You Don't Tug On Pujols' Cape

Gah! All of these years of being a Houston fan...you'd think I would have figured it out. Get oh so agonizingly close, and then - yank the football away. I'm Charlie Brown.
I watched the Astros' game last night, unfolding like a script. Pettitte struggled but yielded only two runs. It was 45 years to the day that the franchise was founded. Clemens & Burke had smitten the evil Braves, further erasing years of bad memories both of that team and of the Mets and the Phillies. We were set to avenge last year's heartbreaking seven game loss to the Cards (and break the hearts of the-most-knowledgable-and-greatest-baseball-fans-in-the world...). The stage was set. The promised land was within sight.
Yet that nagging pessimist still lurked in my brain. Remember 1980 and 1981 and 1986 and 1997 and 1998 and 1999 and 2000 and 2004. Remember the Oilers losing twice to the Steelers. Remember Mike Renfro's non-catch in the back of the end zone. Only Rudy T's Rockets stood to dispel this pessimism...but that was basketball.
After listening to the godawful Fox guys for way too long, at the beginning of the 9th I broke out the laptop and tuned in to Milo Hamilton on mlb.com. After a lifetime of deprivation, I wanted to drink in every moment of the Astros' triumph. The pessimist in me had winced when Ensberg had been thrown out trying to stretch his single into a double following Berkman's homer. I was ready. This was our time, our turn.
Only it wasn't. Eckstein. If I hear the word "pest" again... Then Edmonds who it had been so sweet to watch get thrown out. And then, gulp, Pujols. I was standing, watching this. I couldn't sit. "Lights Out" Lidge. Oh God. Pujols. God I hate this guy. And could he have hit that ball any farther?
So I'll be watching Wednesday. And I'll be watching Thursday. And I'm praying that I won't have to be watching Thursday. But this all just has too much of that sick, nauseatingly familiar feeling. The Houston pro sports team feeling. The how are we gonna get got this time feeling? Cause this one was pretty great. I mean one pitch away. We've never been this close, only to have it snatched away.
They could still win. I mean...Oswalt, Clemens. But I should shut up. Hopes have been ratcheted down. Just this sick feeling left. Again.
And you want to hear the hugest irony of all? I live in DC now. My new, other team is the 'Nats. In RFK, they might as well be the 'Stros of the 70s. Huge park, no runs, great pitching. Oh, and a nauseatingly painful 81 game slide from 1st to last. It all felt very familiar. All through their magical first half of the season I pessimistically saw the seeds of their eventual fall. Sweet though that 50-31 first half was, the Astros had trained me well.