"Hollow Men" is as good a way as any to describe the Astros up at the plate Saturday afternoon against Wes Obermueller of the Milwaukee Brewers. With chance after chance staring them in the face to rally and defeat the Brewers in a must-win situation, the Astros--Lance Berkman, Richard Hidalgo, Craig Biggio, Adam Everett, Jose Vizcaino--failed repeatedly in feeble attempts to get the vital hit that would have kept the club within range of the Chicago Cubs in the NL Central. Houston (86-75), as it has done many, many times over the past three seasons, allowed Obermueller to pitch a far more effective game than it should ever have permitted from a young, inexperienced right-hander. Milwaukee's 5-2 victory, gained largely by eight innings of ten-hit ball from Obermueller (who won only his second game of the season), three hits and three RBI from Scott Podsednik, and a sixth-inning homer from Wes Helms, all but extinguished Houston's hopes for a division title. The Cubs won the first game of their doubleheader against Pittsburgh this afternoon and, as I write this, a Sammy Sosa homer has Chicago ahead in game two. Although I would have welcomed a Pittsburgh win over Mark Prior today, and would certainly welcome a Pirate comeback against Matt Clement, a Bucs triumph that would pull the Astros back to within a game of the lead, the truth is--regardless of the outcome of game two at Wrigley--Houston does not deserve a better fate for itself than it earned over the past two days.

We could cite tiredness as a cause of Houston's ineffectuality at the plate. Berkman has admitted to tiredness this month; Hidalgo is also probably tired; the aging Biggio has been rested frequently this season to avoid that very problem. We could cite injuries as a cause. Jeff Kent's wrist is pretty clearly hampering his ability to drive the ball; Hidalgo's left shoulder was banged up hard Friday night on that attempt at a catch in RF; Bagwell's right shoulder will be a constant issue until the day he retires. None of these conditions or injuries, however, can fully explain the lethargy the Astros displayed Saturday against a pitcher we (and they) had every reason to believe Houston would clock. Tiredness in September is part of the legacy of every member of a big-league starting lineup; injuries are more problematic, but if a guy says he can go, once he steps between those lines, he'll be expected to perform like a healthy man. With due allowance for the various aches and pains that might slow a major-league player down, the fact remains the Astros didn't get the job done in any respect this afternoon, and if I read the face of Houston's owner correctly as he left his seat at the conclusion of the game, there will be some significant changes this off-season, changes that will be made even if Houston still plays a significant season finale Sunday, and changes that will be made even after the emotions of the moment have worn off and management has had time to think coolly.

Saturday began well, both in the field and at the plate. Ron Villone (6-6) was sharp and throwing hard, and the offense kicked it into gear in the bottom of the first. Biggio and Ensberg both singled hard, to CF and LF, respectively, but Jeff Bagwell, symbolic head of a middle of the order that has gone mostly silent five out of the last six games, began to slow down the inning with a 6-4 forceout that put Biggio at 3B. Kent singled up the middle to drive Biggio home, but even as the run came home. I was wondering about Kent and about the Astros as a team. Part of their problem over these last six crucial games has been an inability to drive the ball anywhere, particularly with men on base. There was some extra-base hitting last night, but Kent's triple Friday represented one of the few times in the past week he's really destroyed a pitch. Ensberg, of course, has given the club some power--two homers Thursday night and one today--but Bagwell, Berkman, and Hidalgo have been far too silent in these games, and that has killed the Astros' season. Houston received a terrific break when Richie Sexson was charged with an error on a ball hit by Berkman that allowed Kent to reach 2B But with two men on and a chance to break the game open, Hidalgo made me flash back three seasons. One of the less attractive aspects of his otherwise splendid 2000 season was a boatload of balls hit to 3B that were turned into double plays. Didn't matter whether they were scorched or tapped; if Hidalgo pulled 'em that way with one or two men on, it was going to be a twin-killing. The step-on-3B, throw-to-1B double play here was an easier play for Wes Helms than the radio commentary made it sound, and the throw to 1B beat Hidalgo by plenty.

Villone did what he could to hold the Brewers off, but Milwaukee played with an energy Saturday the Astros did not possess. The pressure of the pennant race also showed once again in Adam Everett's efforts at SS. In the third, with one out, Royce Clayton doubled to RF, beating a good, hard, accurate throw by Hidalgo. With two outs, Houston's inability to close out an inning popped up once more. Podsednik tripled to CF, beyond the reach of the parallel dive of Biggio into RCF, scoring Clayton, and Podsednik scored when Everett inadvisedly tried to get Bill Hall at 1B after nabbing Hall's grounder deep in the hole, just before the OF grass. Everett's wild throw sailed over Bagwell's head. It's probable that Podsednik would have scored anyway on the play because of the angle of the ball in the hole, but had Everett held it and thrown home rather than to 1B, he might have had a shot at Podsednik. The issue here is not Everett's hustle; it's more about remembering who the runner is on 3B and what the percentage play is. Four years from now, when the Astros are once again locked up in a battle for the NL Central crown with the Cubs, Everett will be faced with this same play. He'll make it then, using the better judgment the years have taught him. Today, however, the error just goes down on the scorecard as "experience gained," and we move on.

Futilty abounded for the Astros in the third when Bagwell reached on an error by LF Mark Smith and Kent singled, but Berkman struck out and Hidalgo flied meekly to RF. Futility deepened in the fourth when Biggio struck out, leaving Everett, who had singled and stolen, at 2B. Villone, who did a terrible job trying to sacriifce Everett up in that sequence and showed no emotion in quietly putting his things away in the dugout afterwards, cratered in the sixth. Again, with two outs already gotten, Villone and his teammates let Milwaukee do too much damage. Wes Helms homered to LF; Eddie Perez and Clayton singled back-to-back to CF; Obermueller himself singled to LF, loading the bases and forcing a move to Brad Lidge. Podsednik then put the game on ice for the Brewers, lacing a two-run double to LF. Three runs and five hits later, Houston's 2003 season was all but over. Although the ending of that season may have actually started on the final road trip and the final lines of the story have yet to be written, the climax came today.

Houston had one last shot to get back into the game in the sixth. Berkman led off with a nice double to CF that even Podsednik couldn't track down. Hidalgo, however, flied to RF. Ausmus kept things alive, though, by hustling his way into a hit toward 2B as Berkman took 3B. With two chances--two last chances, as it turned out--to do something meaningful about the score, Everett flied to RF and Vizcaino, as a pinch-hitter, grounded up the middle to SS.

Ensberg's one-out homer in the seventh, his 25th of the season, was a solo job. Beyond that, over the final three innings of the game, the Astros hit like the hollow men of T.S. Eliot's poem. No passion, no power, no conviction in their swings. Two straight taps back to the mound to end the seventh, another Hidalgo double play in the eighth--wiping out a lonely Berkman single--and a fly to CF by Everett, a strikeout of Orlando Merced, and a pop to 2B by Biggio in the ninth to end it, with silence descending on the stadium as Bill Hall gloved the ball. Although there is still one game left to play, with perhaps the slightest hope remaining, and some analysis left to offer on the 'morrow, perhaps we might begin reflecting on what we've all willingly been through once again this year by acknowledging that the baseball season is a world; It could not be otherwise, extending as it does over seven months, 190 games, and three changes of season, with its own internal rhythms. And when the season finally ends, to nearly every passionate player or fan, save those who win the World Series, it feels like the world has ended. We expect, every year, either because we believe the pronouncements of a club's public relations department or because we carry the tiny flame of faith that is the peculiar possession of fans of baseball, that the season through which we live will end in apocalyptic splendor. But Eliot had it right. Life decays, and the world ends. Saturday, the Astros' world ended, just as it will for ninety-nine percent of the teams that will ever play this game, "not with a bang, but with a whimper."