Since my last post I've gained a lot of wisdom and perspective about the world. First, my doom and gloom prediction that the Astros would never go to the World Series was shown to be just so much hysterical fan blathering. One game after Albert Pujols orbited a Brad Lidge slider into Deep Space 9, Roy Oswalt went back to St. Louis and closed up shop as ruthlessly and efficiently as a mortgage foreclosure in the Great Depression. When I came home from work and saw that the Astros won the game and advanced to the World Series I felt relief more than elation, but I was thrilled, nonetheless. There was a nice 24 hour period last week when I could dream of a team of destiny that was actually my own.
The White Sox promptly swept the Astros four games to zero and that was that. Sure, the Astros could have won each of the four games with a play, or two going the other way. The team just couldn't make the key play when it counted. They couldn't take advantage of breaks going their way, or make the big pitch when it was needed. The White Sox had all of the answers. All you can do is tip your hat and congratulate them.
As the playoffs went on and the tension and expectations grew, I began acting more and more strangely in my daily life. My New Zealand students were the recipients of increasingly bizarre monologues and breakdowns of the games. "If we can just get to their bullpen..." "Lidge needs to get his slider going again." "Willy Taveres ought to test Jermaine Dye's arm in right field...put the pressure on the White Sox." It was all-consuming and I could not help but share my excitement and anxiety with dozens of my students who have no real concept of baseball. It was like doing a card trick for a dog- total incomprehension. They looked on with real pity and concern when I showed up to work wearing a black Ramones shirt and white pants and explained that I wanted to wear the colors of the White Sox to give the Astros good luck. Makes perfect sense to me.
Anyway, yesterday I went to work and the kids asked me about the Series. I had hooked a few of them into following the games. Most of these folks concluded that "the Astros suck, sir." I nodded my head sadly and then I told them something that I only realised myself as I was talking with them: you are not a true fan unless you stand by them when they suck and disappoint. There are also no curses, there is no fate and there is no destiny. There's just the location of the fastball, getting ahead in the count and putting a bat on the ball when you've got men in scoring position. That's baseball and that's life.

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