The Houston Astros, age 64, of Houston, Texas, passed away peacefully in their home on September 30, 2026, due to long-term complications related to exposure from the American League West. It was a long and courageous struggle, and in the end they were surrounded by 34,011 of their closest loved ones. They were a beloved baseball team, storyteller, lifelong learner, and friend. They loved devoting their free time to hunting and fishing. They will be sorely missed, but we find comfort in knowing that they are in a better place, as they transition to baseball’s true postseason, in the world beyond.

They were born on April 10, 1962, coming of age in the turbulence of the counter-culture revolution of 1969, living a respectable, quiet existence of third- and fourth-place finishes before settling into an esteemed patriarchal role for its final home in the American League. They enjoyed traveling to far-off exotic places, like Minnesota and Sacramento and Arlington. In their golden years, the Astros eschewed retirement, in spite of the growing calls to spend more time with their children, and instead took pleasure in disappointing the actuaries. It made their final year all that more poignant, and damning.

One of the curses of aging, as all aging people know, is that every morning paper is a chance to say goodbyes. Over the years, the Astros lost pieces of themselves, watched kids grow up and move away, while others simply passed out of the baseball world before them. Every parent understands how hard it is to trade one of their own, thrown out into and eaten up by the world, in a cost-cutting move. It tears out the heart. But life demands living, even heartlessly, and so the Astros marched on, more and more out of a sense of inertia and duty. If we’re all lucky, we all get to rest before our bodies stop moving, abandon ambition and concern and strife. It is called acceptance. It is the defining characteristic of the Astros that they have refused to accept anything.