We grew up with the Killer B's (Biggio, Bagwell and Berkman); watched them retire and get traded; witnessed the most well-covered stadium name-change in history; cheered our team on to the World Series and dutifully waited out seasons they called us the Disastros. Exasperation and jubilation over our confounding team is part of what it means to be a Houstonian, whether you're here by accident or on purpose, a lifer or a transplant.
There are 40 oz. Dos Equis at the stadium, with lotsa lime, but only at the hall stands — bring cash.
There was once a spot in the screen above the Crawford Boxes where Jeff Bagwell hit a home run into it, bursting the lights — we left it for years.
The stadium is shaped the way it is not to make runs easier, but because it contains Houston's historic Union train station.
Although we invented Astroturf, our grass is real.