Wednesday, October 19, 2005

The Ghost of Shoeless Joe

When Roger Clemens' mother died a few months back, among her last words were "Shoeless Joe Jackson." I can only assume Shoeless Joe had promised her a front row seat at Comisky, because her words became prophetic when the Astros finally put away the Cardinals to earn a date with the Chicago White Sox.

The Astros are no longer "the winningest team to never play in the World Series." What a stigma to jettison!

I wasn't taking any chances. I kept my big yap shut as the game wore on, so as not to antagonize the Baseball Gods as I did on Monday. I didn't count outs remaining. I didn't figure how the Astros' pitching rotation would line up with two days off between now and the first game of the Series. I didn't allow myself to think about how the ChiSox batters had no idea what awaited them in Roy Oswalt and Brad Lidge (Oswalt is unreal. Seriously. He's so good, he scares me). In short, I didn't think about anything other than the next pitch, and that it's okay to walk Pujols.

I'm happy. I'm exhausted. I'm stressed. Sure, now that we're there, we want to 'Stros to win it all, but for most of us long-suffering fans, the fact that Houston finally made it to the big show is reason to celebrate.

And I want an Astros Tombstone with "2005 National League Pennant" incribed on it!

Now Playing: Dire Straits On the Night

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