The Houston Astros
Pre-game: The Houston Farm System and I met up at the West Alabama Icehouse to get ready for the proverbial “first time” on my trip, and I knew we were in the right place when behind the bar there was a sign that read “Baby Shower this Saturday! Come see our Bartenders Mudwrestle!” The place was an outdoor bit of nothing with as many tattoos as beers, and as many dogs as people. A pear shaped man with a pony tail interviewed me on his camera, but the majority of time was spent not so nonchalantly zooming in on the cleavage next to me.
Local Brew: I tasted the St. Arnold’s Wheat beer, and immediately regretted not getting the Pilsner. Not because I’m a beer snob, but because the label was cooler. As for the beer itself, it was cold and beer, and that leads me to believe it ranked in the category of Awesome. Subsequent beers were Pearl Beers. While denigrated as a cheap, watered down beer by some, it still retained the qualities of cold and beer, vaulting it to the upper echelons of Awesome.
Traffic: The bad thing about traveling to a baseball game with four girls in the car is when they decide at 6 o'clock in rush hour that the best route is six lanes of traffic over. The good thing about traveling in a car with four girls is that when they realize their mistake and, empowered by the video gawking at the Icehouse, use the power of the boobs to get back across the six lanes of traffic. I’ve tried using the power of the weiner to do the same, and it never, ever works. Please don’t try it.
Parking: We simply found a street side spot 100 blocks away and walked, aided by Farm System prospect Disha’s astute use of the Pythagorean theory. By astute use, I mean cutting across roads and parking lots yelling “Shortest Distance is a Straight Line! Pythagorean!” Granted, this was after chugging a ceremonial bottle of Champagne after I was informed it was bad luck to not finish an opened bottle. I hate Champagne, and wish I would’ve gone with the original idea of simply smashing it against the side of the stadium like some colonial boat being launched to sea.
Tailgating: There didn’t seem to be much going on around the game, but honestly, we were late, and the champagne, Pearl, and St. Arnolds were settling in.
Entrance & Concourses. Great Stadium, and they understand the mystique of being able to walk up from the gate and see the green field. It definitely reminded me of the first game I ever went to with my grandfather at the old Astrodome. I didn’t understand the game, or much else, but I do remember being at the game with him and being awestruck by how green the field was. I wonder what percentage of American men have a sentimental bonding moment with their granddad at a ballpark?
Inside: I honestly don’t think there is a bad seat, and we were
content to not sneak down from our lofty perch. The left field wall is very close, tall, and odd in my opinion for a ballpark, but the train on top of it is a nice touch. For some reason Farm System Superstar Kelly got into a lively debate over if the conductor was a little person or not. It raged for innings, and dumbfounded me in the complexities both sides presented in their arguments. The Scoreboard over center field is not small, but what I would describe as small. Ok. It’s small. For everything being bigger in Texas, we need to get this fixed now.
Scoreboard Race: Proud to say, due to some advance scouting, I knew that between Nolan Ryan, Jeff Bagwell, and Jimmy Wynn, Nolan wouldn’t win twice in a row. Of course, in my opinion you’d have to a fool to pick a white pitcher or a white first baseman over a black centerfielder in a race. Although this was an Auto race… Regardless, I went with Wynn, who pulled out the victory after Nolan Ryan died in a horrific accident in which he spun out into, of all things, an oil derrick.
Disappointment: For some reason, Houston’s batters do not get signature introduction music. This is preposterous, and I hope for their sake it gets changed. It also tricked me into getting overly excited on two occasions, once when I though Roy Oswalt’s music was “Hit me With Your Best Shot,” a song that, for a pitcher's at bat, reeks of Testosterone like some discarded jock strap. Or Mark McGuire. The other was when Hunter Pence, the rookie in only his third game, came up to classical music. Were this to be true, it would have been the greatest rookie hazing in the history of baseball.
Hot Dog and Beer: Overpriced and incredible. Both of them. How overpriced, you ask? $7 for a 16 0z beer in a non souvenir cup, and 4.25 for a regular old hot dog.
Local Brew: I tasted the St. Arnold’s Wheat beer, and immediately regretted not getting the Pilsner. Not because I’m a beer snob, but because the label was cooler. As for the beer itself, it was cold and beer, and that leads me to believe it ranked in the category of Awesome. Subsequent beers were Pearl Beers. While denigrated as a cheap, watered down beer by some, it still retained the qualities of cold and beer, vaulting it to the upper echelons of Awesome.
Traffic: The bad thing about traveling to a baseball game with four girls in the car is when they decide at 6 o'clock in rush hour that the best route is six lanes of traffic over. The good thing about traveling in a car with four girls is that when they realize their mistake and, empowered by the video gawking at the Icehouse, use the power of the boobs to get back across the six lanes of traffic. I’ve tried using the power of the weiner to do the same, and it never, ever works. Please don’t try it.
Parking: We simply found a street side spot 100 blocks away and walked, aided by Farm System prospect Disha’s astute use of the Pythagorean theory. By astute use, I mean cutting across roads and parking lots yelling “Shortest Distance is a Straight Line! Pythagorean!” Granted, this was after chugging a ceremonial bottle of Champagne after I was informed it was bad luck to not finish an opened bottle. I hate Champagne, and wish I would’ve gone with the original idea of simply smashing it against the side of the stadium like some colonial boat being launched to sea.
Tailgating: There didn’t seem to be much going on around the game, but honestly, we were late, and the champagne, Pearl, and St. Arnolds were settling in.
Entrance & Concourses. Great Stadium, and they understand the mystique of being able to walk up from the gate and see the green field. It definitely reminded me of the first game I ever went to with my grandfather at the old Astrodome. I didn’t understand the game, or much else, but I do remember being at the game with him and being awestruck by how green the field was. I wonder what percentage of American men have a sentimental bonding moment with their granddad at a ballpark?
Inside: I honestly don’t think there is a bad seat, and we were
content to not sneak down from our lofty perch. The left field wall is very close, tall, and odd in my opinion for a ballpark, but the train on top of it is a nice touch. For some reason Farm System Superstar Kelly got into a lively debate over if the conductor was a little person or not. It raged for innings, and dumbfounded me in the complexities both sides presented in their arguments. The Scoreboard over center field is not small, but what I would describe as small. Ok. It’s small. For everything being bigger in Texas, we need to get this fixed now.Scoreboard Race: Proud to say, due to some advance scouting, I knew that between Nolan Ryan, Jeff Bagwell, and Jimmy Wynn, Nolan wouldn’t win twice in a row. Of course, in my opinion you’d have to a fool to pick a white pitcher or a white first baseman over a black centerfielder in a race. Although this was an Auto race… Regardless, I went with Wynn, who pulled out the victory after Nolan Ryan died in a horrific accident in which he spun out into, of all things, an oil derrick.
Disappointment: For some reason, Houston’s batters do not get signature introduction music. This is preposterous, and I hope for their sake it gets changed. It also tricked me into getting overly excited on two occasions, once when I though Roy Oswalt’s music was “Hit me With Your Best Shot,” a song that, for a pitcher's at bat, reeks of Testosterone like some discarded jock strap. Or Mark McGuire. The other was when Hunter Pence, the rookie in only his third game, came up to classical music. Were this to be true, it would have been the greatest rookie hazing in the history of baseball.
Hot Dog and Beer: Overpriced and incredible. Both of them. How overpriced, you ask? $7 for a 16 0z beer in a non souvenir cup, and 4.25 for a regular old hot dog.
Fan of the Game: It'd love to have this guy's picture and just say, enough said, but there's something I want you to notice. His hand is covering the huge belt buckle. At first we were very disappointed in this, until we realized he was protecting our photo from being ruined by the inevitable flashback that would have occured. And to you sir, I say, well done.Post Bar: After breaking Houston’s slump, we to B.U.S. 
bar, a bar across the street from Minute Maid Park, aka the Juice Box, with lots of Ice Cold Beer. Couple that with the beautiful women I was getting ignored by, and the night was a great success. The highlight of B.U.S. was when, tired of holding my glove, I stuffed it into the front of my pants. I've never had so many women's hands sneaking down my pants in my life, and probably never will again.
bar, a bar across the street from Minute Maid Park, aka the Juice Box, with lots of Ice Cold Beer. Couple that with the beautiful women I was getting ignored by, and the night was a great success. The highlight of B.U.S. was when, tired of holding my glove, I stuffed it into the front of my pants. I've never had so many women's hands sneaking down my pants in my life, and probably never will again.
Gloves are made to catch balls
The Summer of Glove is now officially upon us, and I’m heading up to big D, and I do mean Dallas
