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Kurt (a.k.a. Mr. I need to update my blog) has a few words to share this morning: "Forget all you know about the "Curse of the Bambino" for Red Sox fans or of the "goat curse" if you're from Chicago. Don't even talk about Steve Bartman or Bill Buckner. Those two cursed Major League Baseball franchises in Boston and the Windy City, despite decades of futility dating back before Henry Ford rolled his first black model T's off the line, have at least tasted post-season successes, and even World Series wins in their collective lifetimes. Yes, generations and generations of fans have listened and watched the losses mount without nary a smear of jubilation to salve the endless lists of dubious playoff failures. Then there's the Houston Astros. Since the mid-60's, this team has had the opportunity, and failed each time, to win it's first postseason series and get out of the first round in ANY year, much less even toss a first pitch in any World Series to date. Some of the best pitching and hitting talent has come through deep-in-the-hearta over the years, but never was it enough to hoist the season-ending trophy and stake the claim that the Astros belonged in the ultimate group of teams to rightfully call themselves "champions". In recent history, three trips to Atlanta all resulted in playoff losses and season ending disappointments. This year was supposed to be different. This year, Houston had added to its stables a pair of experienced proven horses, to go with their younger fresh-faced stallions, and make the push to reach a goal never before attained. Roger Clemens and Andy Pettitte were to be those new horses; only half of that team able to physically make it to through the season without surgery. The team started strong, going 21-11 to start the season with the best winning percentage in the Majors, and World Series dreams were dared to be hoped - the nation thinking this was finally the year for the Astros. Pitching was there. Hitting. The ATTITUDE of winning was finally there. Then disaster struck in the form of an elongated losing streak completely devoid of reason as the team spiralled to the cellar of the division out of control, not able to catch a single break along the way. Games were lost in the craziest of ways on such a consistent basis - most notably due to an incredibly porous and inexperienced bullpen. So much talent, so few results. Same ol story in H-town, it seemed. The fans, in years past, would have lost hope and attendance figures would have declined drastically. For some reason, that didn't happen this year and they were rewarded with the team ownership not jettisoning the star players when all seemed lost late in the season. The manager was fired, and a hometown favorite was brought in to stem the bleeding and give the boys, and the city, hope. Then came the turnaround. And what a ride it's been. You have to look all the way back to World War II to find a comeback team like this one. In their last 46 games, the Astros won 36 of them, including 18 in a row at home that finally won them the last playoff position on the last day of the season. When the matchups were announced, you guessed it - Houston draws again the Braves from Atlanta. But this year is supposed to be different and, for the first time, Houston was actually favored. These Braves are not the Braves of old as most of their talent had been strung out throughout the league via free agency. And these were not your grandfather's Astros, either. The horses were ready to ride this new Houston group into the sunset for the first time in their history. The Braves either didn't listen, or forgot to remember that the law of averages seem to prevail over time. The series is for a best-of-five games. As it stands, the Braves won game 2 in extra innings and again last night in game 4 with in some late-game heroics. Tied up 2-2 with tonight's game deciding who gets to meet the St. Louis Cardinals in the National League Championship Series is on the line and Houston's destiny seems to be cruelly pre-ordained once again. It's as if the God's once more have decided to meet the Houston baseball fans fate with a curse that far supercede's what's spouted annually from sportswriters and columnists in NY and Chicago - describing an ongoing suffering of epic proportions for those towns citizens and fans. Almost apologetic in its form, nurturing in its empathy, yet empty in substance. They say you can't miss what you've never had. I think they're full of sh*T. Houston needs this win tonight for too many reasons. The Suicide Watch is tonight - 7:10pm CDT."