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Astros Score Many, Angels Not So Much

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That's really all you need to know.

Go to your room, and if you slam that door again, you can forget about dinner.
Go to your room, and if you slam that door again, you can forget about dinner.
Gary A. Vasquez-USA TODAY Sports

I have one question and two comments:

  • Is it weird that when I first heard about Melissa Mayeux my first thought was not "whoa, she's a girl," but rather, "whoa, they play baseball in France?"
  • This is honestly all I want from a music video. There's no bullshit, no monologues, laser shows, or bumpin' in da club. Just three guys and their instruments.
  • A Confederacy of Dunces is a great read on its own, but the audiobook is really an experience. The narrator is just unstoppable, like the performer in one of those single-actor plays who does all the characters in Othello.

What do any of these have to do with the game tonight? Nothing. Your brain has about 100 billion neurons, which is a lot, but it's still a number less than infinity. I'd rather do something better with those neurons than remember what happened on the field tonight. Actually, what all those thoughts have in common is that they all occurred to me tonight after I could no longer focus on the lights and noises coming from the shouty-box in the living room.

But I promised a recap, so here is my highly nuanced understanding. C.J. Wilson got rocked and didn't make it out of the fourth, so some of the lesser arms in the bullpen had to take out the trash. Meanwhile, Collin McHugh pitched quite nicely for Houston, who could only scratch him up for a couple of runs over eight innings.

There was one moment of intrigue in the bottom of the second, when the Angels were still down only 1-0 and the Angels loaded the bases with only one out—and then David Freese GIDP'd. Add it all up and you get 13 runs for Houston, 3 for LAAAAA. Good night, everyone, let's do that again tomorrow.

Seriously, though, someone find these guys some water wings or something, because I feel tired just watching them tread water. They flutter around .500 like the moths by your porch light. I expect they'll pick a direction sooner—more likely up than down, I think, but almost certainly not the way they did last season. I would say that I could be happy with 87–89 wins except that Houston keeps making and remaking the case for everyone to finally take them seriously. They've certainly got my attention.