By Leah Binkovitz – Senior Editorial Writer Houston Chronicle – February 28, 2025
Howdy, friend. Don’t you look nice in your Target cowboy boots and Texas flag button-up! You’re either running for office or celebrating Go Texan Day. Houston Rodeo season is kicking off.
I know you’re only walking past me because you have to walk longways to get from the Little Dipper ride to the Trill Burgers line. But I used to the be the center of the rodeo. Me! The first domed stadium! Mr. Eighth Wonder of the World!
People used to take my picture all the time. Put it in the newspapers. They said I was Houston’s Eiffel Tower. They bragged about my ultra-deluxe, air-conditioned accommodations and my state-of-the-art Astroturf. My scoreboard was so dazzling that some umpires complained.
Crowds came from all over to see me. And for just a buck, they left with 260 pages’ worth of my splendor: the “Inside the Astrodome” pamphlet.
When field trips from southeast Louisiana came, they wrote about me back home in their local papers. And you should’ve seen them “poor ‘country’ boys craning [their] necks from side to side.” They could hardly believe anyone “could play a game of baseball in a building like that.”
When Mickey Mantle and his boys lost to the Astros on opening night, everyone agreed: I was the real star, “a tribute to man’s imagination, an eloquent testimonial to his industry.”
And, sure, I loved the sports events, but rodeo time was my favorite.
If you thought a cowgirl’s dream was just some boots and painted-on jeans, well, you should’ve seen me.
You and I had some good times, didn’t we, Houston? Selena. The Jackson 5. Elvis. When you wanted more, didn’t I give it to you? The Astrohall and the Astroarena? I would’ve given you my Astroall.
But good times don’t last forever.
My neighbor moved in and just took over the place, renamed it all. NRG Park. What park?
I had to sit by and listen while everyone talked about what to do with me.
Did you know they wanted me to be a parking lot? Another parking lot.
Now I’m just biding my time. I could be Houston’s the largest indoor public park. That’s right. In this time of division and strife, I could bring everyone together in common purpose. Only no one comes to see me anymore.
Sometimes I can hear the concerts happening next door. I hum to myself when I recognize a tune or two.
But my neighbor should’ve learned from me: Youth fades. And now, with his $2 billion in needed repairs, he’s not looking so new anymore, is he? They call him “a valuable asset.” But they ain’t never called him a wonder of the world.
Aren’t you lonely? Always looking for a new friend? Why not come back to the Dome?
Heck, if you asked my buddy George Strait where he’d rather be, I bet he’d pick me. And I’d take anything, not just concerts. All that dirt they haul into NRG for the rodeo, I’ve already got some dirt of my own right here. I wouldn’t mind the FAA kids and their cows. A little excrement never bothered me.
See, I was born in 1962, back when we celebrated with gunfire. That makes me a Boomer. I’m not afraid of hard work like these younger-generation stadiums. I’m a little worse for wear, sure. Sold for parts here and there. But I’m not so easy to get rid of. Could take millions upon millions to tear me down. Some nice folks have big plans for me. I could make heads turn again.
We had a good thing going, Houston.
And even though I may not look like that cowgirl’s dream anymore, I still feel 25 most of the time. Honky-tonks, pretty women, a syrupy sweet three-story candy-box of an apartment fit for a Houston king? I’m still right there with them.
So what do you say? I’m raring to go. Let’s raise a little Cain together, Houston.