I have come to the conclusion that the level of joy brought on by watching the 2007 Astros is somewhat akin to this.
A man walks into a cantina in Spain. He's perusing the menu when there's a sudden uproar from the kitchen. The entire kitchen and waitstaff, it seems, bursts through the flapping doors in a loud parade of shouts and trumpets, with the chef at the head. He is holding aloft a silver serving tray. The chef leads the parade to a table where a man sits expectantly. The chef places the platter in front of the man and, with a giant flourish, removes the lid. On the plate is a bed of rice with a halo of vegetables, but in the middle are two, large, egg-shaped masses of flesh and gristle.
"What is that?" asks our man when he can get a waiter's attention.
"Senior! That is the
especiale!" explains the waiter with great pride. "It is the testicles of the bull from today's bull fight!"
"I would like to try that," says our man enthusiastically. But alas it is not to be. There is only one
especiale per day. Our man vows to get here early tomorrow and order the intriguing dish.
The next day comes and our man is back in the cantina, bright and early. He orders the especiale, and is pleased to be told that it is still available for him. His excitement grows as he waits for his order.
At last! The kitchen doors burst open and out pours the parade. The chef is at the front, as he makes his way over to our man's table. Silver platter held high above his head. As the chef arrives, he elegantly swings the platter down and in front of our man. With a grin, he whisks away the lid to reveal...two rather sorry looking, small, pasty grey ovals with some nasty looking flesh hanging off them.
As if reading our man's mind, the chef looks at him and shrugs.
"Senior, sometimes the bull wins."
