A retired, and recovering, sports writer these days after almost half a century in the bidness, I’ve long told people the reason I became a wine drinker was because I had to cover Houston’s teams and wine seemed the most civilized way to kill all the pain. Think about this: The year I signed on with the Post the Oilers were about to endure back-to-back 1-13 seasons. The Rockets, having just moved here from San Diego, were still four seasons away from making the playoffs. And,10 years into their existence, the Astros were in the midst of an 0-for-18 postseason drought. Nonetheless, it was a gig that beat working for a living and I got to hang around long enough to be part of the magic of Luv ya Blue, then see the Rockets’ claim back-to-back NBA titles and the Astros finally win a National League pennant before becoming an American League powerhouse. The ride had its bumps, to be sure, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Like I said, it gave me an excuse to explore wine, often on somebody else’s dime. I do miss that expense account. I don’t, however, miss trying to explain the unexplainable, which is pretty much every decision the Texans make.