Well, after a trouncing of the Giants to the tune of 8-1, my boys dropped one--painfully--to the Nationals. They were .500 for their road trip, and lost the first game of the most important homestand of the entire season, a homestand in which they are taking on four teams--the Nationals, the Bucs, the Cubs, and the Brewers--all vying for that wild card playoff spot. My baseball-related anxiety cannot be entirely quelled at this point. And I'm not the only one worried about the luck factor--other people have had similar concerns.

Of course, I realize with all my whining that I sound like a fair-weather fan. Not so, not at all. In fact, I've caught every game possible this year, even having to resort to listening on the radio at times. Since I don't live within the Houston area proper, my reception for the Astros' station often sounds like the baby monitor in that movie "Signs," making listening difficult. I persevered. My friends constantly referred to the Astros as "your team," with barely concealed derision, during the April/May nadir. I endured. If they don't win another game the rest of the year, yeah, I'll be a little disappointed, but they're still my team and always will be. I'll be first in line for tickets next year. (Now I sound like a Red Sox fan.)

My favorite player is Morgan Ensberg. Not only is he tearing it up this year at the plate and on the field, he's just so damn pretty. I almost fainted when I realized he'd cut his hair (it was long on top, thick strawberry blonde, just gorgeous--now it's buzzed like a nine-year-old boy). Lest you think I'm a total stalker, here's another reason he's my favorite player: most people who follow baseball, and especially the Astros, know that he was originally snubbed for the All-Star team, despite having arguably the best year of any player at his position. He was incredibly gracious about it, which reflected well on both him and the organization. Then, last second, he's in--he found out that Scott Rolen of the Cardinals dropped out after the All-Star Break had actually begun. Less than twenty-four hours later, he's in Detroit, in the total circus that is the All-Star Game, being interviewed. He's relating the story of his selection, and says, "My wife Christi and I--that's C-H-R-I-S-T-I--were almost to the airport when we got the call. . . ." So, here's a guy, first All-Star game, whirlwind change of plans, and he takes the time to make sure reporters spell his wife's name right. That's the kind of class and genuineness that epitomizes the Astros, to me.

Oh, and Christi--it's B-L-E-S-S-E-D. In case you weren't sure.