Submitted for your approval: the post below.
I take off from work for every Opening Day at Minute Maid Park to watch my adopted team, the Houston Astros. I did so yesterday. My father brought me up a New York Yankees fan; I enjoyed the Bombers' World Series championships in what were, for me, the two perfect moments of my life: the ages of eleven and twelve, when my deep love of the game was embryonic; and the ages of 31-35, the years just after I received my doctorate in English Lit, embraced the world with a sense of achievement and--with "Silas Marner" (ugh) behind me--could return to the world of spectator sports with renewed vigor.
The Houston Astros--a different bunch. A beloved baseball team in a football town. A team of grown-ups compelled to act like grown-ups. As Roger Angell wrote, "Baseball is ultimately about losing, which is why it is, ultimately, a game for adults." That thought in mind, I started off on baseball and Opening Day and television and somehow got sidetracked . . . well, read if you wish.
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