There are 14 games to go in the major league baseball season, and while it's not mathematically impossible for my team to make the playoffs, our hopes are fading fast.
We were in a position where our wins sort of counted double because our wins could also take away wins from those teams we were battling. But this past weekend we were swept in a three-game series.
Being in the (this year) weak National League, a team playing below 500 percent has a possibility of making the playoffs.
It's nice to have hope. Last year my team clinched the wildcard spot in the playoffs on the last day of the season. In many recent years we've been in the wild-card race up to the end of the season.
It's good to have hope. I feel so sorry for the hometowns -- and especially the players -- who are out of contention early in the year. Understandably, their play has to lack intensity, their games excitement.
Mid season this year we acquired a player from the always-out-of-the-race Tampa Bay team. He was so thrilled to finally be playing second-half games that actually meant something.
Have I told you I'm down? For the past several years, I have watched my team play every night. Even though there are 14 games left, I suddenly don't want to watch them anymore. They've got no fire in their play. I feel as if the manager has thrown in the towel.
The only good thing about being out of playoff hopes is that I can reclaim my evenings. Maybe now I can attack my monstrous 2b read pile.
Of course....if my Astros could only get hot . . . you know what I'll be doing come October!