So the Astros lost the world series.  In a sweep.  How sad.  I was so excited that they were in the world series, this was the team I used to go to the ballpark and watch frequently as a child with my Dad, and then as a teenager with my dad or best friend.  It was a fun bonding activity, my favorite part being when we yelled “Jose Cruuuuuuuuz” whenever Jose Cruz went to bat.  They were innocent times, my friend.  Except for the drunkenness of the other spectators and obscenities they yelled, I suppose.  I even got to go to skybox once, I think with my dad’s company during the headiness of the oil boom.  I admit I am not a huge baseball fan, and was shocked, absolutely shocked, when I heard the Astros had a chance at the world series.  I was even more excited when I found out they’d be in the series.  I knew they’d never win, but I thought they’d hold them to a couple of games.  I only got the chance to watch one game, unfortunately, but it was a very close game.  Tim and I watched the game Saturday night and he educated me on the finer points of baseball.  It was another bonding experience, this time with my husband’s sports knowledge, a skill I had no clue he had.  I know football and basketball, but baseball is a mysterious sport.  I learned a lot about it Saturday.  Due to the distraction of Sunday’s rain delay, we missed most of that game, and they were down 6-4 when we checked in so we decided not to watch.  Tuesday I forgot b/c of my yoga class followed by a burned dinner, and last night, well, I just plain forgot again.  But perhaps it’s for the best.  It’s easier to hear about the loss than see it.  At least we can all be comforted by the fact that they were close games.  If only Clements hadn’t been injured so early on, I think they could have taken it.  Better luck next time!