0 for 38 on WS tix. I spent 2 hours filling out those goddamn things. 0 for 38.
I can't afford the scalp prices. So, while 43,000 people who don't know who Eric Bruntlett is, who don't know what a double switch is, who don't know who our bench coach is, who don't know why Bagwell isn't starting, who don't know how we made the playoffs or who we beat in the NLDS, who don't care if we win or lose, who don't feel WS tix for the Astros are a birthright, who don't even remember '98 let alone '86, who didn't decline invitations and reservations because it coincided with game time (for a game in JUNE or JULY), who stopped paying attention in mid-May, who may show up at the DOME for the game, who ask how many innings a playoff game is, who wonder when the Cubs changed their nickname, who do the fucking WAVE attend the World Series in Houston...we sit. All of us. Our asses orange with whoop. At home. At bars. At work. I'm only 29, but I've waited my entire life, intentionally never attending a WS until the Astros made it. And I sit while some asshole bandwagon 16 year old with too much money and nothing better to do that night goes to Minute Maid. They won't cheer. They won't care. They'll probably spend the game texting their friends who got a ticket, but are wandering the concourse trying to keep from falling asleep. And I sit in El Paso trying to fight back heart attacks and aneurysms. And you sit where ever you are.
And it isn't right.
The World Series isn't for the lucky and rich. It's for us. The fans. And I shouldn't have the first Astros World Series narrated to me by TIM FUCKING MCCARVER.
