Change of Plans

If I've learned anything over the past six months, it's that nothing -- absolutely nothing -- goes according to script. A few short months ago I was living in Toronto, engaged to be married, and working as a broadcast journalist. None of those three apply today.

On February 2nd, I left for India, scheduled to return at the end of June. But I'm back. Yes, already. (Admit it: you missed me.) Five months on the subcontinent became only two. They were two glorious months, but I had to cut the trip short. For good reason. You see, my travels aren't yet complete; I've still got my backpack, and it's ready to go. There are just a couple of minor changes: I've traded in my copy of the Lonely Planet Guide to India for Joe Posnanski's The Soul of Baseball, and instead of the Motherland, I'll be traveling through the USA. Beginning April 12th in Toronto with the Blue Jays' home opener, I'm setting off on the baseball road trip of a lifetime: 30 cities and 30 stadiums in 60 days.

Between India and TBRTOAL (The Baseball Road Trip Of A Lifetime), it's a no-brainer; the opportunity to make this trip happen will likely never present itself again. Plus, the game holds a special place in my heart. The way I see it, I've got no choice but to hit the road. Even better, I'll be collaborating with The Globe and Mail - GlobeSports.com specifically - as I document my experiences.

I'm genuinely excited; baseball boners abound!1 Over the past two years, I've fallen in love with baseball all over again, and see this journey as the perfect way to renew our vows; the ultimate honeymoon.

Stay tuned ...

Delhi Daze

My days in Delhi are numbered. For the past two weeks, I've done nothing but eat, drink, sleep, and watch cricket. Of course, I've also had a lot of time to reflect. And if I've learned anything at all over the past six months, including the past two weeks, it's that nothing ever goes according to plan. That no matter how many times you're thrown a curveball, and go down swinging like Vernon Wells, you've got to keep trying to make contact ...

1. To say that cricket-obsessed India has fallen in love with the Indian Premier League is a gross understatement. It's kind of a big deal out here; all IPL, all the time. And with the value of an IPL franchise set to soar to $500 million in the near future, making the league's next team more valuable than even the Toronto Maple Leafs, the world is beginning to take notice. As for me, I've fallen in love with cricket all over again, especially the Twenty20 format which, undoubtedly, is here to stay.

2. Delhi is my Indian hometown, which means I've thrown my support behind the Delhi Daredevils. The club opened the tournament with back-to-back wins; playoffs!!!1 But, true to form for any team I grant my exclusive fandom, they've dropped three in a row, including an utterly embarrassing loss to Mumbai by a ridiculous 98 runs. Luckily for Delhi, I'm about to say goodbye.

3. The rallying cry in the front office of the Toronto Raptors isn't "Playoffs!!!1" It's got to be "Playoff Revenue!!!1" One round's better than nothing, right?

4. If Andrea Bargnani is lazy, what does that make Hedo Turkoglu?

5. It is every Indian woman's responsibility to complain about her servant, maid, driver, and/or child care provider. While at the same time realizing that she couldn't survive without any one of them.

6. Seriously, my cousin asked me: "How do you survive without a servant?" Incredible India.

7. No pressure, Shaun Marcum.

8. If there's one thing I wish for more than anything else this baseball season, other than Vernon Wells winning the triple crown and MVP, it's that V-Dub walk up to home plate at the SkyDome to Soulja Boy's "Turn My Swag On."

9. In the fight to restore Wells' good name, this type of stuff from Jeff Blair really doesn't help:

"Turkoglu in particular is so abject and so low energy and has such awful body language that it is not a stretch to repeat the sneaking suspicion he is this franchise's Vernon Wells."

It's true. But it doesn't help. Let's just leave Wells out of it. Of the Joe Mauer contract extension discussion, too. Please and thanks.

10. Is Adeiny Hechevarria a Toronto Blue Jay or what?

11. I can't fight it anymore. Because it's official: "The Manager" is no longer named "Cito." From this day forward he shall be known only as "Clarence." Well done, Drew. I salute you.

12. Now that Jason Blake is no longer with us, I believe John Mitchell is the owner of the Maple Leafs' most impressive fist pump.

13. I've seen Dion Phaneuf play one game as a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Yet I'm proud to throw my support behind his bid for the vacant captaincy. Such is the power of a Garnet Exelby recommendation.

14. The curious case of Lee Stempniak: 11 goals in 61 games as a Maple Leaf last season. Fourteen goals in 62 games as a Maple Leaf this season. Suddenly, nine goals in nine games as a brand new Phoenix Coyote. I know he can't possibly keep up that pace, but it truly begs the question: what the fuck?

15. Martin St. Louis is tied for fourth in the NHL in scoring. Why does this shock me? Does it shock anyone else?

16. Five of the NHL's top 10 scorers are Canadian. Three of them - the aforementioned St. Louis, Steve Stamkos, and Brad Richards - didn't play for Team Canada at the Olympics. But second-guessing Steve Yzerman's roster would be pretty pointless now, wouldn't it? However, it's certainly obvious after the fact that Patrice Bergeron had absolutely zero business being in Vancouver.

17. Tuukka Rask is the owner of the league's best goals against average (2.08), and second-best save percentage (.928; .001 behind Ryan Miller). This was bound to happen.

18. If there is a God, Boston will not end up drafting Tyler Seguin or Taylor Hall.

19. Personal hygiene doesn't rank high on the average Indian's priority list. And that's cool; who am I to judge? But the smell of a jam-packed Delhi subway car on a day when the thermometer touches 40 degrees Celsius cannot be described, only experienced.

20. I'm officially templed out. You've seen one, you've seen them all.

The Land of Kings

I'm about set to depart Rajasthan, "The Land of Kings." My train leaves in two hours. Udaipur has been most pleasant; I prefer small-town India to the chaos of the big cities. Some sports and India related nuggets for you to chew on, before I head for the station ...

1. It hasn't gone unnoticed out here, by me at least, that the Toronto Blue Jays are playing .833 baseball, and tied for first place, so far in Grapefruit League action. I'm not going to say it, because it would be totally ridiculous, but you know I'm thinking it.

2. The smell of feces is far too commonplace, and far too acceptable, in India. But with cows, millions - it seems - of stray dogs, horses, mules, monkeys, goats, pigs, and the odd camel roaming around, I guess there isn't much anyone can do but accept the stench. Perhaps, after another month or two on the subcontinent, I too won't be bothered by the smell. But I doubt it.

3. In seven games for the Maple Leafs, J.S. Giguere is sporting a .917 save percentage. Boners abound!!1 But, since I've only watched him play one game, his first, you tell me: has Giggy played as well as that number above suggests? Or are his first two games in the blue and white, back-to-back shutouts, distorting the view?

4. I'm as liberal as they come. I believe marijuana should be legalized, and I'm all for gay marriage, and gay rights. But this one I don't quite get: heterosexual Indian men - best mates, let's say - who walk down the street holding hands. I'm talking really holding hands: fingers locked between each other's. Maybe it's me. Perhaps I'm just not that in tune with my sexuality, but the thought of holding hands with a male friend of mine while we walk down the street makes me slightly uncomfortable. I couldn't do it.

5. I see that the Toronto Raptors are tenuously holding on to their playoff position. You didn't think it was going to be easy, did you? Also: I haven't been keeping up to date with Chris Bosh's injury woes; just tell me it's got nothing to do with either of his knees.

6. Even Ian White would be jealous of some of the epic moustaches I've seen out here in Rajasthan.

7. Before the Toronto Blue Jays were Roy Halladay's team, they were Carlos Delgado's. Now that the Halladay years have been left behind for the history books, yes, the Blue Jays are Vernon Wells' team. He is the veteran in the club house. "The player" who has won the most accolades, and represented the Blue Jays at the most All-Star games. What's wrong with him coming out and saying it? Since when is confidence, and taking charge of the clubhouse in the spring, a bad thing? Nothing, absolutely nothing, would please me more than to come home to Toronto in June to fine Wells in the midst of one fine fucking season. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times: I believe in Vernon Wells.

8. The average Indian has absolutely no qualms about belching, breaking wind, picking his nose, and, if a man, urinating in public. It's these cultural differences that I find amazing everytime I visit.

9. I just brought up the Toronto Maple Leafs' player stats page on Yahoo! Sports. In one month, Brian Burke traded the team's top scorers, three through eight: Alex Ponikarovsky, Matt Stajan, Niklas Hagman, Lee Stempniak, Jason Blake, and Ian White. I'm not sure I've ever seen this type of mid-season roster upheaval. It's a good thing: the Leafs stink.

10. Based solely on reading what my fellow Leafs fans have been tweeting, I think I'm going to grow rather fond of Luca Caputi. And he's from Toronto. Local boy!!!1

11. Not enough people hate Matt Cooke. I fear that will remain the case even after his most recent display of douchebaggery.

12. A beggar approached my cousin and I a few days ago in Jaipur, asking for money. We politely lied and said we didn't have anything to give. As the beggar walked away, he called us "conjoose;" cheap. A bad day at the office, I guess. And a terrible begging strategy, if I must say so myself.

13. I saw a photo of Ponikarovsky celebrating a goal with Evgeni Malkin. Poni must feel like he's dead and gone to heaven.

14. There's an Indian singer in heavy rotation on MTV out here named Prince. He gets a million points for originality. As an entertainer, and even an athlete, it's all about the team around you; the people you surround yourself with. I remember reading Mario Lemieux's biography, and learning that, upon entering the NHL, he wanted to wear #99. He wanted to prove that he was in fact the greatest hockey player in the world. (Full disclosure: I'm on the Lemieux side of the Gretzky/Lemieux debate.) Mario's agent at the time, I believe, or someone close to him, told him the idea wasn't such a hot one. So Lemieux flipped #99 around, and wore #66. Personally, I think the NHL would be right to - as they did for The Great One - retire #66 league-wide. No one should ever be given the option to wear it again.

15. I'm going going, back back, to Delhi Delhi. Will hit you up from there.

Message In A Bottle

I put a message in a bottle and sent it into the Lakshadweep Sea today.

While enjoying a large bottle of Kingfisher at Coconut Grove restaurant at Lighthouse Beach in Kovalam, Kerala, deep in southern India, I felt the sudden urge to leave my mark; to let someone know that I had indeed been here. That I'd seen a majestically beautiful part of India I'd only heard and read about, but never known, until now.

I longed for my message to be profound. I want the person who eventually finds it to be moved, and changed, after reading it; to never be the same from that day forward.

It came to me, almost immediately.

Written in all its glory on a tiny sheet of paper, signed "- eyebleaf," I penned one, single, solitary word: "Playoffs!!1"

Sports And The City: Bangalore

I'm sitting at NASA, "Bangalore's Hi-Tech Beer Club," watching test cricket between India and Australia. It's happy hour; my beer costs less than $1. I'm eating fiery chicken tikka. "Every step you take" by Sting is playing through the bar's speakers. You thought I was kidding about the tacky music, didn't you? Anyway, if I resided in Bangalore, this is what Sports And The City would be like. Sehwag and Karthik are batting for India. Subcontinent, represent!!1

I won't be able to watch tonight's game between Canada and the USA. Internet cafe owners have flashed me ridiculous looks when I ask if they'll be open at 6 AM. More ridiculous than the looks I already get.

But it's all good. I'm not exactly concerned over the outcome. Gold!!1

I'm working my way south (giggity), and am off to Ooty, tomorrow it seems.

Cheers, from NASA.

The Sea is the Soundtrack

Palolem, south Goa. I've been sitting on the beach, jotting down some of my thoughts ...

1. The music out here in Goa is, for lack of a better description, TACK CITY. You can't go very far without hearing Enrique Eglasias, Savage Garden, Bryan Adams (he's Canadian, so he's cool), and, most unfortunately, Ricky Martin. Dido's "White Flag" came on a few days ago while I was having lunch and my thoughts of course drifted towards Mats Sundin. He went down with the ship. Like a right, honourable captain shoud. I miss him. It's not too late for him to come out of retirement and play with Phil Kessel. A fan can dream. Especially a Toronto sports fan.

2. When in Goa, try the Prawn/Chicken/Beef Xacuti (pronounced "cha-coothie"). It's divine.

3. I'm obviously late to the party but it certainly took me by surprise to learn that Ilya Kovalchuk is a New Jersey Devil. I can't say I saw them winning the sweepstakes. But the Devils are, as always, competitive, so I have to respect their taking the plunge. I'm curious as to when the Devils last traded a first-round draft choice. It doesn't seem like their modus operandi. They are the antithesis of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Especially when it comes to winning.

4. I'm reading Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now." The cynic in me is having a hard time believing it's anything but 270-odd pages of complete, utter bullshit. Actually, I was reading it. It was stolen yesterday from the deck of my beach hut down here in Palolem. TRUST NOBODY.

5. There are no traffic lights in Goa. Not in the cities, not in the tourist beaches areas, nowhere. I've yet to come across one. While speed bumps, and potholes that make Steeles Avenue seem like asphalt heaven, are numerous, the only time a car comes to complete stop is when cows set up shop on the roads.

6. While sitting on the beach drinking buckets of Kingfisher, my thoughts invariably drifted towards the boys of summer, our Toronto Blue Jays. It's been quite the few months for Alex Anthopoulos and, while expectations are low, nothing would please me more than seeing the 2010 squad win more than 75 games; more than they won in 2009 with Roy Halladay taking the mound every five days. It's nothing against Doc; how could it be? But I've turned the page. I'm genuinely excited about the future.

7. I have no idea who Kevin Gregg is.

8. As I'm sure you noticed, the new Sports And The City banner is up. Welcome to your Aaron Hill years. And thanks, Deaner.

9. While getting my head shaved a couple of days ago, the power went out. Which I of course knew it would. For a good half hour, to boot. Needless to say, I got to know my barber, Imran from Faridabad, really well. With half a buzzed head, I didn't really have a choice. I'm not religious and don't often pray, but sitting in that chair, I asked the heavens for electricity.

10. We take electricity and hot water for granted in the west. Perhaps that's why the terrorists hate us.

11. I'm hoping to return home a less bitter man. More contentment, less complaining. In all walks of life. With that in mind, my thoughts drifted towards Cito Gaston. The Manager. When the Blue Jays ruled the baseball world, I was too young to know that Gaston doesn't have a clue in the dugout. I've figured it out now. But I'm not going to spend 2010 complaining about his shortcomings. What's the point? Cito is what he is. No one, especially not me, can take his World Series rings away from him. I'm going to do my best to enjoy his swan song, and remember the good times. Such as the emergence of Adam Lind. If Cito can somehow do the same with Travis Snider, we're all good.

12. Once you ride public transportation in India, you won't give a damn about a TTC booth operator taking a power nap. Again, we're spoiled out west. Automated announcements, air conditioning, and, I don't know, a bus not in motion while you hang half way out the back door. The fare? Ten rupees. I guess you get what you pay for, eh?

13. The locals have a staring problem. Necks must hurt around here.

14. India is in severe need of a humane society. Stray dogs are everywhere, and bark the nights away.

15. Nazem Kadri's NHL debut; I'm sorry I missed that. How'd my boy do?

16. I wish I knew how to ride a scooter. It would have made the Goa experience that much better. I've never ridden one, and learning in India doesn't seem all that wise. Like skiing for the first time in Whistler, which I did back in 2001. I barely survived that experience. Lesson learned. Plus, the only helmets worn around these parts are the natural kind: turbans. On an aside, it's a miracle of God that hundreds aren't killed on the roads in front of my very eyes everyday.

17. Vesa Toskala doesn't think he's a back-up. He might be as delusional as I am.

18. I might have to visit Ponani, Goa, south of here. Just so I can call home and say "Everything is wonderful; I'm in Ponani."

19. Has Chris Bosh re-signed yet? Please call/text/email when he does. Playoffs!!1

20. For the next two weeks, "Playoffs!!1" is being replaced by "Gold!!1"

Sunday Night Football

Greetings from the Indian subcontinent. Candolim beach in northern Goa, to be exact. The weather and surroundings are beautiful here. I'm making a point to enjoy both for each and every one of you.

I trust you spent your Sunday night watching football. I certainly did. On two giant projection screens. But not the game you're thinking of; Chelsea vs. Arsenal. The J29 Sports Bar here in Candolim was filled with English and Russian tourists, taking in the Premiership clash. Upon entering the outdoor restaurant, a gentlemen stopped me dead in my tracks: "You want to bet on the game, mate?" Don't mind if I do. I dropped 100 rupees on a 2-1 Chelsea final, with 6-1 odds. The restaurant's bookie had three pages of odds, from everything to the first shot, first goal, and even first team to hit the woodwork. Clearly, J29 was my type of place.

Thanks to Petr Cech, my bet was a losing one. But I can't be mad. Not at a superb goaltender. Cech is so good I almost want to become a Chelsea supporter. It was 100 rupees, or $2.44, well spent.

Speaking of 100 rupees, that's how much a 551 ml bottle of Kingfisher Indian beer goes for. Again, $2.44 very well spent. As a child, the beauty of visiting India was that it meant as much Coke, Sprite and Limca the heart could desire. Anything but water. As an adult, it's even better. Beer, beer, and more beer. Safety first, right?

And, you guessed it, "Kingfisher" is the first Indian word you need to learn. Practice makes perfect. I'm sure you'll be fine.

Back to the footy match, for a second. The Arsenal/Chelsea rivalry, and the fact that it transcends borders, only drives home the point that Toronto needs another ice hockey team. If the greater London area sports five teams in the Premiership, it's absolutely absurd that only one hockey team calls Toronto home. Yes, this is where you throw in your "And they're barely a hockey team!!!1" joke. Thanks.

And Didier Drogba. Jeez. Twelve games vs. Arsenal, and 12 goals to his name, after two Sunday night. Quite the performance, especially the second marker, coming off his left foot. Drogba's Arsenal's daddy.

Some final thoughts before I leave you:

• In 76 starts over the past two seasons with Toronto, Vesa Toskala posted two shutouts. In two starts in one week as a Maple Leaf, J.S. Giguere has done the same. The Leafs have already won this trade.
• My man Ian from The Blue Jay Hunter will be picking up the slack for me while I'm gone, and running the Vernon Wells Hatred Advisory System once baseball gets going. I imagine the hatred levels will be elevated as soon as spring training begins. The pressure will be on Wells from the get go. Remember: please don't boo him at the Dome. Give him a chance. Believe, dammit.

Until we meet again ...

Sabbatical

I've got a massive backpack, the Lonely Planet guide to India, and a return date of June 24th. After two days of intense celebration over the acquisition of Dion Phaneuf, and more importantly the departure of Vesa Toskala, I won't get to see the new and improved, offensively challenged Toronto Maple Leafs in action. I leave for the Indian subcontinent Tuesday night. The rebuild, however, is finally officially underway, and I've found comfort in that realization.

Here's how I've justified Brian Burke's three biggest transactions: as one massive, all-encompassing trade.

Jason Blake

Vesa Toskala

Matt Stajan

Ian White

Niklas Hagman

Jamal Mayers

2010 1st Round Pick

2010 2nd Round Pick

2011 1st Round Pick

FOR

Phil Kessel

Dion Phaneuf

J.S. Giguere

Fredrik Sjostrom

Keith Aulie

I know, that's a lot of draft picks going the other way. But you're used to that now. We're all used to that now. I'm also well aware, as you are, that the moves mean the Leafs have, other than Kessel, zero offence. And I'm OK with that. Because the problem for the better part of the last five years is that Toronto can't kill penalties, and can't keep the puck out of its own net. Burke will figure out a solution up front. That's what he's paid to do. If you don't have faith in him after he found a trader partner for the services -- and I use the term lightly -- of Toskala and Jason Blake, I'm afraid you never will.

In 24-year-old Phaneuf and 22-year-old Kessel, I can finally say the Toronto Maple Leafs have two young, established, and skilled players around which to build a team. Young being the key word. When was the last time you could make such a proclamation? Phaneuf is two seasons removed from Norris Trophy consideration. And, it bears repeating, still only 24. For once, for fucking once, the Leafs bought low.

It pains me to admit it, because only a true idiot would compare the Civil Rights Movement to the trivial world of professional sports, but when I heard Toskala had indeed been jettisoned out west, Martin Luther King's words echoed through my mind: "Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

One final word about Jason Blake, before I say my goodbyes. He was the whipping boy. From day one. And, truthfully, I'm not sure why that was the case. While I did my fair share of defending him, I found it difficult to do so this season. All the cool kids were slagging him. I was just trying to fit in. Now that he's a Duck, I can look fondly back on Blake's time in Toronto. While he didn't score as many goals as people would have liked, he performed. Early in his career, Blake played 82 games with the Los Angeles Kings, and registered 28 points, for a 0.34 point-per-game average. He then moved to Long Island, where he enjoyed fruitful seasons in hockey hell: 426 games, 258 points. A 0.60 point-per-game average. Finally, Toronto. The most productive stop during Jason Blake's career: 216 games, 141 points. A 0.65 point-per-game average. Blake may not have been worth the money to you, but based on his track record, he did what he was brought in to do. I'll miss the fist pumps.

I'll tell you this: it's not easy leaving the pro sports teams -- for this long, at least -- who routinely frustrate me and break my heart. It should be. But it isn't. Posting will be sparse around here, but I'll be dropping by. First things first, Aaron Hill will be replacing Roy Halladay in the Sports And The City banner. A logical choice. Thanks for voting. And, over the next few weeks, I plan to visit one of India's numerous internet cafes to watch Canada take care of business out in Vancouver. I'll be celebrating our nation's hockey triumph a world away, and plan to enjoy every second of it.

Here's what I'll miss most:

• The Toronto Raptors' surge to the top of the Atlantic Division, led by Chris Bosh. The franchise will win its second playoff series while I'm gone. It's time. Believe in Bosh.
• Interviews with Hedo Turkoglu.
• Opening Day at the SkyDome. This one's tough; it's tradition. But I'll be there in spirit. Missing the first three months of baseball season might be the toughest of all. The silver lining: three fewer months of Cito Gaston. Win.
• Ron Wilson being fired.

I've scheduled my return such that if the Boston Bruins do indeed select Taylor Hall with the Leafs' first overall selection, I'll be back in time to watch it happen. That'll surely get me back in the swing of things. My arrival back in Toronto also coincides with, hopefully, a date with Roy Halladay.

So, take care of yourself, eh? Remember: curve the bill of your hat, always support the home team, and never give up hope. Enjoy the rest of your winter, and the beautiful spring months. I'll be stopping by every now and then to holler "Playoffs!!1"

A brilliant and beautiful woman once told me words that certainly ring true today: "This isn't goodbye. It's see you later."

Cheers.

At Last

I'm in Amsterdam, on route to New Delhi. I don't have much time. I paid three Euros for 15 valuable minutes on the internet.

I'll be back next week, and my biggest fear was coming home to the still-winless Toronto Maple Leafs. I need not worry anymore.

I'm celebrating the Maple Leafs' victory with the Dutch, and feel just about the same as Tomas Kaberle and Lee Stempniak, above.

Kaberle, five points. That's my boy.

Baseball and my Dad ...

My father is no sports fan. The furthest thing from it, actually. He's got no time for sports; never has, never will. And that's cool.

Dad grew up in India. Sure, he played some cricket in his day, but he didn't have the New Delhi Nuggets to cheer for, watch on the television every night, and read about in the newspaper the next day. Dad grew up in a different time, a different place.

As young kids in Toronto, my older brother and I were smitten over baseball. We treasured our Blue Jays. Loved them. With every ounce of our being. Dad didn't get it, but he sure as hell supported our passion. Back in the early 90s, we, a family of four, would head down to the SkyDome, 500 level tickets in hand, numerous times a season. Thinking back, one of the most exciting days of the year was when we received a letter in the mail from the Toronto Blue Jays, asking us to select which games we'd be attending that season.

Over the years, we went to a lot of games with Dad. While he never took a liking to the team, or the game, he did love one part of being in attendance in the summertime: the SkyDome. A civil engineer by trade, Dad marveled at the stadium's technology. (Classic immigrant story: Dad's education, from the best institution in India, wasn't recognized in Canada.) Sometimes I wished for the Dome to be closed mid-game, just so he could see the roof in action.

Dad also loved the wave. He'd sit back and watch in amazement as 45,000 fans rose, section by section, when it was their turn.

To this day, what I love about Major League Baseball in the fine city of Toronto is its affordability. A man can take his family of four down to the ball park, feed them, and not have to worry about the next mortgage payment, or the next rent cheque. Unbeknownst to me as an oblivious youth, there were times when Dad's wallet wasn't as fat as it is today. But he never let me or my brother find out. The last thing he was going to do was take baseball away from us. Now, years later, I want him to know just how much I appreciated that.

Thank you, Dad. Thanks for the trips down to the stadium, the program my brother could keep score in, the hot dogs, the nachos, and the soft-serve ice cream cones from the truck after the game. Looking back, I'm sure there were times Dad could have said no to the program, or to the hot dogs, so he could have had a beer. But he never did; he never said no.

It didn't matter to Dad that he could have cared less whether Robbie Alomar, my most-favourite player in the whole wide world, had a good game or not. Or whether the Jays got the win. But I know in my heart that he hoped Alomar would perform, and that the Jays would win. So his boys could ride the subway back up north with a smile on their faces.

Thank you, Dad. You are an inspiration. Every single day. Happy Father's Day.

God Damn Yankees

My 82-year-old Dadima (Grandmother), out here an ocean away in Delhi, was not in the least bit surprised that the New York Yankees landed Mark Teixeira.

When I told her the news, she looked at me with a blank expression on her face and, in her limited English, said, "You are very nice boy. Very good boy. I like you."

Obviously, she was talking about me, and not Mark Teixeira, the latest baseball player to strike it rich thanks to the God damn Yankees join the dark side.

Here's an excerpt from a Gordon Edes column over at Yahoo! Sports that should make you lose your lunch:

"The Yankees will have nine players being paid $13 million or more in 2009. Those nine players - Teixeira, C.C. Sabathia, Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter, A.J. Burnett, Jorge Posada, Mariano Rivera, Hideki Matsui and Johnny Damon - combine for $159.1 million, more than the payroll of any other team."

Nine guys. Who account for more payroll than any other team in baseball. Hell, probably in professional sports. That right there, my friends, is why it is my duty to hate the New York Yankees. And make no mistake about it, it is your duty as well.

Would I like an owner that spends, spends, spends, spends, spends, spends, spends, spends, spends and spends some more? Of course. I'm sure you would too. But the reality is that the Toronto Blue Jays, and 28 other teams, don't, and can't, operate that way. And that's why I hate the Yankees.

The hatred, you see, stems from jealousy. And there is no cure. All I can do is continue to bitch about New York's free-spending ways.

You know, I've learned a lot in my short, two-week sojourn on the Indian subcontinent. There's nothing quite like spending time with family. One moment, in particular, stands out: my Dadima told me she hates the Yankees, too.

Seriously?

Greetings from Mother India. Let me get straight to the point. The Raptors lost to the Oklahoma City Thunder on Friday. Wait, what? Seriously? The 2-24 Oklahoma City Thunder?

Can this please be confirmed? Because I don't believe the box score. Someone is obviously fucking with me, or the internet, out here in the GNDA (Greater New Delhi Area, yo). Losing 91-83 to Oklahoma City simply cannot be possible. I didn't even know Oklahoma City had an NBA team.

Jesus Christ. You know what this means, don't you? The Toronto Craptors are no longer extinct.

Full disclosure: I had a dream the Raptors re-acquired Vince Carter.

Really full disclosure: It was a wet dream. I'm at the point where I'd be all over VC's return, like a fat Indian kid on a chicken kathi roll from Khan Chacha.

The Motherland Beckons

By the time you read this, I will have departed for the land of my ancestors: India. She's a beautiful country, and it's been too long since I last paid her a visit. 

For the next two weeks, I'll be in and around New Delhi, hanging out with my Grandmother, drinking ample Kingfisher, and eating as much butter chicken as I can get my hands on.

I'll try and check in as often as I can to make sure that I'm fully aware of just how much the Maple Leafs, Raptors and Blue Jays are letting us down.

If there's any news you think I need to know, like, I don't know, some bald, Swedish, former Maple Leafs Captain signing with the Vancouver Canucks or New York Rangers, send me an email (eyebleaf@sportsandthecity.com), and let me know. It would be much appreciated.

I'll be back on the 31st of this month to say goodbye to 2008, and usher in 2009. But hopefully you'll hear from me before then.

Cheers.