After missing history at Miller Park Sunday night, I was not going to stand idly by as the Cubs took on the Astros once again Monday afternoon. Come cheese or high water, nothing would stop me from paying my penance to the baseball gods.
Thanks to Theodore Roosevelt Lilly, I nearly witnessed lightning striking the same place twice. And I know that I don’t even have myself to cosmically blame for Mark Loretta breaking up the no-hitter in the bottom of the seventh. That distinction falls on the jackasses who finally showed up to sit in the seats that I was occupying during the Seventh-Inning Stretch.
Seriously? At that point, you finally show up? Moving to my previously assigned spot left me too grumpy to sing “Roll Out the Barrel”, but at least karma dealt those fools a blow when Teddy Well-Pitched Ballgame’s no-no only lasted two more hitters.
While Zambrano and Lilly provided the Cubs with their best back-to-back pitching performances since, well, ever, it was quite evident that the Astros weren’t exactly ready for prime time after a hurricane forced them to leave home and play in front of an audience that was about as neutral as Germany in the Spanish Civil War.
Understandably, Astros fans are pretty miffed at this week’s travel arrangements. And I only linked to one site because I’m not even sure how many of them have electricity right now. One can assume Astros Nation is probably as fired up as Charger Nation at the present time.
But much of that anger is misplaced. Astros fans and players have one place to point the finger of blame for this (other than at God and atmospheric conditions for creating a hurricane), and that’s at Drayton McLane’s owner’s box. (Or in his case his front-row seat). McLane is the one who insisted on trying to make like REO Speedwagon and ride the storm out in Houston.
Now, my meteorology experience is limited to a three credit-hour Weather and Climate course at Indiana, but I do recall that people know where hurricanes will arrive about a week ahead of time, giving them ample opportunity to flee the premises. Basically, McLane is no better than the fools who stayed in Galveston and were surprised when everything was destroyed. He could have made like the University of Houston football team and rescheduled Friday-Sunday’s games in the Dallas area if need be. Or if he was worried he’d get rained out there, they could have gone to Tampa and played in a dome.
But since McLane wanted to hold out hope that the Astros could play at home on Sunday and Monday, he jeopardized his team’s postseason chances. Because The Ballpark at Arlington and Tropicana Field had to play host to games Monday, the only option left to get two games in without weather interruption was Milwaukee. All because he figured he’d be able to make a few dimes from Astros fans coming out to support their team over the weekend — which is a ludicrous thought since most of them have a little more to deal with. Like a freaking curfew in the city of Houston.
If you can read this right now, Astro Fan, I truly do empathize with your plight. A ton. Just remember the proper place to direct your ire.
YOST IS TOAST
While Ted Lilly was one-hitting the ‘Stros, there was another buzz traveling around the ballpark amongst the smattering of Brewers fans in the crowd, as well as Miller Park workers and the Milwaukee cops working security and seeing if they could bust any FIB heads.
In what really was a shocking development given the time of the season, the Brewers had canned manager Ned Yost in a last ditch effort to prevent their playoff ship from sinking. While most of the national media has found this to be a peculiar move, the mood among Brew Crew fans was one of relief — if not ecstasy, which was a good way to describe my friend Carly’s reaction when I texted her.
Just a couple hours later, as I was nearly home, she then called me in a frenzied state.
“Ohmygod, you won’t believe who I just saw in my building.”
“No. But close. Ned Yost!”
Apparently, we think, he lives in the same building. (For a few more days, at least). She was getting off the elevator from walking her dog while he was getting on.
“Did you say anything to him?” I asked.
“Hi. And he said ‘Have a good night.’ It all happened really fast.”
I do give her credit for not responding with “You too” after he wished her a good night, since that was pretty moot. In fact, it was probably the best conversation he had all day.
I also checked to see if he was taking the elevator to the roof, but she confirmed that he was going down to the lobby. Which makes me wonder — where the hell do you go when you’ve just been fired as the manager of a big league team?
I’ve never been fired before, but I’d imagine most people go to the bar when that happens (though I do know of some people who have been fired as a result of going to the bar before it happens). However, it’s safe to say that most people don’t have to walk into a bar where every single patron knows they’ve just been fired. Or go out for a nice meal at your favorite restaurant where everyone knows you’ve been fired. Or even for a walk on the lakefront where everyone knows you’ve been fired. And what do you say when you’re the average Joe or Jo Fan and you actually run in to the person you’ve wanted to see pink-slipped?
Quite the conundrum either way you look at it. And that’s the type of deep thinking and hard-hitting questions that will bring you back to Rumors and Rants time and time again. (Someone send that line to prospective advertisers).