Some Regrets

The video in my head occassionally rewinds it's self and plays scenes of life from days gone by.
The Saint's win, a shot of Burbon street revelry and I go back.

After 7 strong innings from Roy O, the Astros had recovered from the Pujols shot to win the NLCS and were going to the world series. It was fall of 2005.
Cell phone rang and I knew who it was, my dad. I could hear the wild party in the background and the excitment in his voice, he was at his usual watering hole "Bubba's" on Washington. "Wesley..How 'bout them Astro's!.." I was beside myself as well, I had waited and suffered through all the Houston sports debacles with my dad and it was at that moment, pure joy.

It was he who taught me the love of the game, not far from where he was currently drinking. Seems he never really strayed from the Height's or Cottage Grove. The house remains on Reinerman, between Sheperd and Durham just across I-10 from where the Hofbrau used to be and where Cadillac Bar remains. Before Bubba's, he could always be found at the Hofbrau bar or at a place called Sam Segari's up Shepherd towards Memorial park, just short of St. Thomas high where he played baseball. In the front yard I was taught to throw, catch, field and hit.

He never missed a game from the time I began until I graduated from High School. Rarely said much to me about my field play as honestly, I don't think I made but one error. Forgot the man was on second on a deep fly to me in left, did not hustle for the ball, and lobbed it in after the catch. Runner tagged and advanced to third. As I came to the dugout, he pulled me aside and said, "if you ever do that again, we go home and you don't come back". It was my hitting that was up for critique always, seems I could not hit a curve ball, which I attribute to him never letting me learn to throw one. "Can't hurt your arm, it's too valuable in left". Always told me your glove will only carry you so far, but you have to learn to hit better. Scouting report was I could field anything but a liability at the plate. Turns out he was correct, only two schools were even interested.

He had me enrolled as an Astro buddy from a young age, we made as many games as we could, me in awe of the dome and loving Cesar Cedeno, J.R. Richard, Enos Cabell and Doug Rader, him telling me the stories of the Houston Buffs and the Colt 45's. After high school and during my military days, whenever I was home we would go see the 'Stro's. He would always say "I can think of nothing better than going to the game with my son". Soon the dome became Enron / minute maid and I was living back in Houston and he lived in the Rice hotel. I would park there and walk to the game in the muggy Houston humidity. We would hang out in Larry Dierkers bar afterwards or across the street at the Bus, with me ocassionally catching hell when I got home for drinking too much. But it was those times with my dad that were really special and will never be forgotten and those days, I have no regrets.

I was living in Dallas in 2005 and swore no matter what the cost I would go to the game if they made the world series. They did and ticket prices started out around $1000. It was not that I did not have the money, I just did not want to spend it. He kept calling, asking me to drive down. He said we would find some tickets somewhere and if not we would just find a bar near the stadium. For some reason, my perception was that this was not what responsible people do, I never went. "Don't you want to hang out with your, Dad?" "The Astro's are in the World Series, how long have we been waiting for this". For some reason, I never went.

He would be gone the next fall.

There are times currently, a trade, blown save, something I see on TV when the 'Stros are on and I want to dial 713-222-1599. I had dialed that number for 20 years it seems, almost daily A quick discussion of what we thought it was going to take for our beloved 'Stro's to get to ths show and how we were going to live it up when they did. And I never went...

He always called after the AFC / NFC championship games as well asking me to meet him Vegas for Super Bowl. I never went.

Ironically, I've been every year since he passed.

A simple screen shot of Burbon Street and I go back.