Some slightly inebriated young women at the Astros game in Houston tonight were being interviewed for booing Bonds. When asked what they would do if they caught #756, one little miss tipsy swore she would throw it back. When pressed and informed the ball would be worth at least a million dollars, she continued to insist she would throw it back.
To borrow from Forrest Gump, hatred is as stupid does. A reasonable person could go insane contemplating whether she is stupid enough to actually think she would throw the ball back, or whether she is stupid enough to actually throw the ball back. Or whether she is stupid enough to not grasp that hatred like that is, well, just plain stupid. What a goober. Having lived in Oklahoma awhile, trust me when I tell you a drunk Texas cowgirl, as purty as they are when you’re seeing double, ain’t worth the ride. “All my ex-es live in Texas” is more than just a cheap rhyme.
This is Houston, after all, where last year during this series Russ Springer disgracefully toyed with Bonds before beaning him, cheered by a slavering Houston crowd mad with blood lust. Hatred is as stupid does.
A number of people are beginning to associate the Astros with the Red Sox (check out Bill Simmon’s article Houston, We Have a Problem). Personally, I think it is a little premature to write off the Astros. The same pundits just yesterday were proclaiming the inevitable demise of the Cardinals in the face of Pettitte, Oswalt and Clemens. The Cardinals still have to win against Oswalt on Wednesday night, and if he fails (and he just might), well, there is Clemens on the mound for the deciding game. But wait! Wasn’t Clemens on the mound for the Red Sox when the Mets clinched the 1986 World Series??? Maybe there is something to Red Sox Redux.
Those of you who were able to watch Game 4 of the NLDS between the Astros and Braves on television missed it. You read that right: if you watched one of the greatest games ever played, you missed it. Long before the game went into extra innings I realized I had stumbled onto a jewel. Listening to Astro’s radio announcer Milo Hamilton call the Astros valiant come from behind effort and the ensuing nine inning slugfest will forever be etched in my mind as one of the greatest baseball experiences I have ever had. Milo has one of those great, old-time radio voices, gravely with that odd cadence, like he has spent too much time on smoke filled train cars riding with the team. He knows his players personally. Like the venerable Harry Caray (whom he worked with), he unashamedly pulls for his team, which adds emotion to the game I find lacking in neutral, sterile television broadcasts. Last night my son and I went to Scooters to watch the Angels and Yankees. Although the announcers for that game were as good as they come, when some of the patrons wanted to listen to the jukebox, I had no objections.
In one of those endless baseball ironies, Milo was the Braves announcer when Hank Aaron broke Babe Ruth’s record.
For those of you who haven’t discovered it yet, one of the great features of MLB’s All Access is access to their radio archives. So in case you missed it, you can still hear Milo, a Hall of Fame broadcaster, call one of those games for the ages. — amn