As the esteemed Kenny Kelly mentioned in his series preview, “the Astros are unstoppable killing machines.” Thankfully, these two games have earlier start times, so, there’s a very good chance you’ll be able to miss the carnage entirely. But when you do sit down to watch or listen to a Giants game later in the week, some things might’ve changed about them.
They might all be dead.
Literally murdered by the super-talented — nay, too talented — Houston Astros who won’t realize their own strength. The Giants are a fragile .500 team just trying to tread water until a couple of good pitchers come back. There’s nothing on their roster that comes close to anything on the Astros. Don’t take my word for it; their utter superiority is the league’s idea:
According to the narrative, the Giants’ best player is 10 times worse than the Astros’ worst player, and if a Giant somehow got on the Astros’ roster, Jeff Luhnow would be fired and the organization would have to burn itself down to make sure they got out all the bad player germs. With all that in mind, there’s a very strong possibility the Giants won’t make it out of Houston alive.
Here’s how I imagine most of the Giants will die by Houston’s hand(s):
This poor kid’s ERA is going to balloon so much in the first four innings that it will burst in his face and snap his neck. He’ll be flung off the pitcher’s mound and land against the wall in right center field.
A called third strike — Gerrit Cole’s 13th consecutive punchout to start the game — will lead to an argument with the home plate umpire. Belt’s shoulders will slump as he gets into it. Brian McCann will quietly stand up and rip both of Belt’s arms out of his slumped shoulder sockets and shove the stumps down Belt’s Player of the Week-winning mouth.
His stellar defense will confuse and upset the defense-tracking laser system setup in the stadium and the advanced, proprietary AI that only the Astros know how to control. Then it will self-regulate and adjust the laser to a previously unknown “kill” setting in order to slice and dice him right there on the field.
He’ll get a hit off of Gerrit Cole and be stabbed to death by Yuli Gurriel (humming “The Rains of Castamere”) while standing at first base. Jose Alguacil will be ejected when he argues that murder is against the rules.
The sound of the contact on the six consecutive home runs the Astros hit to open the bottom of the first inning on Wednesday will be so loud and powerful that Samardzija’s ear drums will rupture and he’ll have an aneurysm. Bruce Bochy will still let him finish the inning in order to save the bullpen. But it won’t work!
He will give up three consecutive line drives that hit him straight in the chest. The third one will knock him backwards neatly into an open casket behind the pitcher’s mound that Jose Altuve had dug for him just before the start of the inning.
He’ll take so long between each pitch that the fans will lose track of time... so much time, in fact, that they’ll momentarily think they’ve traveled back in time to the Civil War era, and when they wander onto the field to have a conversation with a fellow Confederate in his Confederate gray uniform, Dyson (who will still have only thrown one pitch and not been disoriented by time parallax) will calmly tell the fan(s) that he is not a Confederate. This will infuriate the fan, who will still be disoriented by time parallax (despite his life depending on it, Dyson will still not have thrown his next pitch), but when they can’t find their musket, they resort to pummeling Dyson with their bare hands. And because this is Texas, where everything’s bigger, those bare hands are 10 times the size of Dyson’s head and his skull doesn’t last very long. The Astros’ batter is awarded first base due to Dyson taking too long to throw a pitch.
He mocks José Altuve for being tiny. Then a version of this happens:
A line drive off George Springer’s bat will rip his head clean off. A fan will be ejected from the stadium for falling onto the field after reaching over the third base line railing to retrieve the rolling head.
The white hot heat from the Astros’ offense will focus itself through Tomlinson’s glasses. It’ll be like they’re forcing him to stare into the sun... but worse. His retinas will be burned to a crisp and the light will pierce his brain and vaporize his brain stem. He’ll be melted from the inside.
After chasing down six consecutive home run balls and 12 extra base hits, his heart will simply give out on him and he will die of exhaustion.
A fan who brought a deep fryer to the game will be startled when Blanco runs full speed into the wall beneath the Crawford boxes and accidentally knock into that fryer, causing boiling hot grease to spill onto the field and burn Blanco to a deep fried crisp.
He will try to steal second base off Justin Verlander and Justin Verlander will shame him to death via tweet.
Yes, these players have families and this is just a game played for our entertainment, but it seems like it’s Major League Baseball’s fault for allowing a team like the Giants to exist in the same universe as a team like the Astros. It’s too big of a mismatch, and there’s simply nothing the Giants could’ve done at any point in time to make themselves strong enough to face an all-powerful superteam built on the bones and ash of failure and pain.
It’ll be a shock to the system to lose all these great players in one series, but that’s actually how the game used to be played. It’s why there’s a dead ball era, after all. Nobody made it out alive back then. Ultimately, being murdered by your far superior opponent is just baseball.