Right around the time Houston’s live oaks began shedding their old leaves, the Houston Astros reported for spring training. While the baseball preseason action was in Florida, plenty of Houston fans shed their own winter wear and dusted off their Astros jerseys in anticipation of Opening Day. In March, the fuchsia azalea bushes exploding from Houston’s landscaped yards preceded an ocean of Astros orange in April. And those blue caps are for the two-time world champions, not the native, blooming bluebonnets. Every spring, Houston colors in nature compete with Houston Astros baseball, from ubiquitous orange and its accompanying rainbow compatriots to the dark blues of Space City.

The history of Astros uniforms is a vast portfolio of colors, logos, and typefaces, leaving Houstonians divided on what’s the ultimate era. And old-timers like me wondering: Are retired jerseys ever really retired?

Way back in 1962, Houston was awarded a Major League Baseball expansion team, the marketing genius of cofounder Roy Hofheinz, a former Houston mayor and Harris County chief executive. NASA was still in its infancy, and Houston had not yet been named the home of Mission Control. A public contest settled on the new team name, Colt .45s, after the ubiquitous cowboy firearm. Never mind that Houston was already a forward-looking city, grasping at modernity, even though cowboy iconography persisted all around the largest city in Texas. Those black caps with “.45” are still popular throwbacks. Famous pretend-Texan Billy Bob Thornton wore one the night he won an Oscar for his Sling Blade screenplay.

Legend has it that Colt’s Manufacturing Co. wasn’t so keen on sharing the name, so Hofheinz took the opportunity to embrace Houston’s new nickname, Space City. Taking a page from the brand-new American Football League’s Houston Oilers, Hofheinz renamed the baseball team after another local industry: space. “Astronauts” was too long, but “Astro” was just right, and would also make a perfect name for the Harris County Domed Stadium, which opened 60 years ago this month.

For those first years in the Astrodome, the Astros replaced “.45” with the H-on-star on a blue cap, and white jerseys featuring a simplified shooting star. And from 1965 to 1993, the franchise’s primary logo, seen on the jersey sleeve, featured the Astrodome itself. No other Major League Baseball logo showcased a team’s own home stadium, at the time or since.

While the original team included future legends like Jimmy Wynn and Larry Dierker, it languished in its league. Possibly the only decent thing to happen for the team in 1971 was the birth of the now-iconic orange caps.

The controversial and bold orange rainbow jersey made its debut in 1975, popping visually in contrast to the modest 1960s predecessor and against the bright green Astroturf, especially on television. At the time, it was innovative as a pullover, missing the customary buttons. In 1980, Florida Today sports columnist Shelby Strother coined the term “Tequila Sunrise” to describe it, for its graphic similarity to the tropical cocktail. Others likened it to popsicle-themed pajamas. The typeface was bold, and popular in advertising throughout the decade. Powerhouse Astros pitchers Nolan Ryan and JR Richard terrified batters in spite of the lighthearted uniforms, and it’s impossible to imagine them in anything else. In 1985, the upper deck of the Astrodome added two rows of seats in each color of the orange rainbow, making a permanent, physical memorial to the color scheme, while the uniforms’ orange rainbow was reduced to shoulder stripes by decade’s end.

While the orange rainbow was fun, the following dark navy blue and metallic gold branding was dead serious. Appearing in 1994, the new uniforms were confident in their simplicity, with a large, slanted, gold star open on one side, the only, albeit slight, callback. Everything else was brand-new, including the typeface, which was best described simply as “italics.” By then, anything from the 1970s was perceived as corny to young fans, and anyone caught wearing tequila sunrise uniforms in the Astrodome would surely be trash-talked.

With the opening of downtown’s Ballpark at Union Station (now Daikin Park) in 2000, the Astros were due for a makeover reflecting the neo-traditional venue. Top-to-bottom redo. Brick red on one set of jerseys, white with black pinstripes on an alternate, with black or red caps. The slanted, outlined star was straightened, made red, and given accenting tan outlines. The typeface was baseball-y script, which produced an overall generic look that lacked any soul. On the bright side, the boys made their first World Series appearance in those uniforms in 2005, and Craig Biggio, the first player to enter the Baseball Hall of Fame as an Astro, is wearing a cap from that era on his commemorative plaque.

A move to the American League and yet another rebrand went up to bat in 2013—a welcome back-to-basics. No pinstripes. No script typeface. No brick red. No ’90s navy and gold. Just a deeply saturated orange, blue, and white. And the return to the 1970s H-on-star logo, getting a subtle upgrade—the enlarged H was faceted and the star had a subtle accented split. But the best part was the solid orange cap, which never appeared as frequently as the blue caps, as the Astros grew into the championship legacy era we’re all still vibrating from. And in another charming callback, alternate blue jerseys featured the old orange rainbow on side panels under each arm, a wonderful, and no longer mocked design feature. I’ve heard pitcher Framber Valdez prefers these, and the team wears them when he starts.

These are easily my favorite Astros uniforms; and for the record, I love wearing the solid orange cap in airports and other cities. There’s no inconspicuous way to travel in an orange cap—those Astros haters can see me coming a mile away. Bring it on, y’all.

Today, fans are offered an endless supply of twists and mash-ups of all the historic Astros logos, colors, and fonts for their caps, jerseys, and championship bling, all for sale at the team store. Pink, plaid, camo, black on black? Why not? And whether you love, hate, or have no opinions on the alternate City Connect uniforms, they do take a few big swings, design-wise. All of the options for fans deepen team love, and make for an amazing show off the field, too.