I Have My Reasons...

Unless you live under a rock, you know that the Houston Astros are playing in their first-ever World Series against the Chicago White Sox who hasn't been to a series since 1959. There is a lot riding on these 7 games for both teams as well as their fans in their perspective cities. It's been a thrilling series so far, but very disappointing for Houston fans for obvious reasons. Mainly because Houston is now down 2 games to none. Let me point out that there is still hope. The series moves to Houston tomorrow night.

During the course of this season, I've noticed a change in myself. Actually, the change started last season and it was because of this Astros ballclub. Let me explain...

About 28 years ago, in Malakoff, Texas, I decided I wanted to play baseball. I was 8. I signed up for Little League and got on a team. I wasn't very good. Most of the guys on the team had been playing for 3 or 4 years and were better than I was. But, I decided I really wanted to play the game. My coaches told me to do things that would help me play better and I did everything they said do. Early on I demonstrated that I could throw a baseball pretty well. I couldn't do much else. I was stuck in right field. Not much happens in right field. If it does, you have to be able to throw the ball. I could do that for sure.

From the time I started playing, I really wanted to be a pitcher. My coaches weren't ready to give me a shot because I was still pretty new to baseball. One of my coaches told me to set up a target somewhere where I could practice pitching. My dad set up a target for me against a side wall on the barn in our back yard. It was a worn-out, 14-inch tire - perfect for the beating it would take over the next 9 years.

The best thing about pitching is that it involves throwing a baseball. That's really good if you can throw it pretty well. That can also be the worst thing about it. You can throw a baseball too much. Baseball is very unforgiving. It doesn't make sense that a baseball can hurt someone's arm the way it does. People walk away from the game every year because of it. I did 15 years ago. My arm hurt, but my heart hurt worse. There's no way to explain how a goofy game like this can mean so much to a person. It just does.

I couldn't bear to watch too many games. It was a painful reminder of what I could do at one time. So, I stopped - that is until last year. I watched in amazement as they climbed the standings in the NL Central. They got hot in the second half and really didn't cool off until Scott Rolen hit the homerun off Roger Clemens in game 7 of the NLCS. Of course, the Astros' encore this year eclipses everything ever done by the organization. They were given up for dead in May and avenged the painful loss in the NLCS from a year ago. They roared back to St. Louis and made everyone forget about Albert Puhol's heroics from game 5 and avenged the painful loss a year ago. Now, people just like me are believing that this team - even more so than last year's squad - can do anything. I have no doubt, now down 2-0 to an opportunistic White Sox team, that these same boys of summer can erase the deficit and bring the World Championship to Houston and to Texas.

These guys are no longer just playing for themselves. They're carrying the hopes and dreams of much of the Lone Star State - including my own. Come on, Astros! Do it again! We Bee-lieve!

No Socks Weekend in Houston

Come-on, those of you who are Astros' true believers. Show your spirit!

Houston mayor Bill White has declared this weekend (October 21-23) "No Sox Weekend" for the city and for Astros' fans everywhere.

So, do your part. Leave the socks in the drawer over the next 3 days, wear whatever memorabilia you have on hand and root for the Astros!

You might also put a little foot powder in your shoes.

Thoughts on the World Series

This weekend I plan to be watching as the Astros take on the White Sox. I've read the articles and seen the sports segments. I really want the Astros to win, not by the skin of their teeth, but to dominate in this series. I don't want anyone to say that St. Louis was "sandbaggin" when they played the 'stros. More importantly, I want to see guys like Biggio, Clemens and yes, Bagwell come up big against the Sox.

I've watched each of those guys play since they came to the majors umpteen years ago. I was watching on ESPN the night Roger and his Longhorns won the college world Series in 1983, long before I'd ever heard of the other two guys. I want them to win so they can be complete as ballplayers. As good as they've been for so long, they deserve the shot. I'm sentimental about that.

I understand that the Chicago White Sox is arguably the most disparaged MLB team in existence, but I have no sympathy for them or their fans. It's hard to be sympathetic for a team that comes from the same place that Al Capone once called home. If they're under a curse, it's because they sold themselves out in 1919. Whether Shoeless Joe was guilty or not isn't my concern. There's enough problems in sports without having to wonder if one side or other is throwing a game.

When the Red Sox won last year, their "nation" was pleased and I was sentimental along with them. They hadn't been to the big show since 1918. If they were a cursed team, it was simply because they were in the same time zone and division as the damn Yankees. Unfortunately, some things are beyond anyone's control. They finally had the team and the breaks they needed to beat their nemesis. I was sentimental and glad they won. I also wanted them to destroy St. Louis. But, I wouldn't have been sentimental at all if they were playing my Astros.

I'm proud to say I'm not sentimental at all this year. This one belongs to the Astros.

More Thoughts on 37

In a previous post, I was musing about reaching the age of 37 and how that age appears to be a threshhold for athletes in terms of when their bodies begin to break down and skills begin to decline. After writing, I realized that I failed to mention two more 30-somethings that will be participating in (more appropriately, watching up-close) the fall classic that starts on Saturday in Chicago.

Jeff Bagwell and Frank Thomas, both 37, share the same birthday (May 27, 1968) - 5 1/2 months before my own. Both guys, baseball legends in their own right, virtually inactive for the World Series. Of course Bagwell has seen a dramatic recovery in the past 5 months and has been activated since early September. Frank Thomas, on the other hand, is on the DL for the series. Both men are considered leaders by their teammates and have been receiving accolades throughout the sportsworld during their teams' runs into October. Why, you might ask? Both have put together very distinguished careers and have remained with the same team through it all. Truly remarkable - to both men's credit.

To me, it's truly amazing to know that I've seen both men play over the past 15 years. They're considered heroes in their own right, but they're MY AGE! Of course I should note: they're a LOT better at the game of baseball than I ever was! God bless them. It's truly a gift to get to play the sport they way they have.

A World Series for Texas

I'm up late tonight. The Houston Astros clinched their first World Series berth after 43 seasons. I grew up a Rangers' fan. They were the closest team to me and the first major league team I ever saw in person. But, after two years of really following these Astros, I'm no longer a Rangers' fan. I'm Astro red (or is it orange?) through and through. I watched on Monday night when Albert Puhols kicked every Astros' fan in the gut with that 3-run bomb. But, this team isn't like most teams. They put it all together when it mattered most and have gone where no Texas baseball team has ever been before.

So, whoever you are, if you're from Texas, tip your hat to the 'stros. You don't have to like them or cheer for them. But, give them their due. They've finally won a National League Pennant and can win the World Series.

That's One Bad Ass

I recently received an e-mail that was a little hard to believe. Supposedly a mule fought off a mountain lion that had bested two hound dogs and endangering the lives of his owners. Unbelievable, right? You may have noticed in a pasture full of cattle, horses, sheep, goats, whatever, somewhere in the mix, a lone donkey will be out there just minding his own business. Why would a donkey be out there? The old timers say "because donkeys kill wolves" and apparently whatever else. I've just taken their word for it, until I saw this story. I've listed it below and included the photos at the end. From what I can tell, these photos do not appear to have been doctored.

Here's the story:

A couple from Montana were out riding on the range, he with his rifle and she (fortunately) with her camera. Their dogs always followed them, but on this occasion a Mountain Lion decided that he wanted to stalk the dogs (you'll see the dogs in the background watching). Very, very bad decision...

The hunter got off the mule with his rifle and decided to shoot in the air to scare away the lion, but before he could get off a shot the lion charged in and decided he wanted a piece of those dogs. With that, the mule took off and decided he wanted a piece of that lion. That's when all hell broke loose... for the lion.

As the lion approached the dogs the mule snatched him up by the tail and started whirling him around. Banging its head on the ground on every pass. Then he dropped it, stomped on it and held it to the ground by the throat. The mule then got down on his knees and bit the thing all over a couple of dozen times to make sure it was dead, than whipped it into the air again, walked back over to the couple (that were stunned in silence) and stood there ready to continue his ride... as if nothing had just happened.

Now, here's the photos:

There it is. If the pics are fakes, I'll be glad to appologize. But, right now, I'm thinking it might not be a bad idea to get a donkey to keep in my back yard. It might make a better watchdog than my dog, Otis.

Bigfoot Lives?

Does Bigfoot really exist? I'm sure everyone has got their own story. Mine is one my oldest nephew told me when we were boys (we're 18 months apart). He said his grandpa saw Bigfoot walking along the treeline in the back part of their property. He didn't have a camera with him. Otherwise, there might be conclusive proof that Bigfoot is for real.

Recently, the Bigfoot believers convened for their annual conference in Jefferson, Texas comparing notes and "artifacts" to sway those who are slow to believe to come around with them. They share molds of footprints - which is the most predominant item available - as well as stories of where the footprints came from.

As for those footprints, there are almost as many justifications and explanations debunking them as there are those defending them. In 1958, a construction worker in California, first coined the term Bigfoot and gained front page news status for the story. It was later discovered that he had constructed wooden feet and went to great lengths planting the footprints to get his 15 seconds of fame. Perhaps if it weren't for such stories and if these "experts" could present real artifacts, like fur or something more substantial, there might be more believers.

So, for now, keep an eye out when you're in the woods. If the world is waiting to finally discover Bigfoot, he might be watching from just inside the trees. Make sure you take a camera with you, just in case he's there.

37 Years Young

Yesterday I officially became one year older.

I've finally reached the point where birthdays aren't a big deal anymore. We usually celebrate the occasion as a family (this year, we've gone to San Antonio to be with my wife's family) which usually means a big meal at the restaurant of my choice (tonight it was "Bobby J's" in Helotes, TX). I've definitely gotten to the place where I don't anticipate getting any older. As birthdays go, after passing the age threshholds of 30 and 35, the age of 37 is just another number. 40 still lies ahead.

I now understand what octegenarians have told me about how the body ages and the mind somehow stays the same. I still think like I did in my twenties. However, after returning to the softball diamond only a few weeks ago - after a 15-year hiatus - I have been repeatedly reminded of just how old I am. In four separate weeks on the diamond, I somehow found a way to pull or strain a different muscle. The latest injury was a pretty nasty hamstring pull that occurred while advancing from 1st to 3rd base. I'm still getting over that one.

Actually I've noticed that professional athletes that are my age are talking of retiring or have already done so. I'm sure these athletes have faced nagging injuries for years and now the affects of age make them more difficult to overcome. There are exceptions, to be sure. For instance, I watched Roger Clemens, the 43 year-old phenom, do it again just today. Somehow the living baseball legend managed to win another crucial game like so many others throughout his career. However, just across the field, Larry Walker, the 1997 MVP of Major League Baseball, continued his struggle through a season-long neck injury. He's 38 years-old and talking about retirement. Suddenly 38 doesn't look as old as it used to. As I recall, Roger Staubach was 38 years old when he hung up his cleats. So was Joe Montana. Michael Jordan was 35. I guess I'm in pretty good company.

I suppose it would be possible to play softball if I could remember to act my age during the course of a game. Like I mentioned before, the brain still thinks like it did in the old days. The body, on the other hand, seldom responds in kind. For instance, in the last game, the following scenarios presented themselves:

1. A hard ground ball is hit in my direction while playing first base.
"Slide to the right to get that ground ball!" I start moving, but the feet don't move like I want them to. I end up tripping and falling; allowing the ball to pass through the infield and somehow scraping my knee and elbow in the process. "How did you do that?" my daughter asks. I don't bother to explain.

2. I swing at the first pitch and hit the ball on the ground in the infield.
" Run it out!!!" I take off and feel that familiar sharp pain in the back of one or both of my legs.

3. I catch a deep fly ball. The runner at 3rd base is tagging up and running home.
"Come up firing and nail him at the plate." I take the steps and rear back. Suddenly I hear a faint voice in my head that says "Joel, this is going to hurt - BAD!" I let it go and it feels as if my hand is still holding on the ball and they are flying together toward the plate.

There were days when faced with such situations that my body could effectively respond to those mental impulses and was able to do the things I wanted to do. But, those days are no longer today. If I were a pro athlete, I would be contemplating giving it up, if I hadn't already. Pro athletes play for money. If they get hurt, they still get paid. I play for fun, or at least I'm supposed to. If I get hurt, playing is no longer fun.

Such are the considerations of guys my age. I'm 37, as of 7:14 PM yesterday.