Tonight was the concluding game of the bloc Astro-Girl and I purchased (or were given) some time ago, in the hopes of seeing Biggio's 3000th. That plan, of course, crapped out--I was off by one game, and heard about it--and so we were left to enjoy the game as best we could.
A 3-1 record in our own mini-homestand came in handy. Tonight, watching Carlos "El Caballo" Lee hit a majestic home run onto the train tracks at the top of the facade behind the Crawford Boxes, followed by a celebration of his rooting section (a collection of a half-a-dozen Hispanic men in Carlos Lee jerseys, sombreros and stick ponies, a group which perches itself on the walkway above the left field fence for every home game), was nice.
The sight of Craig Biggio to get two more hits (ten in the last five days) to pull to 3,007, and a tie with Al Kaline for twenty-sixth on the all-time hit list--this was special.
But more than anything, 2007 has been about the arrival of Hunter Pence, who tonight singled, scored, then clobbered a two-run homer off the Chik Fil-a left field foul pole, thus ensuring all ticket-holders free chicken sandwiches tomorrow.
This followed a four-for-five afternoon yesterday. Which followed hard upon a .350 start to the season, eventually rounding out to around .340.
He's young--I saw him up close a few weeks ago, when he came over to the right field railing and signed a ball of mine, and I'd say he's too young to shave. He hasn't quite figured out the contures of Minute Maid Park: tonight, with the bases loaded and one out in the ninth, went back on a long fly ball caught the ball on a backhanded dead run, but in the act of running up Tal's Hill he dropped the ball. He'll get better. And nobody knows his future, long-term. (Joe Charbannou, anyone?)
But for now, simply watching the start of what even might be something big is a reason to return to the ballpark, day after day.
Exhibit #1 of why the All-Star game sucks is that Hunter Pence--batting .340 with power, playing splendid centerfield, racing across the greenward or around the bases with a gait that reminds one of Dave Winfield, circa 1984, (in other words, a legitimate MVP candidate--is staying home.
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