The NFL crowned two conference champions Sunday and the Super Bowl LX matchup has been set. It’s New England’s Patriots vs. the Los Angeles Rams in Santa, Clara, Calif., on Feb. 8. For the LXth time – that’s 60th for you non-Romans – it will not include a team from Houston. Also, if you’re counting (and I am), this became the 45th year in a row that a team from Houston failed to even reach the penultimate game, never mind the ultimate one.
Our fair city’s record in the Division Round since the Oilers pulled off the Mission Valley Miracle in San Diego in the 1979 playoffs, beating the Air Coryell Chargers without Dan Pastorini, Earl Campbell and Ken Burrough? That would be 0-11. Afraid so.
During said sad span, the Warren Moon-era Oilers went 0-4, stumbling in 1987, 1991, 1992 – when, as you may recall while recoiling again in horror, they led the Bills 35-3 in the middle of the third quarter – and also 1993. As for the Texans, after going belly up at New England last weekend, they are 0-7, having succumbed in 2011, 2012, 2016, 2019, 2023, 2024 and 2025.
All of their losses have been to the Patriots (three) and Ravens (two) and the Chiefs (two). Their Buffalo meltdown equivalent was the 24-0 second-quarter lead they squandered in Kansas City six Januarys ago, back when we thought Deshaun Watson was the future of the franchise.
Is there any consolation to be found in the fact that four of the Texans’ six defeats this season were to the four conference finalists by a combined 28 points? That’s for you to decide. Me, I’m tired of finding any consolation is losing.
It’s fair for you to ask what any of this has to do with wine? Welp, it has caused me to drink probably too much of same. In the weeks ahead, I’ll be sharing my favorites consumed over the course of this holiday season and yet another non-dry January, a personal streak that goes back as far as I’ve been of legal age.
Oh, if you’re wondering about the identity of the dapper gent pictured above, he will figure prominently in my next blog. That’s Salvatore Ferragamo of, yes, that Ferragamo family, except, as he’s proud to say, he’s the “farmer” in the bunch. I was tasting with Ferragamo last Sunday at Murray’s Wine & Cheese – crazy good pie, by the way – while C. J. Stroud was busily throwing his four first-half interceptions.
Fortunately, Murray’s didn’t have a TV so I was spared the misery first-hand. Also, fortunately, Ferragamo’s wines are outstanding, including a beautiful bottle of bubbles. Much more to come on that.
This missive has nothing to do with wine except for one of the most memorable post-game quotes of my 50-plus years of writing about sports. It was spoken by Russ Francis, one of the NFL’s best tight ends of his day, and it came at the end of a disastrous afternoon for Francis and his New England Patriots, who had just been face-planted by the Houston Oilers 31-14 in a Division Round playoff game on their own turf in Foxboro.
Having admitted he’d expected to be celebrating an ass-kicking – instead of lamenting one – Francis said of the bottle(s) of bubbles waiting for him back home that New Year’s Eve: “Dom Perignon is the truth the light and the way. But tonight . . . it’s going to be light’s out.”
The memory is relevant, of course, because H-town’s current NFL franchise, the Texans, visits Foxboro Sunday for another Division Round game (albeit in a different stadium), hoping to end our town’s 45-year conference championship game drought, which happens to be the longest among the league’s current cities by a full decade.
Both those 1978 Oilers and the 1979 team – the first to be officially christened the “La Ya Blue” Oilers – would lose AFC Championship Games in Pittsburgh, where the Texans at least finally sort of made amends with their 30-6 AFC Wild-Card Round stomping of the Steelers Monday night. A stunningly lopsided victory that ended Mike Tomlin’s storied coaching career in Pittsburgh, it earned the Texans a spot in the Division Round for the seventh time.
Since 1979, Houston’s franchises are 0-10 when reaching the AFC semifinals. Hall-of-Famer Warren Moon went 0-for-4 when he got this far during his Oilers years. Subsequently, Matt Schaub was 0-2 as the Texans’ QB of record, while Brock Osweiller and Deshaun Watson failed in their only shots. (Both Schaub and Osweiler also came up short in their respective visits to Gillette Stadium.) Now C. J. Stroud, admirably back for his third try in three seasons, again hopes to break Houston’s Division Round curse.
The Oilers’ breakthrough romp came in their first-ever Division Round game in their ninth season in the NFL and followed a no-less surprising 17-9 Wild Card-round beat-down of the Dolphins in Miami. While, on paper, the Pats paddling was considered a mild upset at the time, Houston had previously pulled off an astonishing comeback on the same field in mid-November and the Patriots subsequently found themselves in a chaotic state for the high-stakes rematch.
Only a few weeks earlier Chuck Fairbanks was suspended as head coach after owner Billy Sullivan learned that Fairbanks had already been secretly hired to take the reins at the University of Colorado (Where he would go 7-26 before being fired. Yep, karma can be a bitch).
Anyway, the first quarter ended deceptively 0-0, but the final 45 minutes mostly belonged to Houston. The Oilers built a 21-0 lead, starting with a 71-yard Dan Pastorini touchdown pass to Kenny Burrough. A Mike Reinfeldt pick of a Steve Grogan pass then gave the Oilers the ball at their 1-yard line, from where they drove 99 yards with the final 19 coming on a Pastorini-to-Mike Barber strike. Another Pastorini-Barber TD hookup left the Pats reeling.
The flummoxed Grogan would be benched right before the half after completing only three of 12 passes for 38 yards. Trailing 24-0 following a Toni Fritsch field goal, the Patriots offered a bit of resistance late behind Grogan’s backup, Tom Owens, but a Gregg Bingham interception sealed the deal, setting up a clinching 2-yard touchdown run by Earl Campbell. The Oilers, for better or worse, were Three Rivers Stadium-bound.
Interesting fact: The Patriots wouldn’t lose another home playoff game for 31 years.
“Oh, wow, how about that?” Wade Phillips responded when I told him that in a conversation Thursday.
Phillips, who was his late father Bum’s defensive line coach that day, remembers how “confident we were after beating them up there already with that comeback. We just knew we were going to win.”
“That comeback?” On Nov. 12, the Patriots had stormed out to a 23-0 lead only to have the Oilers respond with 26 unanswered points. A deftly executed field goal – a variation of Phillips’ patented “Bumerooski” – preceded a second-effort Earl Campbell 1-yard touchdown plunge that cut the margin to three, and Pastorini subsequently found Rich Caster for the winning points.
“We had a great defense . . . Hall-of-Famers across the front,” Phillips said, referencing nose tackle Curley Culp, end Elvin Bethea and outside linebacker Robert Brazile. “We were good, really good.”
Alas, not good enough to deal with the hand they were dealt in the next weekend in icy Three Rivers Stadium. Although the Oilers’ defense forced five turnovers, the offense coughed up the football nine times – five Pastorini interceptions and four lost fumbles – in a 34-5 thumping.
Like me, Wade found it interesting that the Texans earned their latest golden opportunity at the expense of the Steelers.
“Kind of amazing, isn’t it?” he said.
Note that Phillips, me and John McClain will share the dais on Jan. 31 for Sports Night at the Pearl Fincher Museum (pearlmfa.org) in Spring. Tables go for $3,000 and individual tickets for $300. Wines from the excellent, locally-owned Nice Winery will be served and it’s a slam-dunk given that a slew of great memories will be shared.
Phillips holds the distinction of having served as the head coach of more NFL franchises – six – than any man ever. Wade and I initially met in 1976, his first year on his dad’s staff and my first year covering the Oilers for the Houston Post. McClain and I battled it out as rival beat reporters for the Post and the Chronicle from 1980 through 1983, forging a lifetime friendship in the process.
OK, enough ball talk. Let me close with a wine note. There will be a Burgundy “class” at the Alliance Française de Houston (427 Lovett Blvd., in Montrose) from 6:30 to 8 p.m. Thursday, Jan. 22, conducted by Spec’s eminently knowledgeable fine-wine buyer James Barlow. It renews a long tradition of Spec’s tastings at the Alliance (alliancefrancaise.org) begun by the late Bear Dalton. The price is $55 for Alliance members and $65 for non-members. Yes, I fully intend to be there.
I spoke too soon last week. It seems the Texans do still suck and, yep, this is already a season on the brink for them.
We witnessed a strange convergence Monday. First, Seattle’s Mariners fell short in their bid for a first-ever American League pennant and a trip to the World Series, losing a dramatic Game 7 in Toronto thanks to clutch three-run homer by George Springer, the onetime “Core Four” Astro. But the Texans helped Seattle fans salvage something on the day by obligingly rolling over for the Seahawks.
With a 2-4 record, the Texans seem certain to continue another uniquely depressing of-fer, this one belonging to Houston, as in the city of. Between the Oilers and the Texans, H-town has gone 45 seasons without having its NFL team reach even the AFC championship game, never mind the Super Bowl. As I keep reminding you, it’s the longest drought among NFL cities by a full decade. The four cities who haven’t seen their teams advance that far in the 21st century, with their most recent appearance:
* Houston – 1979 AFC Championship Game.
* Cleveland – 1989 AFC Championship Game.
* Miami – 1992 AFC Championship Game.
* Dallas – 1995 NFC Championship Game.
And the Texans, of course, remain the only franchise never to reach the NFL’s final four. However, I was thinking that should Seattle finally advance to the World Series the Texans would pounce on that as a good omen and ruin Seattle’s day completely. Instead . . . yuk. It’s scary how inept their offensive line is again and even scarier how C. J. Stroud is becoming increasingly spooked by the pressure he’s constantly confronting. Early in is third season, he’s but a shadow of his cocky, precociously competent rookie self.
The Texans rank way closer to the league’s dregs – Jets, Titans, Dolphins, Raiders – than the elites. The situation couldn’t be more dire with Nico Collins out Sunday and one of those elites, the 49ers, coming to town.
As for the karma’s-a-bitch thing, the Mariners’ fans all but guaranteed that Springer would come back to haunt them after they had cheered mightily his being plunked in the knee by a pitch in Game 6. After it happened, as he was splayed on the field in obvious pain, there were concerns that his availability would be in question when the teams returned to Toronto.
He did go 0-for-4 in the Blue Jays’ Game-6 triumph, but, a day later, there George was, dancing and fist-waving his away around the bases after blasting a grooved Eduard Pazardo sinker into the Rogers Center leftfield bleachers, turning a 3-1 bottom-of-the seventh deficit into a 4-3 lead Toronto had no problem preserving in route to its first Fall Classic since 1993.
Astros fans could relate, to be sure. Lest we forget – and we won’t, the sign-stealing “scandal” notwithstanding – Springer homered five times in seven games in Houston’s World Series triumph over the Los Angeles Dodgers in 2017, earning MVP honors. The Dodgers can’t be too excited about crossing paths with him again on baseball’s grandest stage.
If you’re counting, Springer’s 23 postseason dingers rank him third all time – he’s tied with Kyle Schwarber – behind Manny Ramirez (29) and another “Core Four” Astro, Jose Altuve (27). He went yard three times against the Mariners. Note that Schwarber also went yard three times against the Astros in the 2022 World Series, but Houston still prevailed in six games.
Now, on to wine . . .
I did an overnighter to Italy a week ago to join a Houston tour group for a winery tour and lunch at Agricola Gian Piero Marrone (www.agricolamarrone.com), located below the famous Langhe hilltop town of La Morra. I’d never tasted anything from this lovely family and I’ve visited the region at least once every year since 1995 except for the COVID lockdown in 2020.
I quickly learned that was my loss.
Marrone is a beautiful place with terrific sulfite-free wines (cool decorative barrels, too, shown above) and an excellent panoramic restaurant in which to taste them. Better still, the current fourth-generation leadership team includes the three sisters pictured above: hospitality director Denise, chief administrator Serena and the winemaker Valentina, who have taken the baton from their father, Gian Pero, and are running like the wind with it. Serena’s husband Marco is part of the team, too, overseeing their export market.
It wasn’t so long ago that women had to fight for their rightful place in the prestigious cellars of the Langhe. But the times they are a changin’ and, coincidentally, my guest at the lunch was Isabella Oddero, whose aunt, Maria Christina, was one of the first women in the region to fully take charge of her family’s winemaking operation. Oddero and Marrone are practically neighbors in greater LaMorra, as is Giulia Negri, a rising star I mentioned in my previous blog.
Starting back in the mid-1970s, a group of forward-thinking vignerons took Barolo production into the modern age and became famously known as “the Barolo Boys.” Their names were Luciano Sandrone, Giorgio Rivetti, Piero Selvaggio, Chiara Boschis, Elio Altare, Marco de Grazia and they shook things up bigtime – maybe too much, some will argue.
Never mind. Collectively, they put Barolo on the global stage and master marketers like Angelo Gaja and Bruno Ceretto followed, ensuring these rock-star nebbiolos would rank among the world’s most famous and respected wines. Now, Serena suggested with a smile, we have “the Barolo girls.”
Their pioneer was Chiara Boschis, who took charge of business operations and winemaking at E. Pira & Figli beginning with the 1990 vintage. Maria Christina, for her part, became the sixth-generation winemaker at Oddero – after years of stubborn resistance from her father and uncle, it should be noted – in the late 1990s. Note that she became the first winemaker, male or female, to erect netting to protect Oddero’s prized grapes from hail.
Others beside Valentina Marrone and Negri whose names I’m committing to memory going forward are Marina Marcarino (her winery, Punset, is the oldest organic producer in Barbaresco) Maria Teresa Mascarello, Emanuela Bolla, Silvia Cigliuti, Paola Rocca, Nadia Verrua, Sara Vezza and Silvia Altare. Silvia, of course, is Elio’s daughter.
And while she loves her father, who remains a presence at the winery, she calls Boschis her hero, saying: “I look at her photo every day and say I want to be just like you.”
I should add that my visit to the Langhe included a night’s stay and a dinner in Michelin-starred chef Massimo Camia’s cozy new compound in Monchiero (www.massimocamia.it). I expected his food to be great, and it was, while the beautiful room I stayed in there made for a perfect evening. Because I wouldn’t have to drive anywhere after the meal, I felt perfectly comfortable ordering a bottle of Barolo (Ceretto 2019) all for me.
I should point out that Camia’s daughter, Elisabetta, the heiress apparent, now plays a prominent role in the kitchen at her father’s side. She had flown solo as the chef for a luncheon a tour group I led in 2024 enjoyed there, and there was no drop-off in quality whatsoever.
Gender-wise, the Piemonte’s playing field is finally leveling.
Holed up here in my little Alpine paradise, pictured above outside my bedroom window in this most beautiful season of all, it’s easy to blissfully ignore the travails of Houston’s sports teams happening 5,400 miles to the west. However, the concurrent disasters that have befallen the Astros, the Texans and now the Rockets in recent days jarred me out of my wine-fueled complacency.
After more than a half-century spent hacking on keyboards about H-Town’s oft-prone-to-frustrate franchises, I recognize a five-alarm fire when I see one, folks. Relative to the city’s high expectations of late — at no point in our history did we have the right to believe we had three franchises with bonafide championship aspirations — I’m thinking our teams have never collectively delivered a worst fortnight.
No, really. I’m not being hysterical here. The Astros, a near-dynasty over recent summers, entered July with a seven-game lead in the AL West. The Texans were coming off consecutive seasons that produced playoff victories with a popular new coach in DeMeco Ryans and a dynamic young quarterback, C.J. Stroud, who, in 2023, delivered possibly the greatest rookie season ever for a player at his position. And the baby Rockets had ascended from the dreggiest dregs of the NBA to actually being mentioned as an outside championship contender after the addition of, holy cow, future Hall-of-Famer Kevin Durant to provide a steadying influence.
Now? After getting their butts kicked bigtime three straight nights by Seattle on their own field in the most important series of the season, then flat rolling over against a nowhere-bound A’s team twice, the Astros have all but played themselves out of playoff contention. This following seven consecutive AL West titles and after they had tricked their fans into thinking all was OK with a sweep of the Rangers. Clearly, it wasn’t.
The Texans, for their part, are a butt-ugly 0-3, having thus far showing a level of offensive ineptitude rarely seen in these parts, and we’ve born witness to some pretty dreadful offenses. How bad have they been? Their 38 points and three touchdowns are waaaay down there with the godawful 2005 Texans, who finished 2-14 after scoring 24 points and two TDs during their 0-3 start, and the pathetic 1-13 Oilers of 1973, who managed only 31 points during the same span but somehow accidentally found their find way into the end zone four times.
Offensive coordinator Nick Caley would be on the firing block if he hadn’t just been hired. The Texans’ 12.7 points per game is 32nd among 32 teams with Stroud barely a shadow of his confident, accurate rookie self. And he’s not helping his cause with an increasingly disenchanted fan base by defiantly wearing the Astros rivals’ ballcaps. Hey, C .J., get your ball-capped head out of your ass and start acting like you’ve played quarterback before.
As for the Rockets, they haven’t even reported to training camp yet and they’re already down a man, a hugely important man in the person of point guard Fred VanVleet, who has somehow torn an ACL and may not play this season. Before that terrible news broke, only the Oklahoma City Thunder were given better odds to win the NBA title than the Rockets, who have gone from 7-to-1 to 14-to-1 — even worse than the 12-1 they were prior to the Durant trade.
Da hell? What’s with these off-season injuries? Part of the Texans’ problem, of course, is their not having running back Joe Mixon, whose mysterious ankle sprain, suffered sometime over the past winter, could also keep him off the field for all of 2025.
In short, things look as bleak across the board as the photo above. Nope, it’s never easy being a Houston sports fan.
But let’s move on to a happier topic — wine — and the week that was! A recent trip to Italy’s Piemonte, three hours to the east by car from the Ubaye Valley, checked every one of my happy boxes, offering gorgeous vineyard landscapes, outstanding food and wine pairings and truly wonderful people. All of the above will be subject of my next blog, to be posted soon, I promise.
Look, I’m kinda busy over here. (Insert smiley face emoji here.) To quote Bum Phillips, the last coach to lead a Houston NFL team to the brink of the Super Bowl — 45 friggin’ years ago, fyi — when he was asked how he was spending his time in retirement: “Not much of nothin’, and I don’t start ’til noon.”
The Sporty Wine Guy 