Hi. My call is Josh Sippie, and as may be presumed, I’m a massive Houston Astros fan and have been for as long as I’ve had the strength of the cognitive idea. It started with Craig Biggio because it did for so many others. A grimy jersey and many years of equal membership are the best ways to win a fan over.
And gambling the sport in view that I become 3, I handiest ever wanted to be like Biggio. The trouble was that, during my four years in high school, I broke my wrists/fingers/hands in eight instances, officially calling my baseball profession to a near. Nevertheless, I ranked No. 1 in the St. Louis region for batting average 2008. I batted 1,000, going 1 for 1 with an RBI before breaking each wrist simultaneously on that one hit and lacking the entire season. Being raised in St. Louis, I became that guy who went with my Cardinal-loving pals to Busch Stadium and taunted all the people like them, who have been assigned their preferred team primarily based on where they were born. At the same time, I, a freedom-loving American, chose mine.
My writing life didn’t start till after excessive faculty, at which factor it caught up in a hurry. I’ve been writing about various things at FanSided for years and still keep down the post of Expert at Pain inside the Arsenal, in which I’ve written over 6,000 articles across six years. It’s been a hell of a journey, and as I always inform humans, if you’re writing about something you like, it’s worth it. No matter what. I’m constantly writing. Literally. I joked, “While now not writing, I can discover why I’m no longer writing.” But it’s no longer, without a doubt, a funny story because I’m pursuing my goals of writing center-grade kids’ books, setting comedy articles throughout the interwebs, nonfiction pieces right here and there, and, of the path, more Arsenal articles.
My love of the Astros never dwindled, and it began to tackle a deeper degree when Jim Crane took over because Jim went to my high school and college. I felt like, in some way, I consequently owned a part of the Houston Astros, too.
After struggling through many one hundred loss seasons, I thought I turned emotionally lifeless. But in 2013, I advised all my fraternity brothers that the Astros could win the World Series 2017. Not long after, Sports Illustrated made the identical name. These days, they nevertheless tell me I must have a long past to Vegas with my prediction. For whatever reason, my writing existence and my love of the Astros rarely coincided. It felt like I loved the Astros an excessive amount to put into phrases, and the conflicted love/hate of their one hundred loss seasons left me… Flustered. I used to run my own Astros weblog, where I’d publish a picture of a useless horse (caricature, poorly drawn, of course)) Every time, Carlos Lee would come out with runs in scoring position and much less than two outs. I ran out of ways to make horses’ appearance unique.
But I formally broke once they gained the 2017 World Series. I’ve in no way cried in sports. But once they won, I cried. It was not like sobbing or crying, but there had been tears, which felt weird. What ended up happening is this essay I wrote, known as “Congratulate Me, Too.” It changed into the primary factor I’d written about the Astros in years. I felt connected to them to this kind of deep degree. Things got even more surreal when, on a birthday experience to Boston this past April, I ran into AJ Hinch on the second ground of Nordstrom Rack while I turned into carrying a vibrant orange Astros jacket. He pointed at my coat; I looked at him, and “How ya doing?” turned into all I ought to say.
I live in New York City and paint as the Director of Contests and Conferences at Gotham Writers Workshop, even as persevering to jot down about Arsenal. I turned into usually studying content material from Crawfish Boxes and poking around on FanGraphs. One day, it simply dawned on me that it became time to marry two of my favorite matters: Writing and the Houston Astros. So here I am, with matters to say. You’ll find me writing about pitching more instances than not (I was glass) and reminiscing about Roy Oswalt’s tractor and 12-6 curveball. I often examine things in Lord of the Rings, probably more than I should.