throws like a girl

Summer's over.

A quick scan down the list of referring links to this blog show that "Astros suck" is getting a lot of hits on Google tonight.

Sorry, Cubs fans. Sorry.

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While I was taking my evening stroll around the neighborhood, I came across a gentleman cleaning out his truck in his driveway. From a distance, it looked as though he might be wearing a PRIOR 22 t-shirt, but I wasn't entirely sure because he kept moving. But when I got close enough to see his face, I realized he was also wearing a Cubs cap. I thought seriously about stopping and saying something to him, something like, "Man, rough game today, wasn't it?" but in the end, I decided that however sorry I was about how the game went -- and for the second day in a row, I monitored the Cubs pitch-by-pitch and died a little with them every inning that passed without the Cubs scoring a run -- I probably wasn't sorry enough.

The last guaranteed weekend of Astros baseball this year is upon us. I have tickets for Saturday night, but I might go on Sunday as well, depending on what it looks like the future might hold for Houston. The last day of the regular baseball season, especially if your team is going to be packing up their lockers and heading home, is one of the saddest days of the year.

Hitting the bottle.

My beloved Milton Bradley evidently completely lost his shit again last night. In the top of the eighth inning with one out and the bases loaded, he dropped a flyball to right field, an error which enabled two Rockies runs to score. Someone in the right field stands then threw a beer bottle at Bradley, and my boyfriend picked up the bottle, walked over shouting profanities (Dodger Blues' account has him taking a stand on the environment: "Don't you know all this trash washes out to sea? It pollutes the beaches, not to mention it kills sand crabs and penguins. Stupid ass."), then flung the bottle down at the feet of the fan and stalked off again, this time with several field staff, teammates and an umpire following.

"Of course, glass, that's really dangerous," observes one of the Dodger announcers, and a thousand sportswriters and bloggers run panting to their keyboards to wax poetic on the state of fan/player relations in the wake of this and the Frank Francisco incident two weeks ago.

One supposes that the Dodger announcers don't spend a lot of time drinking beer in the stadium, because if Chavez Ravine is anything like Minute Maid Park, then that bottle was completely shatterproof plastic. But hey: maybe we Texans are just way more safety-conscious.

Weirdly, searching for the link to my earlier love letter to Milton Bradley, I found myself feeling oddly nostalgic for the days when I was just posting MOTHERFUCKER MOTHERFUCKER MOTHERFUCKER for days on end (see June 2004). No matter how these final four games play out, I can't quite imagine the scenario that would cause me that level of rage and despair. I think MOTHERFUCKER MOTHERFUCKER MOTHERFUCKER has been mathematically eliminated. Unless Houston makes it to the playoffs, of course.

A blind man could see how much I love you.

All I needed was a single voice of encouragement. Thanks, Rafe.

Just bought a ticket for Saturday, October 9's Game 3 of the NLDS and Sunday, October 10's Game 4 of the NLDS. While it would be nice if they'd honor these tickets at Wrigley Field, which is surely where Games 3 and 4 of the 2004 NLDS will certainly be played, I'll simply have to hope that Drayton McLane uses the interest he earns on my unused tickets to sign Carlos Beltran to a long-term contract.

Interestingly, I ended up in exactly the same seat for both games, despite the fact that I bought these tickets randomly on the internet.

By the way, I like Beltran a lot for insisting that he wouldn't sign unless Lance Berkman and Roy Oswalt are also locked up for a couple more years.

In fact, I think it's safe to say that I'd like to have ten thousand of his base-stealing babies.

Do I dare? And do I dare?

Have been in agony all morning trying to decide whether or not to buy Astros NLDS tickets, which went on sale this morning.

CONS:

1. The Astros can only make the playoffs by going 5-0 the rest of the week, while the Cubs drop at least two games to either the Reds (unlikely) or the Braves (slight more likely except if the Braves send their AAA affiliate out on the field this weekend in anticipation of their own NLDS).
2. It will be at least six weeks before my $100 is returned.
3. Nonrefundable $10 processing fee for both games. $10? To bill my credit card online? Come on!
4. If Astros make the playoffs, then Game 3 or Game 4 will likely be the games in which they lose the series. Do I want to be there for that? Or would I prefer some privacy?

PROS:

1. But what if they make it?
2. What if they don't lose?
3. Will I even be in Houston next year? What if this is my last chance to see the Astros play?
4. Clemens or Oswalt will surely start one or both of those games.
5. I love them. I love them so freakingly much.

...

Several times now, I have made it as far as the YOUR CREDIT CARD WILL BE CHARGED NOW button, only to back off. Meanwhile, seats are going quickly. What's a girl to do?

Furthermore

A love letter to Jeff Kent on Slate today:

As connoisseurs of the nut-case athlete know well, what Kent enjoys even more than baseball is acting like a loon. With Albert Belle retired and John Rocker a washout, the flecks of gray in Jeff Kent's push-broom mustache are a warning to us all: The loose cannon ballplayer is a dying breed.

Also, on his fisticuffs with Barry Bonds:

When reporters surrounded Kent's locker the next day to learn more about this Bay Area death match, the second baseman turned around and pulled down his pants. His bare ass had no comment.

It is almost enough to make me love my team again.

Schadenfreude

No matter how many times I tell myself that it is ridiculous to get so bent out of shape about a baseball team, it seems nearly impossible to pull myself out of an Astros-related funk. Today I have sat glowering at my desk, unfit for human company, and any interaction I have had -- a car that stops in front of the bank parking lot I am trying to exit, a well-meaning coworker who sticks her head into my office to offer me a leftover salad for my lunch, the office dog who drops by my desk begging for treats -- all of these creatures, I am quite passionately convinced, deserve a kick in the ass. And then, once they are sprawling on the ground, a kick in the head, for good measure.

This is what September baseball does to me. Also April, May, June, July and August baseball.

Cubs Fan repeatedly urged me -- presumably so that I would stop kicking her -- to read Joe Queenan's True Believers earlier in the season, and I finally did, a few weeks ago. While I am certain that, even as a lifelong Phillies fan, Joe Queenan doesn't comprehend even a small fraction of the suffering I have endured -- endured this season alone! -- one thing that I have to say in his favor is that, at least, I doubt he would insist that I get over this funk.

Far from finding nobility in defeat, I found it distinctly disturbing that the outcome of a single game could suddenly, irreversibly wreck an otherwise perfect day. Fall weekends tended to be the worst. I asked my therapist to consider an example. One evening I took my son to see The Mummy Returns. It was an amusing, serviceable sequel to a campy original; we both had a great time at the theater and a nice time at the dinner; and when we returned to the house I was still in a cheerful mood: upbeat, confident, optimistic. Then I went into the den and fast-forwarded through a tape of the 76ers getting annihilated by the Raptors while I was out at the movies. Whereupon I began shredding magazines, smashing knickknacks, questioning the meaning of life. Tes, another typical Sunday night chez Queenan. And it wasn't even a playoff game.

T.points out that it must be much worse to be a Dodgers fan, to have had to watch as their eight-game lead dwindled down to its current .5. He is perhaps onto something there. If nothing else, at least my archnemesis Eric Neel is suffering too. He writes today:

The only thing more agonizing than sitting home alone in front of the TV and watching your team fritter away what's left of its slim division lead is sitting smack dab in the middle of the opposing team's ballpark, surrounded by revved-up fans who, if given the chance, will rip your heart out of your chest and grill it with onions, butter and a touch of garlic.

Of course, the only thing more fun than sitting home alone in front of the TV and watching your team stomp on the hopes of its fiercest rivals is sitting front and center in a seat at their house, surrounded by the wails and lamentations of their anguished faithful.

I'm sorry that you will think less of me for saying this: Even though I'd probably willingly trade my most precious baseball possession (that'd be Mark Ulriksen's surprisingly sweet illustration of the late, unlamented Astrodome) to guarantee that the Giants don't win another game this season, all of a sudden, I can see a little upside.

Even our hurricane is second-rate.

Did anyone else wake up this morning screaming in pain, or was that just me?

...

The long-dormant Viz Watch would be remiss if we didn't draw your attention to this little item from today's Houston Chronicle:

Versatile infielder Jose Vizcaino said he would like to return to the Astros next year. He's in his fourth year with the team, which is the longest continuous service he's had with any major-league club.

"There's no doubt in my mind," Vizcaino said. "I love it here. We've still got two more weeks, and I need to finish the season strong so they'll be able to re-sign me. I'd love to come back."

Vizcaino, 36, has been an invaluable member of the Astros this year and is hitting .273 with three homers and 31 RBIs. He has made 70 starts this season, mostly at shortstop in place of the injured Adam Everett.

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Excuse me just one moment.

...

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

Also: Hell no.

Now I will be the very first to admit that Viz has been mostly a pleasant surprise this season, especially after his rally-killing .143/.179/.200 April. I have heard that he is a great guy to have around the clubhouse. He is without a doubt putting up better numbers than he did in 2003. But this just doesn't seem like a good idea at all. I am sure that the Astros can pick up a .270/.314/.375 utility guy for way less than $1.2 million.

Please, for the love of God, Viz, please go on some kind of massive 10-game skid. Houston's playoff hopes are over, anyway! Give in to your inner suck! Go 0-for-40! Make three errors a game!

I've seen your work. I know you can do it.

Losing my religion.

Now that we are separated by hundreds of miles and several states and a couple of lousy ball teams in between us, T. and I like to start off our mornings by speculating on which of us suffered more intensely during the previous night's game. Today T. writes:

Made it through the fourth I think and then realized I was just in daze, cussing and mumbling around the house. However, I did check the scores first thing this morning hoping for some miracle.

He then alluded to a game we attended together last year, 9/26 against the Milwaukee Brewers, in which Houston starter Jeriome Robertson didn't make it as far as the second out of the first inning, and the Astros found themselves losing 9-1 by the middle of the second. This game is unique in our history in that it is the only time that I have seen T. leave a game early, despite the goodness of our seats (club level along the third-base line when we are both generally mezzanine dwellers) and the tightness of our pennant race.

Yeah, I remember September 2003 well, how it was nothing but stress and constant pain by Labor Day, how I couldn't even bear to listen to the games for fear of hearing them lost, or getting an update from whatever Cubs game was playing. All this September I have been remarking happily to myself how much easier it is this year, without any particular high hopes, nothing to lose, how much easier it is to nip at the heels of the Giants and the Cubs rather than feeling them nipping at Houston's.

I realize this morning that I have been living in some kind of self-delusional fantasy land. Last night's loss to the Giants -- especially coming after Bagwell and Berkman's back-to-back home runs in the top of the first -- was soul-destroying to the degree that I had to engage in some bizarre, sleep-fueled fantasy this morning when the clock radio went off, that the Astros and Giants had actually played a doubleheader last night, and that yes, as I remembered, the Astros had lost the first game 9-2, but had come back to win the second. I swear I heard the radio telling me this.

Of course, that was just a dream.

...

My grief over last night's game was just compounded when I clicked onto the Houston Chronicle sports pages this morning to discover that former clear-eyed rationalist Larry Dierker had finally capitulated to the Astros comeback miracle, just in time to get kicked in the gut by last night's blowout.

Even during the 12-game winning streak, I was skeptical. The Astros knocked the cover off the ball. The major run producers were sizzling, and the team averaged almost 10 runs a game during the streak.

But how long could it last? I didn't think it could last until the end of the season, and I knew the team would have to pitch better than it did during the streak to win the wild card. In fact, I would be surprised if any team in baseball history has won so many games in a row while giving up an average of five runs per game.

Even though the team has lost a few games lately, the pitching has improved. The two-hit shutout that Roger Clemens and Brad Lidge pitched against the Brewers on Sunday night came two days after Roy Oswalt beat the Brewers' best pitcher, Ben Sheets, 2-1 on Friday.

Now I'm on board like everyone else.

Oh, Larry Dierker! Not you too!

Funnily, his piece today reminds me of something I read just yesterday about the Cubs: SCORES OF CUBS FANS DEAD IN TRAGIC BANDWAGON CRASH. It doesn't seem nearly so funny this morning.

Those that died in the crash were the lucky ones. For the survivors must live with the nightmarish memories of a great ride turned tragic.

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I try to console myself by repeating my mantra: PITCHING LIKE THIS IS THE REASON WHY YOU DON'T ACTUALLY WANT TO SEE THE ASTROS MAKE IT TO THE POSTSEASON. But no matter how vehemently I claim that I just want to see the Astros play some decent baseball, or keep the Cubs or the Giants or the Marlins or whomever from making it to the playoffs themselves, no matter how I protest these things, I have to admit: I was hoping, and last night was just crushing. There is no other way around it.

Roy Oswalt says: "I'm not going to pitch around him for sure." This can only mean trouble.

If, you know, there were more than a handful of Astros fans and an equal handful of pain-loving Cubs fans actually reading this blog, I'd almost believe that Eric Neel is trying to get on my good side after having spent the last month or so on my shit list. Today in a roundtable of ESPN's Page 2 writers, he announces:

Right, you never hear about Astros fans and their anguish; who will stand up for them? I say, let it be us, let it be here, let it be now!

I mean, on the one hand: Fuck you Eric Neel. If he never hears about Astros fans' anguish, it is simply because he hasn't been listening.

On the other hand, though. Yes. My pain and sadness is much sadder and more painful than yours. Thanks for noticing.

And thanks to Cubs Fan for pointing this out. It was remarkably generous of her, under the circumstances.

Why do you have to put a date on everything?

Have I confessed yet that I am crazy enough to have printed out schedules for the Marlins, Cubs, Giants and Padres and pinned them all around the office? No. Well, I got exactly that crazy on Friday morning, and so a goodly portion of my morning now begins with a Talmudic contemplation of each team's remaining games.

Here is where I believe various contending wild card teams are going to fall off the bus and get left behind.

Astros. Sorry to say, after dropping three of five (and very nearly four of five) to the Pirates this weekend, which under other circumstances I could regard as just a little blip, the Astros face St. Louis at Busch Stadium for their next three games. Optimists among you may look to St. Louis's recent losing series against the Dodgers as a sign that the Cardinals are weakening. Listen: The Astros are not the Dodgers.
Astros fall out of contention: September 16. And we have the added honor of being the team against whom St. Louis will clinch the NL Central pennant. Woo fucking hoo.

Padres. First of all, the Padres have only gone 6-4 in six games against the Rockies and three against the Cardinals. Not really dominating baseball. Now they face the Dodgers, Giants and Dodgers before their next games against noncontending Arizona. To paraphrase Cosmo Kramer, in my mind, they're already gone.
Padres fall out of contention: September 16, after getting spanked by the Dodgers at least two games. I'm being generous here.

Marlins. I hate the goddamned Marlins. I really do. They have four against Montreal this week -- and Cubs fans, are you with me on this? Montreal isn't always terrible -- before they face serious competition from the Braves and the surprisingly resilient Phillies. I'm not saying that Florida couldn't take the Braves and the surprisingly resilient Phillies. But I sure as hell don't want them to. And you know? The funny thing is that even though it now looks as though Hurricane Ivan will now possibly miss the entire state of Florida, including the panhandle, the Expos and Marlins are still playing in Chicago.
Marlins fall out of contention: September 25, against Atlanta, and hopefully this isn't just wishful thinking.

Giants. The thing that infuriates me about the Giants is that they have such a soft schedule until the very end of the season. Having lazed around for the last two weeks playing no one but Arizona and Colorado, what do they get in the upcoming week? Milwaukee. Ooh, scary. Plus three against San Diego, whom I think they can take (see above), and three against Houston, which I have noted that I have never known the Astros to do better than 1-5 for the season against the Giants. And the Astros already got their one win back in the opening series of the season. Nonetheless, after that, it's nothing but San Diego and Los Angeles. And I believe in Los Angeles. Go Dodgers.
Giants fall out of contention: September 26.

Cubs. I realize that the conspiracy-minded among you will say that I am jinxing Chicago by saying that I still see them winning the Wild Card, but so be it. I do. Here is what they face for the remainder of the season. Pittsburgh (and I am not ready to say Pittsburgh is tougher than they look just because they took three out of five against Houston this weekend. I am prepared, however, to announce that Houston is not for real. They aren't, people. Accept it). Cincy. Pittsburgh. The goddamned Mets. (Headline in the New York Times yesterday, the very best Mets headline ever: Mets take longer for same result. Today's was "Another day, another disaster.") Cincy. They don't face a contending team until the last three games of the season, against Atlanta. Now I'm not saying that Chicago couldn't fuck this up, because I think only Houston is more qualified to fuck up an easy schedule than Chicago, but really: If they do, maybe they really are cursed.
Cubs fall out of contention: If it doesn't happen by September 19, it's not happening.

...

Don't know if you heard the Astros' radio broadcast yesterday evening, but Alan Ashby's disgust with the sudden reemergence of the suckastic Astros we've seen most of the season was so palpable, so comprehensive, that it made it hard to enjoy the game. Dude, I kept thinking, they're down TWO RUNS against PITTSBURGH. Lighten up, little camper! But no. Oswalt's pitches were too high in the strike zone. Lidge's pitches were too high in the strike zone. Beltran wasn't swinging the bat like he should. Ditto Viz, Bagwell, Berkman, Lamb, etc. Ashby sounded as though he was taking it all real personally.

Cubs Fan reports that her favorite announcer Ron Santo proclaimed the other day that the way his team was playing -- and I'm not doing justice to this quote, but bear with me -- he just went home in the evenings and locked himself in the closet with a bottle of wine, so he wouldn't frighten his dog. I think possibly Ashby should consider getting some wine, or a closet, or a dog.

...

As I was writing this, an email from T. arrived in my inbox.

I'm ok, the Astros' ride has come back down to Earth but there is still hope. It makes me realize I have not only become comfortable but in some self-effacing way, actually prefer the land of mediocrity. I guess at my core this is no real big surprise.

I would argue that T. and I are psychic twins, but I suspect this is how every Astros fan is feeling this morning.