Hello, 0 readers. Two months between entries is a long time, especially considering (1), my nerdy-type blog has been neglected even longer, and (2) It's fucking COLLEGE FOOTBALL season, which I go apeshit for. Personally I just spent eight weeks wondering why West Virginia was so goddamn overrated, then they lost to Syracuse and proved me right. There is no megaphone big enough to express my mockery for the Big East. They died 6 years ago and they just keep clinging, like some horribly decaying zombie, or Al Davis.
Post-Halloween, instead of hatred, I have mere sadness to communicate, larger than the peaks and valleys of various teams and conferences in football, or the fact that the overrated Indianapolis Colts have been exposed by how shit they actually are-- cut off the head, and the body dies, apparently.
I've only got a handful of entries here, but the first was to do with my sports history, starting with being taken to baseball games with my dad in Houston, in the early 80's and then throughout my life. This blog is not about my Dad, who I assure you is alive and healthy.
HOUSTON ASTROS.................. It's not you, it's me.
You challenged for the pennant hard in the 80's, winning your division in 1980 and 1986, and coming so close to many other times. You always won more games than you lost, you were in the thick of it, you made me believe and gave me something to follow and cheer for during my formative years in H-Town.
Then the 90's came. You were sold to a cafeteria food peddler named Drayton McClane, and while initially the wins continued, a disturbing trend was forming. There were no national stars like Mike Scott or Nolan Ryan, there were only farm club guys coming up and contributing, "trying to find talent in the farm system" as the press releases said. Which would be fine, if you had found an exceptionally talented guy and made a movie star out of him. This is not what happened.
Talented guys would do well, and be traded for cash, or more mediocre guys. Hunter Pence, Roy Oswalt, Willy Taveras, Brad Lidge... these were guys who were going to take us to the Promised Land. To you, Mr. McClane, it was just numbers on a page. X is valued at A, Y is valued at B, so sell X ad Y and also charge more for beer and shitty tacos while you're at it.
NO THANK YOU. At long last our national nightmare is over, nobody in your family was interested in your scheme, and you relinquished control of the team you stuffed into a tiny shoebox downtown, of the team you were only happy to welcome Roger Clemens and Andy Pettite to, until you actually had to pay them. Jeff Kent left the same way. You tight-fisted money grubbing Republican. You get points for keeping the team in Houston, yes, but other than that, you have curried no favors with anyone. World Series? Well done. The Texas Rangers just went to two of them and that team has been bad since 1968. Getting to the World Series isn't hard. You just have to be patient, and actually want it, instead of just wanting good seats and a financial return on your investment.
The Astros have been sold to some new guy, and the change is instantaneous-- we lost over 100 games this year. This is the first time I can remember this happening in ... decades. The stadium sucks and is hard to get to. It's tiny. It's not in a convenient location, and to make matters worse, I live in Seattle, where an identically shaped field still has room for wider concourses and better food. What the hell is my motivation, Houston Astros? I've stuck up for you for years and years, and all the players I truly believed would live forever, from Jose Cruz and Kevin Bass in the 80's, through Bagwell and Biggio in the 90's and 00's... and oh yeah, Lance Berkman before he got too expensive...
All gone. You don't give a shit. You're in a red state, making money is more important than winning trophies, because you can't spend a trophy. I expect this from owners of the Cowboys and Rangers and the pre-Cuban Mavericks, but YOU? You're supposed to be the cool one, Houston. You're supposed to set the tone. You have the most people, Dallas just has a rodeo and a couple dozen suburbs. I expected more of you. I was RAISED... expecting more from you. And in 31 years, from 1980 on, you did not deliver. Or even give a fuck.
I love baseball. I still do. I love the players, and the stats, and how every pitch brings with it the possibilities, the excitement of watching the ball snapped on a first down, or an inbounds pass in basketball or even soccer. Three up and three down. How it's happened since the 19th century.
But there's only so many times a good friend can fail before you have to give up. Recognize that they are their own worst enemy, and wash your hands of them. Not the first, or the third, or even the fifth time they call you from the police station, or from the unemployment line, or from Oklahoma... but eventually, you just learn better. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me seventeen times... shame on me.
I cannot follow these fresh-faced, naive guys, just happy to be on an MLB squad and making the league minimum six figures a year. Good for them. Whatever. Nothing will ever come of this, and if it does, it won't be in that shitty ballpark, with your naive lazy owner. I've moved on, and while I surely don't wish you to die, I certainly can't watch you suffer anymore.
Goodbye, Houston Astros. I gave you everything I could, and it just wasn't enough. I wish you well. You, and the National League... get the hell out of my office. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. I respect that neither of you have a designated hitter, but it's just not enough for me. Beyone this one saving grace....
You really do suck.
Warmest Personal Regards,
AJW
Houston Resident, 1975-1999
Texas Resident, 1975-2007
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