Contributed by Ebby Calvin
I am deeply sorry to report that Mark will not be here for this Pirates Preview. Instead, you get me. The guy who knows nothing about baseball. The guy who’s been out of town since before Oswalt was traded and hasn’t watched a live Astros game since. The guy who talks about himself in the 3rd person. Yup, me.
And now that my journalistic obligation to include myself in a story has been fulfilled (for now), I’ll move onto the games.
Surprisingly, ESPN hasn’t picked up any of this weekend’s slugfest between the 4th- and 6th-place teams in the NL Central. Understandable, but the end of this season holds more for Astros fans to watch than in years past. Despite the standings, it’s meaningful baseball. The trade deadline dust has settled, each new player has checked in at the Astros Greyhound Station for their minor league assignments, while Castro and the Walrus get their feet wet. It’s time to see the fruits of Wade/Heck’s labor, and it’s time to see if the Astros are better at rebuilding (refreshing, whatever) than the Pirates seem to be.
Minute Maid Park
Friday, August 13, 7:05pm CST
Saturday, August 14, 6:05pm CST
Sunday, August 15, 1:05pm CST
Thank goodness the games start 5 minutes after the hour. Getting to the park by 7pm is nigh impossible, but 7:05, that’s a different story.
Friday the first 10,000 fans get an HEB umbrella. A terrible idea. Fireworks after the game.
Saturday is Young Professionals Night, sponsored by Budweiser. Know thy audience, Budweiser.
The first 10,000 kids 14 and under on Sunday get a Chest Protector Backpack, which will thwart back-end projectiles (NTTAWWT) from the bullies at school who wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one.
Friday
Russ Ohlendorf (1-9, 4.23) vs. Brett Myers (8-7, 3.21)
Ohlendorf is a tall righty who was born in Austin and played college ball at Princeton. He has a 7.57 ERA in 27.1 IP against the Astros over the last three years and an 8.03 ERA at MMPUS. Beaker (.375, 1 HR) and Bourn (.286, 3 RBI) hit him well, and the Man Who is So Good He Could Only be Named Angel has 2 hits in 4 ABs against him. Ohlendorf doesn’t throw weak-ass shit to Keppinger, who is 1/14 against him. Blummer (.286) and Carlos (.250, 1 HR) hit him pretty well, too.
No current Pirate has a HR off of Myers, but The Current and Future Anchor of the Staff would do well to avoid the Milledge Idiot, who has hit him for .300 with 4 RBIs over 20 ABs. Andy TheRoach is a perfect 3/3 against him.
Saturday
Paul Maholm (7-10, 4.90) vs. Nelson Figueroa (3-1, 3.38)
Maholm owns the Astros, and anybody who’s watched the team over his 5-year career knows that. Pence (.258, 1 HR, 6 RBI) and Q (.333, 1 RBI) hold their own against him, but everybody else sucks. Fortunately, St. Sanchez is 2/3 and has promised much smiting if the Astros fall behind early.
And they probably will. Figueroa makes his first start as an Astro after WW got sent down. The ‘Roots have limited experience against him, with 4 hits in 13 ABs as a squad.
Sunday
Jeff Karstens (2-8, 4.39) vs. Bud Norris (4-7, 5.63)
Karstens went to Tech, so we know he’s at least not very bright. Over the last three years he sports a 5.60 ERA and a .318 BAA vs. the Good Guys. Pence, again, hits him the most – .429, 1 HR. Everybody else has marginal success. Feliz sucks, but we already knew that.
Norris is coming off a nice start (despite the 4 ER), and has one career start vs. the Pirates (6 IP, 1 ER, W). But the current lineup hits .378 in 37 ABs, so something will have to break.
Injury Report
Pittsburgh
Chris Jakubauskas hit the 60-day DL after spelling his name for the 10,000th time.
Jose Ascaino is on a Class A rehab stint, which probably looks an awful lot like the current Pirates roster.
Steve Pearce is entirely boring and is out for the season. As if anybody noticed or cared.
Houston
Lindstrom (back) is questionable for Friday’s game.
Manzella is rehabbing in Round Rock, where he’s secretly plotting to take a tire iron to Angel Sanchez’s knees. Little does he know that even tire irons fear Angel Sanchez.
Moehler is hurt in his swimsuit area, still deciding what to do.
Paulino’s shoulder hurts.
Fuck Arias.
With Apologies to strosrays
“You ever ridden one of these things before, son?” he asked.
“Sure,” I lied.
And why not lie? How hard can it be to drive a Harley? I’d driven dirt bikes before in the back country of Missouri, surely an Oregon State Trooper’s Harley Davidson isn’t much different. I hopped on.
I was covering an Oregon Dept of Transportation (ODOT) motorcycle-safety training course for the Medford, OR CBS affiliate (slow news day), and I needed a cool angle for my standup. So I carefully set up the tripod, mount the camera, tether my wireless mic and press record. The idea was to drive around, start giving my reporter spiel and come to a complete stop within frame and in front of the camera. Didn’t happen that way.
After begrudgingly strapping on a helmet, I was ready to go. Got the beast humming, cranked the ignition to sound like a badass, then stalled it. One more time. “I must be rusty,” I said. Stalled again.
“Third time’s the charm!” Stalled.
Fuck. Here I am, dozens of cops around me, making a complete fool of myself. Plus the idiot who loaned me his chopper looks a bit more nervous than he did 10 minutes ago. I need to get this thing rolling NOW.
So I did. I somehow mastered the whole clutch phenomenon and the thing just took off. And I mean FAST. What power! What speed! I’m doing it! I’m moving fast in a straight line!
But I needed to be turning.
Alas, I didn’t turn. I froze, stupid grin on my face, and drove right off a three-foot embankment. I was thrown over the handlebars, through the plastic windshield and onto my head, finally landing on my back.
Once I realized what happened and made sure nothing hurt too badly, I opened my eyes. Directly above me, just like out of a fucking movie, was a circle of faces looking down at me. Except all of these faces belonged to cops. And they were pissed.
I feared the worst for the motorcycle, but happily it survived the tumble in one piece – only the breakaway windshield had to be snapped back into place. A couple of scratches, but nothing too noticeable. I made it out with a few cracked ribs, again, nothing too tragic.
Thankfully all of this was out of frame for my camera, which was rolling at the time. Not so thankfully, my rival station sent a reporter there who was also rolling at the time. Pointed straight at me. They ran the story that night. Fuckers.
And that’s how I successfully crashed a police motorcycle and got away with it.
This relates to Astros baseball because, um, well, you know, it doesn’t. strosrays I am not.
Astros 2-1