Reds 5, Astros 3
W: Arredondo (6-2)
L: Cedeno (0-1)
Some of those bums you pass on the street, the beggars trying everyone for cash, they’ve reached the point where it doesn’t matter what happens to them, they can’t be hurt any more. You can yell at them, try to hit them with the truth or with a stick but it isn’t going to register because they’re already on the bottom and there’s nowhere else to go. There’s a string, and they’re playing it out, but there’s really nothing to see and nothing to learn from this. It’s just gravity or inertia or the inevitable, some trickle of the incalculable permutations that take place as a function of the billions of life forces moving in countless orbits through time.
Such are the Astros. Should they actually win, it’s easy to ascribe it to luck, the random chance that comes up in their favor if the dice are rolled enough times. The occasional mediocre performance of a player or two doesn’t mean they’re up to the level of the competition, it’s just the luck of the draw playing itself out. The tally of these conflicts has given us all the proof we could ever need – this team is worse than every other team they will face during a major league season, and it isn’t close at all.
They’re so bad, they should charge half price because you’re only seeing one real MLB team every time the Astros play. It’s not that the fans are having to put up with some tough times during the necessary rebuild, no. It’s that the owners have the fucking gall to try to sell that substandard team to us for the full rate, and to graft some bobblehead manager onto this ship of fools to try to tell us how they can learn to win and will while he’s there.
Can I say, “Never trust an owner!” any clearer? It all comes down to money. Many years ago, I used to frequent certain establishments where attractive women have perfected the elegant ways to extract money from your wallet, using a velvet glove and enjoyable distractions. Both sides were aware of the deceptions and transactions, and both elected to suspend reality while within those walls, knowing that for a little while All That Shit Out There could be pushed back, if only for a bit. All it cost was money.
This ridiculous Shit Rain of 2012 has none of the elegant deceptions at play. The best tricks they can play are to bleed the last of your historical ties while they are ground away in the hourglass of this last season in the National League, or the even more crass lie about ‘watching the kids grow up.’ Fuck that. Yes, there’s talent in the minors, but what they’re running out day after day for the Big Club isn’t good enough and never will be. They are AAAA ballplayers, plain and simple, and they aren’t going to wake up one day to stun us all with their nascent greatness.
So fuck you Bud Selig, and fuck you Drayton, and fuck you Jim. Fuck all of you, you greedheads who prey on all us little people too stupid to raise our middle fingers and walk away from you and the travesty you run out for us every day.
Fuck you for making me hate myself for loving the sport that is run by evil men who spend every breath chasing money.
Bud Norris pitched a good game Sunday, despite the past blister problem. He mixed his pitches well and relied on a good slider off the fastball, holding the Reds to three hits and a walk through six. The last inning was particularly strong when, after loading the bases with none out, he struck out Jay Bruce on a good slider over the plate and then got a double play grounder from Frazier.
Ambriz pitched an effective seventh, and then in the eighth he walked Stubbs and gave up a single to Phillips. Tony Cheerleader then brought in Xavier Cedeno to be the lefthanded foil to Bruce, but he ripped the first meatball he got off the facing in right to tie the game. Batting practice ensued after that and Norris’ fine outing was lost.