3 + 4 definitely = 7

And he set me on fire and I'm burning alive. With His breath in my lungs I am coming undone.

It's not everyday that David Crowder Band releases a new CD and comes to your town for the official "CD release party" which means free cds for all comers. It's also not everyday that a hurricane decides to come through your town (or, as it were, narrowly miss your town) and delay said event an entire month. Yes. Though Collision has been on the streets for over a month I have patiently abstained from buying or even listening to the new stuff always knowing a free cd was mine as long as I showed up at the rescheduled date. Well friends, last Monday was that day and it was good.

First, the show. Robbie Seay and Shane and Shane were the opening acts and my lovely wife(a huge Shane and Shane fan) and I were blown away. This just in--Shane Bernard has large pipes. Nuff' said. Go see him live.

Crowder was great, although he appeared to be wearing a halloween mask (seen above) the entire time. The mask consisted of teased up hair and thick glasses highlighted by a scraggly goatee. He must be one of those celebrities who doesn't like people knowing what he really looks like. In a place like Waco, you can't be too cautious.

Ok, ok, I'm getting to the good part. He opened with a new tune called Do Not Move and it really set the tone for an amazing show. Crowder was cracking jokes, playing a "keytar", and scaring small children throughout the night to, at times, thunderous applause.

I thought Come thou fount and Amazing Grace were quite wonderful early in the set and of course the kids were bouncing for Undignified. The other new songs DCB played live were, Rescue is coming, Foreverandever,You are my joy (my favorite of the set), and Here is our king .

It was a lovely night, although it's not my preference to drive out to the Woodlands on a Monday night. Then again, old age takes no prisoners.

If you don't own Collision yet, I suggest you go get it now. It has a great cover of Hank Williams' I saw the light . That should be enough for you.

Come and Listen.

Epilogue

Alas the impossible dream twas' not to be. From my room on the 6th floor of the Millenium hotel in Minneapolis I watched the dream come to an end. My only gripe is against the fans along the 3B/LF railing who let Uribe dive in unmolested in the bottom of the ninth to catch a popup off the bat of Chris Burke. Where is Steve Bartman when you need him? And that is the real beef I have with the World Series. Could Houston's fans have been more dead? Was Al Gore in charge of rallying the troops on gameday? The fans who sacrificed life and lungs all season and postseason to push this little team that could further than anyone could have dreamed were left to watch from their living rooms (or hotel rooms in Minnesota) as scalpers, "ticket brokers" and the like charged thousands for standing room only tickets. In the end, it wasn't the open roof that did us in, it was the fact that half of the 40,000 fans were corporate stiffs or bimbo girlfriends of corporate stiffs who couldn't tell you the difference between double knit and a double play.

And that's what really hurts. Hat's off to Brandon Backe--that kid has got some serious stones. He clearly pitched the finest game of any starter on either team during the series hands down.

It was a fun ride and thanks to Mr. Pujols, the pain-this time- was not at all bad.

The Impossible Dream: Back to Houston

Ok, so at least I was right about the Mike Lamb part. He hit a nice little dinger in game 1 that proved not to be enough. Game 2 was the real salt in the wound; a blown lead, a stirring comeback, another gut-punch walk off homer against our formerly unhittable closer by a guy who batted 507 times without a homer this year.

No worries, we have em' right where we want them. This team has a lot of Lee Marvin in them--they're best when the chips are down and their backs are against the wall and ....you get the picture.

It will be all the sweeter to come back from an 0-2 hole with Roy-O set to go in game 7. Cue Journey's Don't Stop Believin'.

The Impossible Dream: Pre Game 1 Thoughts

Beautiful--no, splendiferous day in Houston. Not so much in Chicago where its damp and cold and hold on to your hat--windy. Bagwell is in the starting lineup for the first time since early May. I hope he can contribute some quality at bats. He's busted his rear in rehab to get himself ready just in case this impossible situation came to be. Tonight he will dig in against a tough Contreras--he's batting sixth. Hollywood's script would have him knocking in the winning run, I'm all for a couple of walks and a single.

Predictions: Clemens goes six, gives up two runs, Contreras is tough on us but we scratch a couple of runs late and win 3-2. Lidge gets the save. Keep your eye on Mike Lamb.

Holy Toledo!

What in the name of Charlie Kerfeld? Billy Hatcher, Bill Doran, Dickie Thon, Scotty, Denny Walling, Terry Puhl--This one's for you. I never thought I would see it in my lifetime, but the Houston Astros have made it to the World Series. Phil Garner, Jose Cruz, Mark Bailey, Nolan Ryan, and Alan Ashby, all members of the 86'Astros that came oh-so-close to bringing it home for H-town before losing the 16 inning heartbreaker to the Mets, have all had a front row seat for this indescribable ride.

Garner the Manager, Cruz and Bailey the coaches, Nolan the "Advisor", and Ashby the broadcaster must be feeling a great sense of redemption nearly 20 years later. I was in 7th grade when Dave Smith broke my heart. Milo hasn't moved an inch.

This feels good. I left my heart in section 306 of Minute Maid park on Monday night, but tonight, the cold-blooded assassin Roy O, stole it back. I feel really good for the guys on the team because I believe they are great guys. And you know what? A lot of the Cardinals are great guys too. Yes. Phat Albert may have kicked us all in the gut, but he is a great player--in my opinion the best the grand ole game has to offer--and he is a good guy, living for Christ, striving for excellence in his chosen profession and if I have to be gut-kicked by someone, I want it to be him. Had it been Mark Grudzelanek or John Mabry, I may have folded and taken the vow of silence forever. It is irrelevant now--Fat Elvis will be swinging it in the series and he will be bringing 24 of his closest friends to Chicago with him.

I'm excited to finally--after 25 years--watch my boys lay it on the line in the Fall Classic. Better yet, thanks to Mr. Pujols (and you must call him MR. from now on) I have a new perspective about sports. They aren't real life. Not even close. I found myself putting all of my eggs in the Astros basket the last few weeks--too invested, became an idol, and for a Christian that's dangerous territory. Mr. P's moonshot slapped me in the face and reminded me that my true joy and my true identity is not in temporal things like baseball, but the hope that is assured--the beautiful King of Kings that never blows the save.

That being said, I'm really happy and I will thoroughly enjoy watching the games next week against Chicago. I'll root hard and cheer on the team I've been cheering for a quarter century. But it won't be life and death. Not even close.

Thanks Al. Err, I mean Mr. Pujols.

Close, but no cigar

I've often heard this cliche'. After last night I think I know what it means. I don't feel like getting into to it due to the severe ulcer growing in my stomach, but suffice it to say--never pull out the cigar with two outs in the ninth. It is a sure way to put the whammy on your hopes and dreams. I didn't catch the fellow's name, but I would guess he won't be pulling the hidden cigar trick again any time soon.