Like some unfortunate astronaut that escaped the comfortable grasp of Earth’s gravity and was drifting helplessly through interstellar space, I’ve passed too close to a baseball black hole and it is pulling me into oblivion. Having been victimized by the same cash and life-sucking force time and again, my brain signals impending doom. But my heart, that lying scum, tells me that this time maybe—just maybe—it is different. It is that evil vortex of playoff hope familiar to all of us old school Astros fans; like a sinister tractor beam, early season excellence lures us into the stadium glowing with excitement and flush with concession dollars only to helplessly watch our team spiral down Mr.
Pulled Into the Astros Vortex . . . Again
