Say goodnight, Gracie

So. . . last night Clemens does not look like he is really ready to come back from his groin injury (I'm telling you--groin-conditioning coach! That's the ticket!). He gives up a grannie to Pat Burrell, and although he guts it out for another few innings, the Astros lose to the Phillies 4-3.

I hate it. We lost to the wife-beater. I was hoping for some kind of leveling of the karma for that one (although granted, it wasn't one of the Astros' wives that he is accused of hitting).

And then today, we lose to the kid with the Bert-and-Ernie eyebrows. Who, to me, looks remarkably like a taller, gawkier David Wright.

Anyway. The Astros must now win 10 of the last 15 games just to break even on the season. I don't think they can do it.

I hope they come back next year with some attitude. This team's theme is "the good guys," and it seems to be pretty valid. Certainly they haven't had any players in the headlines for being in trouble with the law or anything. The last guy who played here who seemed to be a bit of an ass was Jeff Kent. I was glad when he left; I didn't like his abruptness or his 70's porno mustache, either.

I sure would love to have him back now.

I want guys on this team who want to WIN. I want guys who not only play as hard as they can every game (kudos to Biggio) but who also want what's best for the team and don't focus on personal achievements (jeers to Biggio). I don't want to watch a bunch of spoiled millionaires who can't be bothered to care about their job. If I approached my job with the attitude of some of these guys, I probably wouldn't have one. Take the two nicest guys on the team, for example--Morgan Ensberg and Lance Berkman. I vacillate between feeling sorry for them and being very annoyed by them. I think that Ensberg really feels the pain of his failures (thus my sympathy), but dude: you make over 3 million dollars a year. I think you can afford a psychiatrist. I know that your near-death experience makes you very laid back when it comes to things that don't really matter, like baseball. But dude. Baseball is your JOB and you get paid very, very handsomely for it. The fans would probably prefer that you care a bit more. See a shrink, deal with some of your issues. Accept help when it's offered by others. Do something in this offseason. Of all the people on the team that have disappointed this year, you are the one I would like to see return next year. But not if things don't change.

And Berkman. Lance Berkman is someone whom I have always admired for his spiritual faith and his openness about it. I wish I felt as comfortable discussing my beliefs as he seems to. But sometimes I almost wonder if it's an excuse for him. He feels that through his faith in God, he knows that his playing baseball won't matter to anyone in 100 years. His spirituality sets his priorities, as it should. But dude. The Bible also says that to whom much is given, much is expected, and if we are faithful in small matters we will be trusted with larger things. Don't you think God expects you to maximize the gifts and potential that He gave you? And He certainly gave you many gifts; dude, you are the most incredible natural hitter I've ever seen. Would it kill you to show up on time at the park, maybe work out a little bit to avoid some of the injuries you've had lately (groin-conditioning coach, I'm telling you!), maybe have a WORK ETHIC? I love the jokes and sense of humor (another gift), but I would love it even more if you seemed to apply yourself a bit. But again, I do feel sorry for you, because you have to carry the team by yourself. It's a lot of pressure, I know.

Okay, enough baseball. I have begun my own personal segue into the offseason, making plans to go to some concerts, heading to the Honduras in February, and taking Latin dance lessons. Yes, that's right. Latin dance is great exercise, I came to find out. I know now how J-Lo got her booty, 'cause mine was so sore after the first class that I'm pretty sure it was swollen. (And all we did was merengue!) One of the surgeons I work with keeps "mis-hearing" my discussions--he's certain I'm taking a lap dancing class. When I try to correct him, he just says, "Hey, call it whatever ethnicity you want to. Just let me know when you're going to practice."

Oh, the harrassment!

But on the bright side, at least we're not talking about this dismal baseball season anymore. . . .

Goodnight, Gracie.