Blogs

So, one of the good things about this blogging gig is that I can do a Mitch Albom and write about things in advance, then leave town for the week. Luckily, unlike Mitch Albom, I didn't get nailed.

That said, I've found myself having to catch up with the Chron's sports department.

It's always nice to see that the great minds continue the yearly fellatio of Roger Clemens. You know, Lopez, I think that what you did in this Clemens column is still illegal in some states.

Houston sports teams seem to have a knack for inflicting pain. Let's face it: There isn't a scale in the world capable of measuring the suffering we've experienced at the hands of the Astros, Rockets, Texans and Oilers. But, for me, no team twisted the knife quite like the Phi Slama Jama Cougars. Olajuwon. Drexler. Micheaux. Young. Franklin. I LOVED those guys. How could you not? They played the game of basketball in a way never before seen and did so with a sort of joy and innocence that today's players, both blessed and cursed with the prospect of hype, money and instant fame, could never hope to duplicate. Or at least that's how I remember it. I'm sure my own youthful naivety at the time played a large part in the formation of that idealistic memory.

Houston Aero fans fondly remember Derek Boogaard, the six-foot-seven freak of hockey nature who was the team's enforcer, a relentless brawler whose basic skills consisted of beating up opponents. In the strange world of hockey fighting, Boogaard stood out, not only for his size, but for the sheer joy he seemed to experience while whaling away on some other team's enforcer. We profiled him and teammate Chris Bala a few years ago. Bala now plays for the minor-league Reading Royals in Pennsylvania, but Boogaard has made it to the big time with the NHL's Minnesota Wild, where oddly enough he leads the team in scoring and is a finalist for the Lady Byng Trophy. Not really. But Boogaard is indeed with the Wild, and our sister paper in Minnesota, City Pages, has done their own profile of the Boogeyman. Gotta love the professorial eyeglasses the soft-spoken Boogaard's now sporting. — Rich Connelly

As April 8 approaches and the championship Dynamo are about to start their 2007 regular season, team president Oliver Luck is a busy man, looking for champions to fill out his roster of guest celebrities in April aka "Champions Month." They'll be trotting them out for the fans all month. "It's slim pickin's," he says, laughing. "The Rockets were champions [twice]. We disconnected from the Oilers because they left. The Texans have never been champions. The Astros have been great but they never really won the World Series."

So, we're in the middle of the Shell Houston Open.

Do me a favor, okay? Let's not go talking about what great athletes these guys are. A great athlete doesn't injure himself in his backswing because he hears a camera shutter. A great athlete doesn't need his caddy to rough up the crowd because someone takes a picture.

Mock drafts are God's gift to sportswriters. Slow news day? Feeling too lazy to dig up a good story? Just churn out a new mock draft. The best part (or worst, depending on how you view the current state of society): Most of us would rather devour a dozen mock drafts than subject ourselves to a well-written account of some kid's courageous and heart-warming tale of triumph over adversity. But it's not my place to judge. Nor am I above that sort of behavior. So, submitted for your approval, I give you Mock Draft version 4.0. Get ready for a wild top ten that you won't find anywhere else. Because for the first time, we're putting on our trading cap and the results are a little wacky (but by no means implausible).

So, it's time for baseball season. And am I the only one out there who thinks that Opening Day should be a holiday?

That said, it's time for the predictions. Now, I could get all kinds of stats and get lots of links to back up my predictions. But what fun is that? You're just going to have to trust me.

Starting with the American League:

On Thursday, March 29, at about 2 p.m., Houston time, Rice University grad Ria Cortesio will do something that has not been done since March 1989. Ms. Cortesio will step out on a grass field somewhere in the Phoenix area, and she will take her position up the first base line. Then, with the first pitch of a Spring Training game between the Chicago Cubs and Arizona Diamondbacks, Ms. Cortesio will be the first woman to umpire a game between major league teams (that is, if you can count the Cubs as a major league baseball team) since Pam Postema.

Looking for something to keep you busy during your 15-minute work break? Allow me to lend you a helping hand. Just print this bad boy out and get comfortable. We've got a lot to get to before diving head first into our latest mock draft, which is on its way Wednesday. Should you be so inclined, you can prepare yourself by perusing this one. Anyway, on with the show.

It's a horse we've tried to beat to death before, but it just won't die. The headline on David Barron's sports-media column in today's Houston Chronicle: "Nantz Says Final Four Will Be One For The Ages." This accomplishes two of the trademark things from the Barron ouevre: It provides a blow job to CBS announcer Jim Nantz, including the mandatory mention of his local ties; and it allows Nantz to opine that an upcoming sports event on CBS will be really, really terrific. We're still waiting for the Barron column that's headlined something like "Nantz Says This Year's Masters Tournament Likely To Suck," but we're not holding our breath. — Richard Connelly

John Royal responds to Jason Friedman's comments about Royal's remarks about Brad Lidge. Try to keep up.

Jason, welcome aboard. It was nice to hear from you. And it's nice to know that someone out there is more cynical about the Houston sports scene than I am. It's also nice to be called sane. My own family won't even do that. Thank you.

Now, on to your Brad Lidge comments. Yes, I agree, it's normally better to wait into the season to do anything about Lidge. If he comes out great, then the team is in good hands. That also ups his trade value. And the longer the Astros wait to trade him, the better the offers as the more desperate teams become. Lidge doesn't even have to become "Lights out Lidge" again for the offers to improve. He just has to be competent.

But, here's the deal. Games 4, 5, and 6 of the Astros regular season are against the St. Louis Cardinals. That means an early meeting between Lidge and Albert Pujols. Lidge is already having a poor spring, and compounding things by having him deal with Pujols this early in the season could really harm his trade value.

My name is John. And I'm an addict. No, I'm not addicted to anything glamorous like alcohol. Or drugs. Or sex. Or gambling. No, I'm addicted to the blogs written by the Houston Chronicle sports writers.

Now, I know that this addiction is a bad thing. Whenever I read these blogs, my blood pressure soars. My ulcers start to ache. I get angry. I have migraines. I feel the need to seek vengeance. But I just can't help myself. Every day I go over to the Chronicle Web site so that I can see if Richard Justice is calling me an idiot . Or to see if John Lopez is pimping his radio show. It's an addiction. I can't help myself.

But I'm not writing about them today. Today, I want to direct my wrath to one Jose de Jesus Ortiz, the Astros beat writer. Jesus also has a blog. And it's like a car wreck at which I've just got to stop and rubberneck. Especially late last week.

Your Houston Rockets just finished winning their fifth game in a row and it came against the best team in the Eastern Conference no less. But do you even care? It sure doesn't seem like it. As you read this, the local airwaves are probably still meticulously dissecting the Matt Schaub deal. When it's time for a change of pace, the talk may momentarily shift to the Aggies' choke job or Jason Lane vs. Luke Scott. But this isn't exactly a new development. Heck, even during the sports void that exists between the Super Bowl and March Madness, the Rockets generated a minimal amount of buzz. But once upon a time, they actually owned Houston. What happened?

The blunt answer is they got old and started sucking.

Well, I'd like to welcome Matt Schaub to the Houston. Matt, as QB 1, you're going to be the toast of the town. Especially since the last QB 1 was pretty much hated. Why, right now, even as we speak, the city's leading information source is comparing you to Tom Brady — let's hope that the comparisons stop with completion percentage on the field, and not a completion percentage with girlfriends.

(Now, I'll let others take a stab at the actual sports implications of this trade, like does it make the team better, etc — Jason, have at it — because I'm dealing with more important matters.)

Matt, here's the thing. I advise you to join this great press that you're getting. Because, if the Texans don't win. Well, IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!

So the Texans have themselves a new quarterback. On the plus side, he's not named Jake Plummer or Jeff Garcia. On the other hand, his jersey comes with an "8" on it, and that number can make any gathering of Texans' fans immediately re-enact the Barf-a-rama scene from Stand By Me.

So what does it all mean? Draft-wise, it's clear Houston was either not enamored with Brady Quinn or didn't think he'd still be around at the eight spot. Now, you have to think the Texans are eyeing my man, Amobi Okoye, LSU safety, LaRon Landry or speed freak, Ted Ginn Jr. And don't discount the club doing everything it can to trade down once again in an attempt to acquire more picks on draft day.

But you also have to consider this: What the Texans gave up to get Schaub almost certainly would have been enough to move into this year's top five. Knowing that would mean a shot at everyone's favorite, Adrian Peterson (not to mention the aforementioned Quinn or left tackle, Joe Thomas), would you still make the deal?