TORONTO - Anonymous Astros shuffle through dark stadium tunnels, linger around quiet hitting cages or wait inside a cramped visitor's clubhouse for another game to begin during a long, lost season.

Third-base coach Dave Trembley answers the darkness with nothing but positive light and attacks.

"Hey, how ya doin'?"

"Hey, how's it going today?"

"Hey, hey, hey. We're looking good, looking good. It's gonna be another good one tonight, isn't it?"

The sentences end with question marks. They're said with pure exclamation. Brief, upbeat, pregame queries from a 61-year-old who has devoted more than half his life to a sport that once nearly broke him.

A cruel, unforgiving Astros-like rebuild with the Baltimore Orioles from 2007-10 left Trembley locked inside a dark house dealing with symptoms of depression when the major league lights were suddenly turned off. Three years after learning he'd been fired by seeing his name roll across an ESPN sports ticker, Trembley still refuses to believe daily devotion, group respect and self-belief aren't the cure-alls for the 2013 Astros.

He started attacking in early February, when the Astros woke with the sunrise during spring training in Kissimmee, Fla., and first-year manager Bo Porter's inspirational messages hadn't had time to lose their sway.

Trembley's still attacking in late July, when the trade deadline awaits and another loss-filled season devoted to player development and evaluation is on pace to become a third consecutive campaign with at least 100 defeats.

"I've always believed that you earn what you get. The game will give you back what you put into it," Trembley said. "But make no mistake: No one's going to give it to you; you have to earn it. And people are going to find out how bad you want it."

Trembley will return to Camden Yards on Tuesday for the first time since the title "major league manager" was removed from his name. Part of him has secretly eyed the Astros' schedule since spring, longing to again see the brick ballpark, proud fans and prouder city he lovingly gave four years of his life. Most of him wants the young Astros to know his brief time in Baltimore is often the best it gets for many who play the sport. You get a look, a touch and taste. Then the game moves on. And you either keep living and keep giving back or you never recover and are never, ever the same.

"That time in my life was probably the most significant period that I've ever gone through. It was such a very special opportunity, such a special time. … But when I got fired, I had a tough time," Trembley said. "I had a tough time personally. I was very honest. I kept a lot of things inside. And I struggled; I struggled for a while. I struggled for a long time, because that opportunity meant so much to me."

Positive reinforcement

Trembley is short, balding and slightly overweight. In a tight orange-and-blue uniform, one of Major League Baseball's few managers who never played a game in the big leagues now looks and sounds like a struggling used-car salesman, trying to squeeze one last bit of enthusiasm out of a failing operation that is mostly just a 162-game charade. But Trembley means and believes in every word he says.

The Astros can quit and give in any time they want. Some almost have on a club that began the year engulfed by the lowest of expectations.

But for every pitcher who believes a team that began the year with the lowest payroll in baseball is wasting their time and talent, there are young athletes whose careers have just begun and whose progress ultimately will be defined by how they matured and evolved during the Astros' lost years, not by how many defeats the club piled up.

"He's a lively guy and a great guy, and he's one of my guys. I love him and I'll fight for him every day, and that's all you can ask," said rookie reliever Paul Clemens, who was sent to Class AAA on Saturday. "No matter how bad it gets around here, you keep your spirits up. It's easy to fold your tent up. Personally, I've never been a part of something like this. This really takes a toll on you. … For him to walk in every day and be ready to go to war, it's awesome."

The three-time minor league manager of the year has been battling in his own unique, unrelenting style for nearly 30 years. Trembley racked up more than 3,000 games in the minors with 16 years in the thankless instructional leagues.

More than two decades were spent living off peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches with numbing late-night cross-state bus rides and cross-country phone calls to a family that sometimes barely existed, always doing anything anyone ever asked, just to make the game a little better for those who play, watch and love it.

If baseball is life, Trembley is baseball. And that's before Baltimore is even mentioned.

Ode to the Orioles

Trembley managed the horrible, rebuilding Orioles from June 18, 2007, to June 3, 2010. He was a sacrificial leader from the first game. An interim tag was replaced by a permanent name sticker Trembley always knew would be ripped off as soon as Baltimore - an American League East contender the last two seasons under Buck Showalter - was ready for its next real phase.

An underperforming 2010 Orioles club started 2-16 and had been thinned out by injuries but still featured future franchise centerpieces such as center fielder Adam Jones, catcher Matt Wieters and right fielder Nick Markakis. By the time Baltimore arrived in New York on June 1 for a series with the Yankees, the Orioles were 15-36 and an era that will always be defined by a 30-3 blowout defeat to the Rangers in 2007 was on the verge of going dark.

"You could definitely see it take its toll because he cared so much about his guys and cared so much about his players and cared so much about the team that the losing's going to affect you," Wieters said. "But in saying that, he still - even when things weren't going well - he still came with a positive attitude of today's going to be a better day and today's the day it all turns around."

As Baltimore wrapped up pregame preparations for the series finale, writers whom Trembley had long considered good friends began thanking him for everything he'd done the last four years and wishing him the best wherever the next stage of his life took him.

"There were 20 of them there. We're taking batting practice … and I'm saying, 'What the hell is this?' " said Trembley, who compiled a 187-283 record with Baltimore. "(A writer) comes up to me and goes, 'Dave, it's been great working with you.' I say, 'I'll see you in a couple weeks - we're playing the Yankees again.' I didn't know what was going on."

Trembley unraveled the message he'd long known would one day arrive during a flight back to Baltimore. An ESPN breaking news ticker on a small television screen told Trembley he'd been fired by the Orioles.

As soon as the team touched down in Baltimore, he called former Orioles president Andy MacPhail. There was no answer. Trembley left a message.

"I think you may need to talk to me," Trembley said. "I'll be sitting down here in the office."

About 15 minutes later, while Orioles players and coaches waited inside the team clubhouse, Trembley's phone finally rang. Baltimore wanted to send someone to bring its former manager up to the front office. Trembley declined.

"I said, 'No, no, no. I know how to get there. I'm walking up on my own,' " he said.

A dark place

There is a house filled with light, loaded with faces and colors and names. It takes Trembley more than 30 years to build it.

The construction starts in 1977, when Trembley's a teacher and baseball coach at Los Angeles' Daniel Murphy High School. It continues as he guides a junior college team for five years.

The house grows and Trembley fills it with athletes, ticket-takers, ushers, fans, scouts, writers, coaches and friends. Somehow, Trembley eventually becomes one of 30 - a major league manager in a game defined by tradition and history that rarely lets outsiders in.

Then Trembley sees his name coldly roll across a sports ticker like so many others before his. A phone call isn't answered. He's ushered upstairs. There's a pre-written news release waiting for him to sign off on and a final speech to give. Then the front door to the house is locked, the lights are turned off and almost everyone he has known quietly goes away because they suddenly have no use for him anymore.

"When it's over - and this is the tough part - it's like they pull the shade down and they turn the lights off," Trembley said. "I didn't hear from one guy. And you find out who your friends are."

For three months, Trembley stayed in the darkness. A few writers finally called, sticking in the fired manager's mind as people who'd always care. Encouraging words from managers Joe Maddon, Jim Leyland, Terry Francona and Bobby Cox kept Trembley going. Close friends and family members never fled.

But Trembley was in a personal black hole, surrounded by the feeling of being cut off and tossed away from the game to which he had devoted his life. He had survived on three to four hours of sleep when he managed the Orioles. Now, he was living off middle-of-the-night, self-induced wakeups that were solely based upon turning on a television just to check a meaningless stream of baseball scores. It took him half a year to rediscover light.

"The first three months, I was really a recluse," Trembley said. "I didn't want to go anywhere. I didn't want to do anything. I didn't want to leave the house."

He added: "I knew what the outcome at some point in time was going to be. Did I like it? No. Did I accept it? Yes. Did I have difficulty in getting over it? Absolutely."

Midway through looking back at Baltimore, small drops of clear water form beneath Trembley's right eye. He then briefly breaks his professional character at the end of a long interview, with a deep "Oh, oh, oh" that hints at the pain of watching someone else turn off the lights inside the house he built.

"People have no clue," he said.

Then Trembley is back. He starts walking from the Astros' Minute Maid Park dugout into a tunnel that leads to the clubhouse. He paused, looked a reporter directly in the eyes and said everything about himself, his time with the Orioles and his belief in the game of baseball in two short sentences.

"I'm sorry I talked too long," Trembley said. "It means a lot to me."

Completing the circle

Porter is to the Astros what Trembley was to the Orioles.

Which is why the first call Porter made last September after becoming the youngest manager in baseball was an unexpected midnight confession to a man who'd lived through one agonizing rebuild and was a perfect fit for another.

"We got the job," said Porter, as soon as Trembley picked up the line.

Nearly 10 months later, Trembley can still hear Porter's voice.

"It was probably one of the greatest things," Trembley said. " 'We got the job.' He didn't say, 'I got the job.' He said, 'We got the job.' "

When Porter was at the end of his playing days as a 29-year-old outfielder with the Atlanta Braves' Class AAA affiliate in Richmond, Va., then-minor league manager Fredi Gonzalez told Porter a big league gig would one day result in his outfielder receiving an unexpected phone call about an immediate opening for a coaching job. Four years later, Gonzalez was named the Florida Marlins' manager. Porter was the first person he reached out to.

Porter completed the circle with Trembley. From 1995-98, the Astros' future third-base coach managed the Astros' future leader at three levels in the Chicago Cubs' minor league system. Nearly 15 years later, Porter was given the key to the Astros' multistage rebuild. Knowing what was coming - numbing blowout defeats, frustratingly close losses, years devoted to player development and evaluation he may never actually see pay off in person - Porter reached out to a once-discarded man who'd found new light as the Braves' minor league field coordinator in 2011.

"(Trembley) is a baseball lifer. … I learned a tremendous amount about professional baseball and professionalism the three years that I played for him," Porter said. "It stuck with me throughout the course of my career, and that's why I have the level of respect that I have for him. Because I understand what he's put into this game, and he's pretty much held every job title that you can have in baseball. He cares about people, he's passionate, he's compassionate, and he's just a winner."

Still pitching

Take away the six months of darkness, and Trembley has never stopped attacking. Most players get a brief look, make a small name and then disappear. Some listen and last. That was Porter. Now, Trembley's paying his former player back and again adding names and light and color to his house.

The 2013 Astros are often a lost cause. But in two years, that should change. If the rebuild works like it's supposed to, Trembley's early voice will be part of the bridge that brings real baseball back to Houston.

"The game's nine innings. I kind of feel like I'm in the seventh inning of my life and the seventh inning of my career," Trembley said. "People know. The players know if you care about them, and they know if they can trust you and they know if you're honest. So every day I come in here and I try and be the same. It's not easy - it's not easy sometimes. But I think it's the right thing to do."