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

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.