career can be mentioned in the same sentence as Ted Williams is a better player than I deserve to watch.

Craig Biggio, it is official: I apologize for everything mean I have ever said about you. I am sorry. You go ahead and keep playing for Houston until you get to 3,000 hits, if that's what you want. I will ask them to find a place for you.

My internet connection is more Raul Chavez than Willy Tavares.

The afternoon before I hit the road, I listened to a pregame interview with Phil Garner, in which he told Alan Ashby that the 2005 Astros were a team that had the potential to specialize in late-inning comebacks. "Of course they do, you dolt!" I screamed at the radio, "that's because you are using your best players as late-inning substitutions!" But now I look at the stats and see that Chris Burke has only gotten to bat twice this season, and is hitless, so that is probably not the right explanation. Garner is onto something, though -- in the Astros' three victories so far, two have come with rallies in  the 8th and 9th innings. After years of sitting fruitlessly in the stands after the Astros have fallen behind in the early innings, watching everyone with more sense than me get an early start on the drive home, I am sorry that I'm not there to enjoy this sudden clutchness. Even if it is coming at the hands of Mike Lamb and Jose Vizcaino.

I haven't heard an Astros broadcast since Wednesday because I can't get my MLB radio subscription to work and there is nothing up here on the radio but Cubs and Cardinals. I think of my team constantly, though, and I am delighted to read about Willy Tavares running from first to home on someone else's double. I might end up getting cable, just so I can watch him run.

St. Louis 7, Houston 3: The "waiting for the movers to show up" edition

Here is the weirdest thing I saw in the stands at Opening Day: a fan wearing a John Mabry t-shirt. Are these commercially available? Did the fan perhaps have it custom-made? Was it a member of the Mabry family? Sadly, I didn't find out.

Unsurprisingly, the Astros organization was waving the flag pretty hard at Minute Maid for Opening Day. There was a brass band in combat fatigues -- those trombones are bulletproof! -- that played every military branch's theme song (even the Coast Guard!), followed by a giant American flag, followed by about 20 Purple Heart-sporting veterans throwing out the first pitches. There was some country singer warbling the National Anthem, there was a flyover by a couple of F16s, and my favorite -- "God Bless America" in the seventh inning stretch. Personally the only moment that made me truly proud to be an American was when I was standing in line at the concession stand and looked up to see Barbara Bush dozing off in the expensive seats behind home plate. If you watched the game, you can hardly blame her.

I don't know if it's a sign that I'm already putting some distance between myself and the Astros, but last night's game was not as painful as a six-runs-in-six-innings-by-Roy-Oswalt outing would normally be. The Astros played like a team who have not gelled yet but might one day. Craig Biggio was purely awful at 2B in the first couple of innings -- even the plays he made, he seemed to bobble -- but he settled down, and I'm pleased to report that if the ball is hit directly to him, well, he catches it just fine. No, that is unfair. He made a lovely diving catch in one of the later innings that probably wasn't as difficult as he made it look. But he was 3-for-4 at the plate, and frankly, that kind of performance is very welcome, even though I feel certain that Chris Burke could do the same if he only got the chance.

No, the person who looked truly painful in the field, I regret to say, was Morgan Ensberg, who didn't seem to be able to reach a single ball hit his direction, and who even missed a throw by the cutoff man -- I don't know, one of those plays where the Cardinals got a lot of guys on base, and then scored them after Roy Oswalt gave up a three-run homer. You know what I'm talking about.

The fans in Houston are pretty excited about Luke Scott, who repaid that excitement by going 0-for-3. His first time out to the plate, they played the Imperial March from Star Wars. Presumably he called up to the booth and asked them to please cut that shit out, because for the remaining two at-bats, it was nothing but generic heavy metal.

...

I attended the game with my erstwhile art director and her husband and their kids. Because the game didn't really engage us until two outs in the bottom of the ninth, we spent our time commenting on the new design campaign this season -- black-and-white player photos with their first name in black and their last name in red, plus, for the home team, a tiny little color action shot of the player. Because those shots all feature the red jerseys, each Astro looks as if he has a tiny little devil on his shoulder whispering, "Ground to short! The sooner we finish up here, the sooner we can go meet some strippers!"

We suspect that the Astros got some outside help for this year's campaign, because it looks 1000 times better than the comic book heroes of 2003 and 2004. We had a lot of problems with the leading and spacing, though. I recognize that GRUDZIELANEK is not a name I'd ever want to professionally copyfit, and it doesn't help that the man's ears stick out, taking up valuable design real estate, but that's no reason for a six-inch gap between his first name and last name.

...

The Chronicle says that Oswalt's line last night is deceptive, that he really only made one bad pitch (that'd be the Reggie Sanders home run ball -- Edmonds' home run was pure Crawford Boxes). I am here to tell you they are lying. Oswalt had velocity but is still wobbling a bit on the slider and the changeup. He wasn't helped by the lead gloves wielded at 3B and 2B, but frankly, I expect better.

...

During Bagwell's last at-bat, the stadium A/V guys decided to revive the "swarm of thousands of angry bees" audio from last year's playoffs, in the hopes of firing him up, I guess. It didn't work.

...

Willy Taveras got a double out of a hit that would have barely been a single for any other Astro. Dude is fast. And he looks great in CF. throws like a girl is pleased to announce that she would like to have 10,000 of his speedy little babies, though it would probably be a lot of work to keep up with them.

...

Finally, throws like a girl is sorry to report too that the Undisclosed Midwestern Location is not Chicago nor St. Louis, because at least then I could see the Astros nine times a year. You will probably see me at Wrigley and Busch at least once each this year, though. I'll be the one in the Astros cap and the Oswalt jersey, getting pelted with rocks and garbage in the cheap seats.

When you leave this coast, take me with you

Before I get into my usual sentimental remarks about Opening Day, I would be remiss if I didn't share this quote from Lance Berkman in today's Chronicle:

"I'd pick us third, too ... I see it that way, too, on paper — if that's all you have to go on. On paper last year, the Cardinals were third, and they won 105 games. Don't be surprised if we're right there at the end."

This is exactly how I want my team to approach this season -- fully aware of their shortcomings but foolishly optimistic in spite of them. If you can't feel that good on Opening Day, before there is a single game on the record books, then when can you?

...

I'm a little cranky that my Opening Day comes later than so many other teams'. Of course, I listened to the Yankees/Red Sox game on Sunday night, and took grim pleasure in Boston getting their asses handed to them, even though under any other circumstance, I would probably take gleeful pleasure in hearing the Yankees get the same. Yesterday, it was all NL Central. I caught most of Brewers at Pirates, and then all 17 hours of Cubs at Diamondbacks. A few observations:

* There is something touching and a little poignant about listening to the Pirates radio flagship, with all its ads targeted toward hardcore Pirates fans. In particular, there was one ad for PNC Bank, in which purported fans talked about the good karma that would ensue from their buying Pirates tickets using a Pirates-themed debit card. All of a sudden, I realized that there are plenty of people in the world who might actually want a Pirates-themed debit card, and I felt sorry for every last one of them, even though a resurgent Milwaukee is key to my office pool victory.

* Cubs Fan has influenced me to the point that I now cheer for Corey Patterson ("He's batting 1.000!" I emailed her, after his first at-bat).

* "This is the most dangerous time for a baseball player," the Cubs' Ron Santo kept saying, even though his team had a five-run lead over the Diamondbacks. Apparently, when you get up by that many runs, you get sloppy and careless and it's more likely than not that the other team will take advantage and stage a comeback. By the time the score was 12-3, even Santo was forced to acknowledge that probably Chicago was going to pull out a victory, and he went on to talking about more important concerns, like blood sugar testing and his dog.

* If every Diamondbacks game goes like yesterday's, their season must feel like it's 500 games long.

...

And now for the sentimental part. Opening Day makes us all sentimental. This year will be worse for me than usual, because as it happens, I am leaving Houston on Thursday morning to take a job in what I like to call an Undisclosed Midwestern Location. So tonight's game against the St. Louis Cardinals will be the last I attend for a while. I am sure there are other Astros games in my future, but this will be the last time I can just hop in my car and watch my little darlings play in person. 

David Brooks published a column in the New York Times last week in which he contemplated becoming a Washington Nationals fan – his new local team – after a long history of rooting for the New York Mets. He theorized that fan loyalties have their source in one of three attitudes: love of the team as symbol of the community the fan shares, love of the team as psychological bond forged through mutual suffering, and love of the team because of what it symbolizes (Red Sox = suffering, Cubs = haplessness, though Cubs Fan says that what the Cubs represent is joyful toil).

Even after four years of close observation, I don’t think I could tell you what the Astros’ own personal creed is – possibly “Name-brand players sell more tickets.” Nor am I especially eager to become a part of the Houston community through our shared love of all things Astro. But that third option – loyalty through shared experience – doesn’t really sum it up.

I became an Astros fan by choice. I moved to Houston in 2000, more a casual fan of the New York Yankees than anything else, and when the 2001 season opened, I chose the Astros. I learned their names, their strengths and weaknesses, I listened to game after game after game on the radio and spent the first hour of every workday talking to my coworkers about what had happened the night before. I fell hopelessly in love with Roy Oswalt the week before his first appearance as a starter, when he told the Houston Chronicle that he was trying to get his parents and wife to ditch his own brother’s wedding, scheduled the same day, and come to the game instead. I learned for myself the true agony of rolling over and dying in the first round of the playoffs. I learned to look forward impatiently to next year.

 
After occupying  this space for a year, I still have no idea what value, if any, I contribute. There is no reasoned analysis of game strategy, no inside information you can’t find elsewhere. I used to think my job was to serve as an eyewitness, since I attended so many games, to report what I saw down on the field. I won’t be doing that any more.

I plan to keep writing here, though. With Rafe largely silent these days, the world needs another exiled Astros fan. I’m also curious what will happen after I leave – will I follow the Astros from afar? Or will I fall in love with one of the teams near the small Midwestern city where I’m moving?

At my going-away party last weekend, my friend J. cornered me and told me that he hoped the Astros would still be my team after I moved. And that if they weren’t, he hoped that I wouldn't cheer for the Cubs or Cardinals, at least. Or, if I had to cheer for one of them, make it the Cubs. (I suspect this is because he regards St. Louis as more of a legitimate threat.)

Here is my promise to all of you: It won't be the Cardinals. Or the Mets.

...

Stay tuned for the report from Minute Maid Park. I was disappointed to find out that the Astros will be facing Chris Carpenter and not Mark Mulder, as if the Cardinals don't feel they need to waste their best pitcher on the lowly Astros. You watch out, Cardinals; the most dangerous time in a ballgame is when you are up by five runs.

Why not here? Why not now?

Salon's King Kaufman weighed in with his National League picks for the season yesterday, and to save you the subscription fees or the ad views, I'll just go ahead and post his remarks about the Astros here:

The Astros are the other team that's been at the top of this division in recent years, but I think their moment has passed. They still have pitching that will take them a long way. Roger Clemens will still be winning Cy Youngs when he's 90, and Roy Oswalt and Andy Pettitte can chuck the ol' spheroid as well. Brad Lidge is a pretty good closer.

But this club lost Kent and Carlos Beltran over the offseason. Jeff Bagwell is just a smoldering husk of what he used to be. Craig Biggio seemed to halt his long, slow slide last year at age 38, and the move from the outfield back to second base at least returns him to a position he can actually play at a professional level. But he's not what he was either. Lance Berkman will start the season on the disabled list, still healing a knee he hurt playing flag football.

The starters will keep them in the wild-card mix, but nothing more.

It hurts, sure, but the only part I can argue with is that Roy Oswalt should not be consigned to "Oh, he's not bad, either" status. Now that the novelty of the National League has worn off a little for Clemens, I can see Oswalt putting up superior numbers this season.

Kaufman picked Chicago to win the NL Central, delighting Cubs Fan especially by citing Corey Patterson's offensive prowess. I take heart in his admission that he hasn't picked more than two of the six division winners in the last four seasons. Even I'm better than that, and I picked the Mets to win the East three years running.

Since the Astros have now returned to Houston and Spring Training is all but over, I'll just go ahead and list my own abbreviated picks for 2005. There is nothing to see here. I make no bold predictions. This year, I'm playing to win in the office pool.

NL West: Los Angeles
NL Central: St. Louis
NL East: Atlanta Resistance is futile!
NL Wild Card: Chicago

AL West: Anaheim
AL Central: Minnesota
AL East: Boston
AL Wild Card: New York

...

I have an admission to make. This is the only time you'll hear me say this, I hope: I think the Astros can win the Wild Card. They have four strong starting pitchers if they stay healthy, and good options for the fifth. Luke Scott, Chris Burke* and Jason Lane may not be as good as Jeff Kent or Carlos Beltran, but I think they all have the potential to put up Ensberg-esque or better numbers, and there are worse things than a lineup of four guys that hit as well as Morgan Ensberg.

*Yes, I know that Chris Burke has to actually get put in the lineup in order to put up those numbers, and scuttlebutt has him functioning as a late-inning substitution for Biggio. I am hopeful that his clear superiority cannot be denied for long, unless the organization sends him back to AAA, where his offensive power, like Jason Lane's before him, would stay just a happy rumor for most fans. This is actually a case where defense could make the difference in who ultimately wins out at 2B. The casual observer might not see that big a difference between Biggio's .286 and Burke's .354 -- that's less than one extra hit in every 10 at-bats. But I'm willing to bet that the casual observer will be able to see an enormous difference between Biggio's diving misses and Burke's ability to turn a play.

Meanwhile, Brad Ausmus's average has dropped 120 points in the last two weeks. Get used to it.

...

I didn't catch yesterday's final Florida game against the Atlanta Braves, but I was heartened to read that the Astros scored five runs off Atlanta's John Smoltz, who hadn't given up a single run in his previous 14 innings of Spring Training baseball. Roy Oswalt struck out five and gave up only one run (I presume he wasn't working on any pitches yesterday), and I will not mind at all if this team finally managed to eradicate all that bad postseason juju from and can go on to beat the Braves on a regular basis.