What Once Was (Playoff Edition)

Last night I got to watch (in HD) the most significant sporting event of my life.  Not the most significant ever -- that would be hubris -- but for a young-at-heart-Texan-by-birth, watching the Texas Rangers win a playoff series in a deciding game was a revelation.  (Side note, the Miracle on Ice is probably the most significant, but I was negative two months old.  Mom didn't have HD in the womb.)
My first memory of any kind probably involves baseball.  But for sure, my first memory of sports involves the Texas Rangers.  Being born in Dallas gave me a birthright of sorts: the "gift" of falling head over cleats in love with a team that would never be good enough to break my heart.  I'll admit to dabbling in Oakland A's fandom in the late 80's, but we were all taken in by Jose Canseco's muscles, and Dennis Eckersley's mustache.  But my whole life I've been enamored of the red and blue, the extreme heat of a game in Arlington, taking my glove to the stadium, and Nolan Ryan (the greatest pitcher in the history of pitchers.)
The Rangers (nee Washington Senators) moved to Texas in 1972, which means 38 years of utter futility.  Before October 12, 2010 the Rangers were the only major league team that hadn't won a postseason series; that makes them the least successful team ever, kind of.  They've been to the playoffs three times in my life, and lost to the Yankees each time.  This is where my hatred for the Yankees originates, but it doesn't stop there.  And for a long time, I actually held the (semi) misguided idea that the Rangers actually lost when I was watching.  They always seemed to find ways to lose, like whoever was fighting Rocky.  At any rate, I've always loved the Rangers, and have always expected the worst.  Tonight was no different; they were in danger of dropping a third straight game to the Rays and effectively ending my baseball season, thus forcing me to place all of my hopes on the Dallas Cowboys.  Not an appetizing proposition.  This is the choice between waffles and cauliflower.  Gross.
But it didn't happen the way it usually does.  They got timely hits.  They ran with abandon.  The Rangers were even the beneficiary of a horrific call by the first base umpire.  But first and foremost, they had a pitcher.  A player they weren't afraid to send out every inning.  Even in the glory days of Nolan Ryan, I never knew if he was going to throw a no-hitter or get shelled for 8 runs in 3 innings.  But for some reason, Cliff Lee makes me feel totally safe.  And that is an uncomfortable feeling for a worrier.
When Elvis Andrus didn't drop a routine popup, thus winning the series, I didn't feel what expected.  I expected to feel a sense of euphoria, a sublime happiness that I would struggle to explain herein.  Instead, what I felt was more akin to ... contentment.  Like being with someone that you love, and not caring if there's something fun to do, or something good on tv.  You're just good.  This is only important because it made me realize what true happiness is: your team winning once every 40 years, an idea for a great invention*, and a nice pen.

rossnation... will try to explain himself later.

*PWI