I first heard it on Friday. It was news that I had been expecting for sometime, but even then, it caught me off guard. It killed me, it pained me, it made me more distraught than anything else had in sports in years. Just three months after my team lost a heartbreak of a Super Bowl, my sports year and turned even worse. Roy Oswalt was demanding a trade, divorcing himself from the Astros, which considering they suck is quite understandable, but more than that, divorcing himself from me. Roy Oswalt does not know me, and probably never will, but I know him, I cheered for him and I love him, and I don't know what to do.
First, I should say that I do not blame Roy at all. He was the Astros best pitcher of the last 10 years, and in all honesty, was probably the best pitcher in the NL for the entirety of his run here. He battled and bled for the Stros, and now he deserves a better fate than to tirelessly pitch to a team that struggles to score but one run for him. Roy was amazing for the Astros, and now that he gave his life to help this team to its first World Series ever, they should give be a lifesaver and ship him off to a team where he can win games. But this is not about Roy and his connection to the team, this is about my connection with Roy.
Baseball is a funny sport. It is not about entertainment and fun, it is about love. Purely and simply love. It fosters a deeper more human relationship between a fan and a team. There is a personal attachment to a baseball team because each season is eternal. The baseball offseason offers the cold detachment of a separation. The spring training is like a yearly honeymoon, where the possibilities of this love seem endless. The season is a long, marathon and the vows of marriage are renewed each year. Unlike the Colts and Raiders, who are just my teams, the Astros are my partner. In many ways my relationship with the Astros are much more volatile. I love them to death, but honestly I need marriage counseling. They are a horrible organization right now, with little direction and an aging, moderately talented roster. They are a laughingstock, but I married them, and I am not ready to divorce them, yet. But pushing the one and only redeeming part of the Astros, and the part that made me love them in the first place out of town, might just end it.
I first married the Astros in 2001. I did it because of Roy. It was unexplainable really what made him so appealing. His demeanor, his look, his 'screw-you' attitude, and his talent all mixed together to provide a potent sum. Oswalt was a bull-dog in style but simply a great pitcher in substance. He was the perfect underdog, short and stocky from Weir, Mississippi, a town with a population of 314. Bursting onto the scene with a 14-3, 2.73 ERA season in 2001, he finished second to Albert Pujols in the Rookie of the Year Voting. One 19-9 season later, Oswalt was a top-10 pitcher, something he would be for the rest of his Houston career. Oswalt was the most appealing part of the Astros for me, and I attached myself to him and the team, and went along for quite the tumultous marriage.
Roy Oswalt was the man that gave me my happiest non-football sports memory ever, with his brilliant performance in Game 6 of the 2005 NLCS against St. Louis. Two days after Albert Pujols' infamous home run off Brad Lidge, Oswalt toed the rubber with the Astros still in a state of shock. He, however, was not, and I watched Oswalt pitch one of the greatest games of his life. For seven breathtaking innings, he shut down the NL's best team in their own ballpark. Under a dark, mystifying night in St. Louis, the gateway to the West, Oswalt was the gateway to the World Series. The Astros were finally playing in a world series, and Oswalt, the NLCS MVP, was given a 400,000$ tractor as a MVP gift, and a new 6-year contract. Drayton McLane, the Astros owner, was standing in front of a champion locker room and put his arms around Oswalt, the man he said would be an Astro for life. I had the same feeling. He was the king of baseball for that one night, he was the star, and the marriage could not have been better.
Five years later, the marriage has hit rock bottom. The Astros are floundering, the Astros are a disorganized mess. The Astros have cheated on me by not rebuilding, not restocking the farm system. They have dominated me by having an owner blind to anything but the bottom line. I am ready to divorce them, but I have to deal with Oswalt first.
He was my hero, my guide, my partner. He was the man that kept me interested in the Astros during the last five dark years. He was the man that made me love pitching. He was the man that made me watch baseball tonight in awe of the beauty of the lovable game. Roy Oswalt will probably be dealt to some other team, some contender where he can actually go better than 2-6 with that 2.66 ERA. And that will leave me with a horrible decision. Do I divorce the Astros and follow Roy? Leave my spurned lover that spurned me, or stay faithful to the abusive partner. That is the question, but all I know is that for nine years, the Astros gave me wonderful memories, and moreso did Roy. You cannot explain true love, and really I cannot explain why I feel this nagging connection to a team that does not do anything redeeming at all, but it is still there. For Oswalt, though, there has been no turmoil, no devastation, and no abuse. Oswalt was the perfect partner, and he deserves one as well, a team that can provide for him what he provided the Astros. I however, need him more than ever.
