The Ups and (Mostly) Downs of Being a Houston Sports Fan

Tonight the Astros begin playing the L.A. Dodgers for the World Series. You can’t imagine what this means to Houston. We are perennial also-rans in the sports world. To have a team in the ultimate showdown is nothing short of miraculous.

 I’ve lived in Houston all my life. My dad was a big fan of football and baseball, and only slightly interested in basketball. Every year I had to listen to every man in my family talk about how this was “their year.” Sometimes they were right because there was a line drawn through my family between Houston fans and Dallas fans. Oh, the quarrels that ensued. But every year, the Houston teams failed to make it “their year.” 

It wasn’t for lack of trying. I remember one year, listening to an Oilers game, back with Bum Phillips as coach and Earl Campbell as running back. The announcers talked about how the defense was one of the best in the league, and how strange it was that they had never won. The same with baseball. I can’t tell you the number of times I heard how Bagwell & Biggio should have played in the World Series. For a while, I allowed my hopes to get raised, only to have them dashed mercilessly at the end of the season. Finally I had had enough. The pessimist took control and I faced each season in full cynic mode. 

It’s not that I don’t like sports. I’m not a super-fan. I’m more of a playoff fan. Once the season wraps up, and whatever team is in the playoffs (because all our teams almost always make it to the playoffs) I get a little more interested. Until, that is, the inevitable happens, and the pessimist in me is proven right - again.

But there were times, glorious times, when against all odds Houston teams brought home the trophies. First was the Rockets in 1994 and 1995. I watched Hakeem Olajuwon, Vernon Maxwell, Robert Horry, Kenny Smith and others play the Knicks in 1994 with such tension I couldn’t sit still. Hell, I couldn’t sit. When the broadcast was interrupted by breaking news of the world’s slowest police chase of a white Bronco in Los Angeles, you probably could have heard me screaming from blocks away. The next year they defended their title against the Magic. Houston finally had reason to be proud of a sports team.

It wasn’t the last time. In 2005, the San Jose Earthquakes moved to Houston and became the Dynamo. Houston, a city that’s 37% Hispanic, finally had a soccer team. They solidified their welcome by winning their first two MLS Cups. 

2005 was also the first time the Astros made it to the World Series. The Astros began as the Colt 45’s in 1962, the same time, apparently, as the Mets, who’ve won two titles. We were out in four games to the White Sox. That’s 43 years for those who can’t be bothered to do the math. It’s pretty close to Cubs level desperation, or at least it feels that way. 

Now here we are again. Try as I might, I am being swept up into the excitement again. It’s not that I want to be. I’d love to be able to keep myself apart, but once again I’m getting interested, checking my phone every few minutes for updates (middle of the 6th, tied 1-1). Despite my reticence, there’s a small part of me that keeps whispering, maybe this is our year. I guess we’ll find out in a few days. Either way, there will be tears, and some of them will be mine. The Astros have a huge responsibility on their shoulders right now. The hopes of a city used to watching games slip through our fingers (like the Texans in so many games against the Patriots) has to be a heavy burden. This could make me into more of a sports fan, too though, and silence that cynic that never fails to surface each season. It may not be a lot to them, or to anyone else, for that matter, but it’s a pretty big deal to me. 

Go ‘Stros.