The Phillips Family

When watching top athletes day after day, it’s natural that the person becomes ideal, larger than life in our heads. As Roy Oswalt pitched against the Cardinals last night, as each no-hit inning passed, my respect for the guy went way up. The Astros strolled to a 5-1 win. And the post-game celebration comes: champagne is flying, players are jumping around, the media is going crazy, Houston is rocking, the series MVP award goes to Oswalt, he steps to the microphone… and out comes the thickest deep south accent I’ve heard in awhile. It was really funny. As Jeff Foxworthy says, “The southern accent isn’t the most intelligent sounding accent in the world.” Roy, Houston loves you, now more than ever.

The same thing happened with Paul Hamm in the last summer Olympics. I was watching this at the Carpenter’s house, with Annie’s sisters and mother. Stellar routines, lots of hype, comes from behind to win gold, we’re flying high, the media microphone comes to his mouth… and out comes a squeaky helium-sucking puberty-stricken mouse voice. The whole room deflated, then burst into laughter, simultaneously. Paul, sorry, you are no longer the stud that the Carpenter girls once thought you were.

Way to go Astros – I’m now a postseason baseball junkie.