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I guess I have to admit this now--I have been thinking (and even saying out loud . . . once) that this is the year. This is the year that my team goes to the World Series. Not for the first time in my life, but for the first time ever.

With baseball, I never allow myself to hope. I didn't until this year, that is. Even last year, with Carlos Beltran becoming the best player in baseball for a shining fortnight, even then I just didn't feel it. But I started feeling it this August. I wish I could say I'd been feeling it all along, at least since the All-Star break, but I hadn't. Nevertheless, this current hope--no, really it's faith--this current faith I have is the kind of thing I NEVER used to voice. I don't know why I'm willing to open myself up to this kind of heartbreak this year, but some superstitious, oracle-consulting, entrail-reading part of me thinks it is imperative to be absolutely honest right now and admit it. This, I believe, is the year. Maybe it has to do with losing Orbison in September and getting that reminder driven home that grief and loss means you have had something worth grieving for. It gives you a little courage to take the risk and admit your hopes. So you lose--so what? It hurts? Big deal. Look at what you've had. With Orbison, it was a big, gentle, pure-hearted love and respect, and now there are places in the hallway and in the den that look strange without him, but you were lucky to live with him long enough for that impression to become indelible. The Astros were born the year before you were. Growing up in Houston was about afternoons at Astroworld and nights spent at the Astrodome, eighth wonder of the world. Nolan Ryan, Mike Scott, J.R. Richard, and fall 1986, the season you got married and the season of the worst baseball heartbreak you've ever known, all in one month. When your marriage started to fall apart seven years later, you went on a long road trip alone and sat in the springtime sun in Osceola County Stadium, watching the players stretch and laugh with each other on the field, a brand new season lying unspoiled ahead.

I caught myself in tears last night after the last out had been made and we had escaped the charging Cards. Astroworld closed this year. The Astrodome is going to be torn down. This is the year my team will go to the World Series. I swear to you it is.

Edited after the game to add:

Thank the baby Jeebus for Adam Everett. Now could you guys stop leaving so many men on base? You're killing me. Killing me!


( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
Oct. 17th, 2005 02:12 pm (UTC)
*hugs tight*
Oct. 17th, 2005 07:40 pm (UTC)
I Believe
I believe. I really do....and I'm going to be soooooooo happy for you...and happy for myself too. The Astros were always our "home team" in Louisiana since we didn't have a major league baseball team. I remember thinking their old retro jerseys were SOOOOOOOO cool.

I went to see the Saints play yesterday in San Antonio and spent a good portion of the first quarter surprised that I was very close to crying over the whole situation. All the Saints fans....and all of the Texans who've adopted the Saints....and watching the Saints since the first day they ever played a game...on TV...and finally going to one of their games...in San Antonio, Texas...was unreal.
Oct. 18th, 2005 07:09 pm (UTC)
Re: I Believe
Last night:

Oh my God. Oh my GOD. That was the most extreme swing of emotions I have ever felt in the space of three minutes. Ow. Ow ow ow ow. Ow.

The Sports Guy wrote a nice commiseration.

But I'm not freaked out as bad as I thought I would be today. I still feel it. But whoa.

Hey, I have a birthday present for you! I think I'm going to meet Amy in Marble Falls on Saturday to watch Joshie play football, but maybe we could get together sometime on Sunday? Brunch? Or I could just come over (for all I know you still might not feel 100%).
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )