Yesterday, I offered my thoughts on my Houston Astros switching leagues from back when the news was fresh. Today, I offer my reflections as of today, after over a year to digest the news.
At the end of the 2012 baseball season, Houston Chronicle sportswriter Zachary Levine posed an interesting questions concerning the Houston Astros of 2012-13: Are the Astros the ship of Theseus?
A quote from Levine's article, to explain the concept:
The ship once manned by Theseus was wearing down and so as a means of preservation, one by one, all the planks of the ship were replaced over a long period of time.
Once every part on the ship is replaced, to the point where no piece of material voyaged with Theseus, is it truly the Ship of Theseus? No single replacement would seem to alter the identity, but with no parts in common, is it a whole new ship?
Ladies and gentlemen, your 2012 Astros. In the last year, it is almost unfathomable how much change has come to the organization and how much will come when all is settled with the coaching staff and rebranding in the coming months. It’s all somewhat associated given the change at the top but can all feel distinct and jarring to a long-time follower."
If you read Levine's article, you will see that he comes to the conclusion that, ultimately, "The Ship of Theseus, in this case, is still the Ship of Theseus." While I understand his argument and I'm really, really tempted to agree - in fact, I'd go so far as to say I want to agree - I think I've ultimately come to the conclusion the American League Astros are, in fact, a different ship.
This is how I have made my peace with the Astros moving to the American League: They are no longer the same team. The Astros are dead; long live the Astros.
(Notice I say this is how I have made my peace with the league change, not that I am excited or looking forward to the league change. I am every bit as disappointed and angry about it as I was when I wrote my previous blog post over a year and a half ago. I think this ESPN article by Doug Williams captures the mood of the Astros fan base fairly well; I like how James Yasko puts it: "I think it's resignation... We kind of go back and forth between anger and acceptance.")
I first got this idea in my head when looking at the SportsLogos.net page about Astros logos through the years. At the top of the page, the breakdown of the evolution of the team looks like this:
There was something about the subtle nuance of clicking on a new link to bridge the gap between the Astros in the National League and the Astros starting this season that made the reality fall into place: all teams go through transition, but there is something fundamentally different about the Houston franchise starting this season.
Now, it seems like Jim Crane and company have been trying to stress the continuity of the team in many ways. The "new" logo is essentially an old logo reworked; the "new" mascot is the same mascot I grew up knowing. But I didn't feel like this when we went from blue and gold to red and pinstripes in 2000, not even with the switch to a new stadium (even though I wasn't happy about either change at that time - and still think that the 2000's uniforms were awful).
I think this season is the perfect of storm of ripping away our league history and having almost no recognizable faces wearing the uniform. Now, the second dynamic is a reality of sports fandom, and ultimately true fans roots for the name of the front of the jersey rather than the name on the back, to twist a cliché. But now I'm supposed to root for an almost entirely new cast of characters playing a foreign brand of baseball against teams I don't really know? This is a brand new ship sailing some rocky seas.
So, I cherish the memories of growing up rooting for my Astros, both in the Astrodome and Minute Maid Park. I remember fondly the cast of heroes gone by: Jeff Bagwell and Craig Biggio, Lance Berkman, Derek Bell, Brad Ausmus, Tony Eusebio, Shane Reynolds, Andy Pettitte, Adam Everett, Richard Hidalgo, and so on and so forth. I smile at the memory of the 2004 and 2005 seasons, and still find positives in the seasons of failure.
I also have great expectations for our minor league guys - players like Carlos Correa, Delino DeShields, Jr., George Springer, and Jonathan Singleton - and eagerly await seeing who among them will be "the real deal." I have faith in the plan of Jeff Luhnow and the new front office, encouraged by the fact that the Astros have gone from one of the worst farm systems in baseball to one of the best in a few short seasons. I have real hope for the team's future, and that we may be legitimate contenders again sooner rather than later.
But now I have no affinity for either league, and honestly hope that one day Major League Baseball will turn to the same regional alignment system as basketball, hockey, or North American soccer. I lament that the one time the Astros I knew and loved reached a World Series, they were swept, and the National League iteration of the team never won a championship. While I dislike the Designated Hitter, I see as an inevitable reality for all teams.
And I'm throwing my lot in completely with these American League Astros, and expect one day I may harbor the same disdain for the Angels and the Rangers that I once (and still, really) harbor against the Cardinals and the Braves. And if these American League Astros win a World Series, I will be ecstatic beyond belief, feeling more sports-related happiness than I ever have in my life. But there will still be a piece of me that regrets that I never got to see my National League Astros reach the same height.
A ship sails on, but it's not the same ship. I'll still choose to be part of the crew.
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