The Astros team I feared in the offseason? The one with no pitching what so ever and a streaky, long-ball based offense? Yeah - I found them. And since they are playing Baltimore, they’re even in my TV viewing area! Which means I’ve been able to watch it live and on TV! If you need me, I’ll be over here crying myself to sleep because I see no fixes in the near future and nothing coming up from the farm.

That’s a long way of saying the following - it’s time to fire Ed Wade and Cecil Cooper. To be fair, Ed Wade should never have been hired in the first place. There are not actually words in the English language to express my utter dislike of Ed Wade. “But he drafted Utley, Rollins and Howard for the Phillies!” And tried shipping two of them out of town for crappy veterans. I really don’t understand - the model for sustainability is to develop a strong farm system and compliment it with key veteran/free-agent signings. Look no further than the Red Sox. The core of that team is home-grown talent (Ellsbury, Masterson, Paplebon, Youk) with some fantastic free agents. So what do we do? Ship whatever is left and bring in aging veterans like Tejada and Matsui. This, friends, is not a recipe for success. And don’t tell me we can’t afford that model - look at our payroll.

And as for Cooper? I no longer can justify his moves. He rests veterans for inexplicable reasons, makes curious pitching decisions, and just generally seems out of his league. Gah!

I understand this is a long rambling rant from a disgruntled fan. But watching the Good Guys play ball the last few days has been nothing short of distressing. And the Cubs are in first. God I hate baseball.

I don’t get home to Houston much and when I do it’s usually holiday season - which means no baseball.  So whenever I get a chance to catch a game at Minute Maid, I’m usually pretty damn excited about it.  Just such an occasion presented itself to me this year.  Of course the only series I could see was against the Washington Nationals - a team I’ll spend all summer watching since I’m living here - but whatever!  It’s Astros baseball!  It’s Minute Maid!  It’s cheering for the home team for once!

But something peculiar caught my eye when I was purchasing tickets.  There were two sets of prices - one column of costs a full 50% more than the regular ticket prices!  “Have we started charging for premium games against the Cubs and Cardinals or something?  Rivalry games?” I asked myself.  Oh no.  These were the special costs for the home series against the Yankees and Red Sox.  Areyoufreakingkiddingme?

Look - I can understand the idea of fleecing every Masshole and Bleacher Creature roaming the streets of the Greater Houston Area.  But that’s the sort of bullshit gimmick reserved for teams that can’t sell out the cheap seats.  The Astros don’t have that problem.  Despite hiring Ed Wade and fielding a beer league softball team - the team still sells tickets.  The fans still come out.  People still care - and more importantly still PAY.  So to jack up the prices on everyone just because the storied Yankees and Red Sox are coming to town is an insult to any and every Astros fan.

What exactly are you charging me extra for?  To see the decaying corpse of Mussina take the mound?  The right to boo Andy P?  The chance to high-five Manny when he jumps the fence for no good reason? (Ok that I’d pay to do.)  But the point remains - what makes them so damned special?  If Bristol wants to fluff these two teams nine months out of the year, that’s their prerogative.  But for Uncle Drayton to pass the buck on to the regular Astro fan - that’s unconscionable.

Just needed to get that off my chest.  If any of you lads bit the bullet and paid the premium - please share with me below why!  And if it was worth it.

OFF TOPIC:  RIP Tim Russert.  For a political junky like me, Meet the Press is as much a part of my week as box scores and breakfast.  He was the finest and most objective political journalist left - and he will be missed.

My favorite player growing up was Craig Biggio. I modeled my little league-self after him. Contact hitter, 1^st or 2^nd in the line-up, playing solid 2B. And boy did I love playing baseball. But then me and baseball had a nasty falling out. Try explaining to a 10 year old that his favorite sport is on holiday because the players he loved watching wanted more money – it doesn’t compute.

So then came my experimentation phase. Football, basketball, hockey, racing – you name it, I started watching it. And this all contributed to the sports fan I am today – a fanatic. There is practically no sport I wont watch (except NBA basketball) and I spend large portions of my day scouring the internet for information on everything – from F1 and IRL results to NFL training camp news to European soccer transfer rumors. Shit, I’ve even watched cricket… and enjoyed it! (With the assistance of about six pints of Stella.)

But you can never deny your first love – and that’s baseball, and that’s the Astros. So when the blogging masterminds of BFD, Matt, Tim and crew crafted this small corner of the interweb to muse, bitch and blog about baseball – I was tres excited. And since I want to see this site keep churning out nonsense and build its own little baseball community – I’ve offered up my services.

So what can you expect from me? Well, I’m not 100% sure yet. I’m guessing an initial burst of content fueled entirely by my general excitement of having an outlet and an (I think?) audience. Hopefully after that – settling into a stable and consistent routine. Geographic and financial factors (I live/study/work on the East Coast now) have conspired to limit my ability to actually SEE the Astros, so there may be a lot of just general baseball musings. Oh and definitely some fantasy (NEEEERRRRRD!) jabbering – since for the first time in my fantasy life, I’m in first.

That was a long way of saying hello. I’m DisplacedTexan. And I’m a sports-aholic.

PS: Bonus points if you get the reference in the title.

When I was five, my family rarely had the financial resources to go to baseball games.  We definitely watched our fair share on tv, and listened to Milo (back when he was coherent) on the radio.  Those were heady days for Astros fans: unlike the bandbox that is MMP, the Astrodome was a pitchers’ park extraordinaire, and the roster was shaped with that in mind.  Legendary hurlers like Nolan Ryan and Mike Scott were in their primes, backed by young goofballs like Jim Deshaies and Charlie Kerfeldt.  But I wasn’t a pitching fan back then.  I was a Jose Cruz fan.

When you look at his stats now, he’s pretty unremarkable.  He hit for average, not for power.  He was a passable but unspectacular outfielder.  His jersey is retired, but he never got any serious HoF consideration.  If Hunter Pence had less power and fewer strikeouts, that’d be the closest equivalent on our current roster.

But he was my favorite player, dammit, and on the handful of occasions during his 13 years with the ‘Stros that I got to see him play live, you couldn’t draw my attention away from him.  At the aforementioned age of five, I distinctly remember sitting the rainbow seats in the Dome (the nosebleeds) and cheering Cheo while he simply stood in left field and waited for a ball in play.  Let that sink in: I was cheering an outfielder who was just flat-out standing there.  This is why my own baseball career at the time consisted primarily of the taxonomic evaluation of dandelions.

When Cheo became the Astros first base coach, it always delighted me that he got some of the biggest cheers during the pre-game introductions.  For as many times as I’ve cursed the average baseball fan in Houston as a numbskull in search of the Almighty Longball with no sense of history or proportion, the ovations that Cruz receives always restore a little of my faith.

Naturally, when the Astros signed Jose Cruz, Jr. to a minor-league contract this offseason, I got all misty thinking about the opportunity to cheer for another Jose Cruz.  When he tore the cover off the ball in Spring Training, leap-frogging all the other candidates for the fifth outfielder role, I was even more excited.

And then the regular season started.

Cheito, you’re like a hot girl with an annoying voice.  Every fiber of my being says that I should love you, but then you start to do your thing, and it makes me want to bathe with electric eels. You’re awful as a pinch hitter, man.  Just a fucking tragedy.  Last night, when you couldn’t bring in either of the two runners who could’ve salvaged the ugliest game of the season so far, I had a moment of clarity wherein I understood why monkeys fling their feces.

So with that in mind, and his .065 average making Hunter look like freaking Ichiro, it’s time for the good of the team to come ahead of the last name.   Victor Diaz is tearing up the ball in Round Rock, and certainly couldn’t do much worse than 3 hits for the whole season.   It’s time to cut the losses and get a more reliable bat for the bench.

I’ve loved the Cruz family since 1985.  But I also loved Michael Jackson back then, and my therapist says it’s time to let that one go, too

In the nascent days of this site, I was quickly outed as perhaps the only optimist about the Astros on our staff. Perhaps I’m delusional, driven mad by the Jose Cruz t-shirt that I’ve worn every day since September 14th, 1986, to the point that it’s difficult to see where I end and the shirt begins. That shirt went through puberty with me, and if that makes me crazy, then I don’t want to be sane. I do think that there’s a reasonable argument to be made that it won’t be ALL wailing and gnashing of teeth for the Stros this year, so allow me to put on my seersucker suit and straw hat and begin my soliloquy.

/tugs at lapels

I may not be a big city lawyer, folks. I may not have any fancy acronyms or statistics to reinforce my arguments, but I do know one thing: the Astros sure as hell aren’t the Pirates. And that’s something we can all be thankful for. Always think of folks less fortunate than yourself, that’s what my pappy always said, God rest his soul. Before you go to bed tonight, say a prayer for little Ian Snell; that boy can pitch some wildfire, but he may never be on a 75 win team. You think about that.

Lot of folks running around these days talking ’bout how the Astros ain’t got any pitching, and the offense has anal fissures, and the bullpen is two pieces of twine and Jose Valverde, and on the surface, you might be right about some of that. The anal fissures, to be sure.

/wipes forehead with monogrammed handkerchief

Shew. But let me tell you a few things about Ed Wade. See, Eddie ain’t too popular in Philadelphia, that’s for sure, and he’s starting to develop a reputation around these parts, too. But Eddie hasn’t been employed for this long around MLB by being dumb. Like it or not, the man had a plan, and he stuck to it. These Astros he’s brought in are fast, and good with the glove, and that was the stated off-season goal: speed and defense. Sometimes shit happens, like your lump-ass left fielder crushes the leg of the best defensive shortstop in baseball, and you have to let the rangy kid who couldn’t hit worth a damn but could make Gold Glove plays look routine go off to find himself in Minnesota. And while the guy you replace him with has a cannon for an arm (and a rocket for a bat), you’re gonna find yourself missing the ease that ol’ AE brought to the game.

But that’s the only exception to Eddie’s plan. Our little Oriental friend with the butt trouble, well, some say he’s a product of a high-altitude environment. Point to numbers, to PECOTA and OPS; well, I say PECOTA is a kind of veal, and OPS was an unheard hippity-hop song from 1990! You see, of course anyone’s road numbers in the NL West are going to look bad outside Coor’s; hell, every other stadium in that division (apart from Pac Bell) is a hitter’s nightmare. You try to have a road OPS over .900 when you play a large portion of your road games at Petco Park. Like my momma always said, you can’t catch a coon-hound with grease.

We never knew what the hell momma was saying half the time. Must’ve been all that time working in a lead paint factory that did it to her.

And let’s not forget the kids now! Kids are our future, our “hope” like that Osama guy likes to say. Hunter Pence! Now that’s a baseball player! So long as he doesn’t pop his damn fool head off diving over the right field railing to grab a foul ball, that boy’s gonna make men weep and women swoon (if they like guys with peanut heads) for years here. He may have a sophomore slump, but he’s no Luke Scott.

/ducks flying trash

Sorry folks, forgot the reaction that name gets. No, Pence’ll be a .300/30/90 badass before you know it, and he’ll steal him some bases, too. Speaking of stealing bases, I know there’s lots of you who talk about Wily Tavares like he was one step above crippled, what with his low OBP and whatnot, but that boy could disrupt a defense with his speed in ways that were a site to behold; well, Michael Bourn runs a 4.3 40. That’s NFL fast, and it’ll cause the same kind of hell that Wily T. did, and I will bet any man, woman, child or Chinaman that he’ll have a .390 OPS this season, since he seems to have gotten his free-swinging reputation in check this spring. Seriously, would you really like Lidge back, people?

Now, there ain’t much positive to say about the pitching. There just ain’t. I could tell you about little Wesley Wright, the 13-year old with the elastic arm who could become an eighth inning savior, but when that’s the silver lining in this pitching staff, well, that just about says it all. But I’d ask you to look at something before you say, “Them dumbasses Wade & Purpura traded all the studs on the farm for a flea-bit buncha mules”: let’s look at those studs.

• Jason Hirsh: less than 120 IP in 2007, 5-7 record, 4.81 ERA. Whee doggies! There’s a #2 starter!
• Taylor Bucholz : only 9 starts, mostly worked from the bullpen. Respectable-ish 1.33 WHIP.
• Troy Patton:

And everyone else is either a prospect or a reliever. So there’s really not a lick of good any of the pitchers we sent out of town could do for the 2008 team. Now, the future implications of this kind of thinning are pretty obvious, but I’m more concerned about the lack of position players in the minors right now; it looks like a damned goofball, feel-good comedy down there. When these “ancient” 32 year old offensive mainstays finally hang up their Twinkies and B12 and head home, who’s gonna replace THEM? Pitching prospects are a dime a dozen, but you have to pay bushels of money for a 35 homer-100 RBI slugger.

Well, I best wrap this up. Daisy’ll be calling me from the front porch for a pitcher of lemonade and a basket of her fried chicken. I swear, if I find any of those hard-to-eat thighs in there, I’m gonna beat that woman black and blue. But you need not be blue your own self: these Astros may lose, and they may lose a lot, but they’re gonna win about 77-82 games or so, and they’re gonna be a helluva lot of fun to watch when they’re hitting on all cylinders. Just you trust an old country lawyer on that one, y’hear?

Because of my dedication to our new blog, I decided to take my first-ever trip to H-Town to see your beloved Astros in person and do a little scouting.  Ok, I lie, I was actually in town to help our beloved Matthew haul the ridiculously large BBQ smoker he was about to purchase in Humble on Sunday morning–we just lucked out by having the Tigers and ‘Stros in town for an exhibition game at Minute Maid right as we rolled in.  A few thoughts about the trip, the game, and the place formerly known as Enron Field:

1. I hadn’t seen a whole lot of Texas in any of my many wild roadtrips over the years; Dallas had been my primary exposure to the state.  So, as you might expect, I didn’t care too much for your “country” based on those experiences.  That said, I must admit, I really liked Houston.  The downtown area was really nice and was surprisingly easy to navigate through (I had always heard awful things about the traffic there, but found it to be much better than the Dallas area…seemed to be far fewer retarded people cruisin’ around).  I also was kind of amazed by how clean the downtown was and how little rif-raf there seemed to be on the streets.  The people were generally very friendly, though you certainly can’t ever drive out of Dumb People Nation no matter how far you’re willing to go (the folks sitting in the Crawford Boxes being the prime example in this case).  I couldn’t believe how thick the humidity already was considering it was just in the 70s and not even April 1.  Y’all must suffer through your summers mightily.  And this is coming from someone used to the ungodly humid summers the Natural State serves up every year.

2. No doubt about it, Minute Maid Park is a gem.  Count Busch Stadium II, Comerica Park, Coors Field, and The Ballpark in Arlington (or whatever they’re calling it now) as the “new” ballparks I had previously been to–MMP ranks right up there with any of ‘em.  Because the place was only about half full for a game-that-didn’t-count, we got to move around every couple of innings and managed to spend time in the RF area (where Pence was getting all sorts of love), the Crawford Boxes (seriously, they might as well be called the “Short Bus Boxes” judging by the people we saw there), and just a few rows directly behind home plate.  That LF porch is just as ridiculous as it looks on TV.  I really felt like I could give Miggy Cabrera a good slap on the ass from where we were sitting.  RF kind of sucks because you can’t see the giant scoreboard, but there really wasn’t too bad of a view anywhere in the park.  Fantastic atmosphere to watch a game and great amenities everywhere you looked.  Being that it was my first experience in a closed-roof stadium, the whole feeling like I was watching baseball in a large gymnasium was a little odd, but I’m sure it’s great when the dog days of summer roll around.

3. I can see why you guys are so big on Hunter Pence.  His acknowledgement of the RF fans after his homer was really cool.  Y’all keep it real with your homegrown Texans and I’ve always appreciated that.

4. Shawn Chacon wearing #1 as a pitcher REALLY pissed me off.  Like being one of the first flat-billed sideways cap guys wasn’t bad enough.  That guy can go to hell.

5. Maybe Miguel Tejada has one more 30HR season in him after all. 

6. Carlos Lee is even fatter in person.  Berkman seemed less fat.  Both run like a brontosaurus.  Wow. 

7. I wish Carlos Guillen was my fantasy shortstop.  That guy is one professional hitter.

8. Goode Co.’s BBQ is pretty overrated.  The sausage was great, the ribs were ok, and the brisket tasted like pot roast and should’ve come with boiled potatoes and carrots.

9. I still couldn’t believe Texas was getting to play Memphis in Houston.  I didn’t see much fanfare on the streets for having the tourney come to town.  No surprise on the outcome of the game, of course.

10. Getting to meet fellow blogger Tim was great–that’s one swell fella.  Using “Tim-isms” on my wife at home wasn’t the best idea, however.  I damn near had to camp out on the couch last night.  The dude is kind of my hero now.  Sorry, Matt.

11. Seriously, Matt’s BBQ smoker–all 14 feet of it–ridiculous.  And ridiculously awesome.

Definitely a great little baseball/BBQ roadtrip!  I still hate your Astros, but I love your city and now have a real point of reference.