The strange thing about the Astrodome is that the longer the behemoth sits unused, the more it becomes a vessel for our dreams of the future.

In 1965, when the Dome first opened, it was an international sensation, "The Eighth Wonder of the World," the world's first air-conditioned stadium. Hippies tried to levitate it. Other cities tried to imitate it. Moonshot ambition, technological innovation and civil rights action were twined in its 1960s DNA.

In that heady heyday, the Astrodome seemed unimaginably futuristic and enormous. But over the decades, our ideas about stadium sizes and the future changed. It began to seem woefully out of date. By 2000, the Astros abandoned it and moved downtown. Shuttered and empty now, stuck next to NRG Stadium, its even-more-enormous replacement, the Dome looks sad and dinky.

This editorial board has long advocated for saving the Astrodome, and we're not giving up now. It still looms large in Texas history: Only the Alamo has as much symbolic importance and international name recognition. It is a physical embodiment of Houston's promise: We aim to be place where people of every background, whatever their politics or race, whatever their faith or place of origin, can thrive -- and sit down for a beer while watching a great game or concert.

At more than 200 feet high and over 600 feet across, it remains plain enormous when compared to almost anything other than Reliant Stadium. Visitors lucky enough to get inside the Dome still gasp in awe at the volume.