Letters to the Editor

Out of the Park

Relief pitch: Keep 'em coming! I'm really enjoying the comic relief of the Astros daily updates ["Astros Daily Update"]. It has certainly helped break the tension of this fan, who crumbles under the pressure of the playoffs. Last year, I learned I probably could not handle the intense emotions of actually attending a -- dare I say it -- World Series game in Houston. The tickets I had in hand would have gone up for auction on eBay. For me it would have been flying just too close to the flame. This year I think I might be able to get myself into the ballpark because of the emotional release of reading your musings. Thanks for doing your part. Astros, it's up to you now.

C. Whitmore

Oh, Lord: Thank you. I thought I was the only one who was tired of the god that is Roger Clemens. That John Lopez piece was sickening. And thanks for recognizing the brilliance of Roy Oswalt. I tell everyone that the key to the pitching staff is Roy, but everyone else just talks about how brilliant Roger is.

One thing I hate about the Astros' winning this thing is that I'm going to hear nothing but how great Roger is, that he's a god, and I'm sure that Andy, Craig and Lance will be shoving the God stuff down my throat.

But thanks for letting me know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

John Royal

One Wizard: With regard to your new nickname for Roy Oswalt, I just want to thank you. It's about time he was called something other than the Wizard. Anyone who knows anything about baseball could tell you that there was, and will always be, only one Wizard: Ozzie Smith. I sure hope "Lee Harvey" catches on. I'm tired of Astros fans stealing our Ozzie's thunder. Go Cards!

Maya Nuesell, lifelong Cardinals fan

Tar and feather the whores: I saw the Houston Buffs. I saw the first Colt .45s game. I saw the first home run (Mickey Mantle) in the Astrodome. I saw both All-Star games in the Astrodome. I saw that heartbreaking Mets/Astros playoff. I saw hundreds of games over the years.

I attended one game at Enron Field: season No. 1. I do not like the hill in center field or the flagpole in the playing surface. To justify them by saying other ballparks have had such features is asinine. I despise the left-field fence, which is on par with high school parks, and below par in the National League.

The easy outs that have gone for home runs in the left field that isn't there have pushed up the aggregate runs-scored total toward the level of Mongrel League Baseball; i.e., the onetime "major" league known as the American League. In interleague play, including the World Series, Mongrel League Baseball fucks with the strategy game that used to characterize National League ball. Primary reason? Putting nonplayers at bat as designated hitters.

The sports whores who pushed for, designed, built and accepted the downtown park ought to be tarred and feathered for that roof superstructure that can be hit by a pop foul. The umpires, and not the Astros, should decide when the roof is closed.

The one good thing about the new stadium? The prostitutes aren't out on the pavement, as they had to be on South Main. On the other hand, they hang out and strut on the sidewalk outside the #^*!!!# "window" where the left-field fence ought to be. So, do I give a rat's ass about the Astros' having made it to the World Series? I don't think so!

Name withheld by request

Swing Statements

Sex sells: I enjoyed Josh Harkinson's article "Pick Me Up" [October 13]. But I just couldn't help thinking back to the more critical Press of a few years ago, when Richard Connelly wrote News Hostage instead of Hair Balls. He routinely bashed the attempts of local TV news to raise ratings by covering strip joint controversies, and one of his best lines summed up the Houston Chronicle entertainment pages as "fucking pornographers." Back then the Press even had a weekly political column. Times change. Politics are out, sex is in. Welcome to the new Houston Press. Congratulations.

Daniel Chaikin

Intimate strangers: So this is why a friend of mine who happens to be a personal trainer is sleeping with no fewer than ten married women, often all during the course of a single week. Perhaps these married couples should start "communicating" through random sexual exploits at swingers' clubs. Better yet, maybe they shouldn't be married at all. This article reads like a how-to guide to avoiding intimacy.

Jay Rusovich

Isms everywhere: Seems the Houston Press has dispatched the young and the horny to "investigate" Houston's swingers scene. What Josh Harkinson came back with in his article "Pick Me Up" is less unbiased reportage than an accumulation of lookism, sexism and ageism.

Admittedly, his use of the obscure term "steatopygous women" had me and my wife scrambling for a dictionary. Not finding it in our abridged Webster's, we checked the online Merriam-Webster's, which called it "an extreme accumulation of fat on the buttocks."

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