October 2005 Archives
Mrs. Oilman and I spent the weekend at the Nation of Riflemen/Revolutionary War Veterans Association Texas Rifleman Shoot. I learned a hell of a lot. I'm also exhausted. A more detailed report to follow soon.
Game 4 was as nail biter. And we lost. Here's a fan's perspective.
About 6:15 CST. Parking really wasn't that bad. Driving downtown during rush hour was. The number of people begging for tickets on our long march to the stadium was amazing. Every corner. People with signs, people with kids, they were everywhere.
Lots of Sox fans as we get closer to the stadium. A different sort of humanity than us Texans. Not better, not worse, just different. Even without the White Sox garb, they were blatantly obvious. Language, mannerisms, everything.
Here's a shot just entering the stadium:
We walked around for a while to partake in the crowd. Just to be a part of it. And we were looking for a hat and a t-shirt or two. There were 30 minute lines to pay for merch. This town has definitely bought in to the fever. I want a hat and a t-shirt but those lines are friggin' ridiculous.
Looking for merch, we eventualy ended up in the mezzanine in right field. Here's a shot of our position:
Nice graphic. I want a screen like that in my house. One day. One day.
Now to pregame. The endless, endless pregame. Gametime was supposed to be 7:00 CST. With all the marketing/advertising going on, that was impossible. Here's a shot from our seats of the Latino Team of Valiance, or whatever the hell this Chevy ad campaign was:
It was cool to see Juan Marichal's ridiculously high leg kick and the classic Luis Tiant motion to the plate on the big screen. Why is there a Cuban flag being flown proudly in Houston, Texas? On international television? I don't llike that one bit.
This is an argument for a later day. Needless to say, I don't agree. Love the players, despise the government.
Here's first pitch. Or just before first pitch. Flashes were going off all over the place for the first three or four pitches. Please, people. Unless you are a professional, turn those damn things off.
Oh. And that giant green void in center. That's the press. Really. That entire section and a huge room behind them is filled with press. That's an easy 2k fans displaced by your friendly neighborhood sports hack.
Progress! Bases Loaded!
Yeah, we know what happened there, don't we. Squat.
Here's a Mad Oilman's view of the White Sox celebrating their rightfuly won championship:
I cheered for them when they won. They were clearly the better team. And as much as I like Gary Gaetti, dude, you're gone. When stranded men enter the hundreds, it's time to say adios.
Congratulations Sox fans. A well earned Championship, indeed.
Update!
Well, this post is almost 24 hours after game time. Things come back.
I left the suite for a potty break in the 6th. And I ran into Dusty Hill of ZZ Top fame with his entourage. Cool.
When the game was over, Mrs. Oilman and I headed out. Mrs. Oilman needed a station break so I patiently waited in the hall. I saw a bright light approaching rapidly from the right,. Dammit, cameras. Mad Oilman is a private person and he has no need for this.
Well the camera man was running with Jerry Reinsdorf and his peeps. They were going downstairs to champagne land. Well deseved champagne land.
Well, Mad Oilman has just had it with this losing thing. Time to go down to MinuteMaid and take action.
Base friggin' hit. That's it. That's all we need. Or get on base, Walk. Anything but an out. You just can't do it, can you? You are personaly killing me this series.
12 men stranded? Mr. Ensberg? Mr. Ensberg?
Mad Oilman
1 out. Men on 1st and 2nd. Ensberg at the plate. I predict double play.
Yes, My Astros are trying to kill me. All this tension. All these ridiculously close games. Three weeks of mind numbing intensity. And the mind numbing idiocy of Tim McCarver.
It's the 11th. Why can't we score a friggin' run!
I'll be there tomorrow. To make sure we take care of busniess.
Astros. I've been loathe to post about my team as I know I will curse them. Everyone curses them.
But I have a theory. As to our success this season after so hideous a start. I think the key is John Franco.
Phil Garner hired a witch doctor before the season. The witch doctor told him "You need to extract the suck out of your team. This is a painful, painful ordeal. You need to hire John Franco and put him in your bullpen".
Taken aback, Garner initially protested. "No. Franco? I just don't get it Witchy. He's going to cost us game after game after game. Even if he doesn't pitch he's out there with the youngin's every night".
The witch doctor remained adamant; "You are correct yet shortsighted, Garner-San. Yes he will cost you games. Yes, he will affect your bullpen. That is the magic. He is a suck magnet. He will drain all of the suck out of your team. It is up to YOU to determine how long he remains. Not long enough and you will fail in the end. Too long and he will infect your team and they will never get rid of the suck. Ever. You must use this power wisely".
Garner relented and convinced Tim Purpura to bring Franco on board. Once the season was officially in the toilet, Garner convinced Purpura to release Franco, to take away all the suck.
He called it pretty close.
At least that's the way I see it.
The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories
Gene Wolffe. Damn can this man write. Reading his short fiction collections just reinforces the literary skill this man has. There's a reason he has won so many awards over his career. His language, his ideas, his constant guiding of the reader away from any conclusion is just amazing. Fantasy at it's finest (not fantasy in the way you may be thinking. Swords and magic and all.)
Here's the Merriam Webster's definition of fantastic (no I will not copy it verbatim):
Entry c : so extreme as to challenge belief
That is what you will encounter in spades in these stories.
Some stories in this collection are better than others (as is to be expected in any collection) but it is dificult to pick a favorite. "Eyeflash Miracles" definitely ranks up there. But they are each quite unique and unrelated and worth every moment of your time.
