No Regrets

"... I have no regrets about being here. I'll never look back and wonder."

- Roy Halladay

I believe I speak for us all when I say: we have no regrets either, Doc. Regardless of the high quality of prospect porn we receive in return. None. It's been a pleasure.

When I embarked on Mission: Doc, to watch every home Halladay start, this past summer, I had no idea this season would be Halladay's last in Toronto. The mission was simply something to do. The best pitcher in baseball, tossing in my hometown, and I can be in attendance for $10? Even I, a not-so-handsomely paid journalist, was all over that shit.

Life - a friend's wedding, the passing of my dear Grandmother, an extra shift or two at work - intervened along the way. As it always does. In the end, I took in 13 of 18 Halladay starts. I spent a lot of time at the SkyDome. I spent a lot of my hard-earned money on overpriced beer. And it was worth every penny. You will never hear me say, or read that I've written: "I wish I would have seen Roy Halladay pitch more often." No regrets. Truly The Greatest Blue Jay Of All-Time.

The tributes - The Tao of Stieb, Hum and Chuck, The Blue Jay Hunter, Go Jays Go - are beginning to roll in and, in what will I think be a trend amongst Toronto writers, it isn't about the statistics. It never was. It's about what Doc stood for. For the franchise. For the city of Toronto. As Dirk Hayhurst so eloquently put it, baseball is about more than "just a bunch of numbers," and there's nobody who personifies that statement more than Roy Halladay.

Thanks for the memories, Doc. A quietly-crazy baseball town mourns your departure, and wishes you nothing but good fortunes; wishes you nothing but the ring you so covet. It's nothing personal, just business. It had to be done. I get it. Life is all about timing, and ours simply didn't match up. Get yours.

Selfish

For the most selfish of reasons, I'm happy Roy Halladay didn't no-hit the New York Yankees last night. Actually, perhaps happy isn't the right word. Let's go with relieved. If it happened - if Ramiro Pena didn't hit that double to right field in the sixth inning - while I chose not to be there, I'm not sure what I would have done with myself. (Other than be deeper down a bottle than I've ever been before.) I think I might have died.

Mission Doc - to be in attendance for every Roy Halladay start at the SkyDome this season - hit the wall last night. I don't know if it was because the Toronto Blue Jays have crushed my soul with their recent play, or because Doc has looked remarkably average while not throwing his best pitch while on the mound. Probably a combination of both. Instead of being in attendance, I was live blogging the game for The Score and, by the fifth inning, I knew I'd made the wrong decision. Doc was rightfully punishing my apathy.

Don't get me wrong, I'd have loved to see Doc throw a perfect game, or a no-hitter. Lord knows he's talented enough to do it. Before each and every start he makes, the thought crosses my mind: this could be it. And through five innings Friday night, I thought Doc's destiny had arrived.

Have you ever seen Doc pitch better? It might have been his finest hour. Against the high octane New York Yankees, the best team in baseball, no less. First-pitch strikes; ground ball after ground ball; mind-blowing movement on his pitches; a bases loaded strikeout, looking, of Alex Rodriguez. I know I've said it before, but what a treat Harry Leroy III is to watch.

A complete game, one-hit shutout. Nine strikeouts. Only 111 pitches; 73 of them strikes. Thanks, Doc. I'll never question you again.

Luckily for me, yesterday's game didn't hit the four hour mark. Otherwise I'd have been worried about my erection.

Kevin "You're Such A Disease" Millar

Drunk Jays Fans' Stoeten was kind of pissed off that Cito Gaston had everyone's favourite Blue Jay Kevin Millar batting cleanup last night. I think we can all agree that it makes zero sense for Millar to be in that position, while Randy Ruiz sits on the bench. While I'm certainly not aboard the "Fire Cito" train my man Drew-LtB is riding, I understand the frustration.

Anyway, there's no point in extolling just how God-awful Millar truly is. I'm sure he's a fine human being, and a dear in the clubhouse, but he's useless on the baseball field. Make him a bench coach, if he's that fucking great to have around. But get him off the field.

Now that Mark Rzepczynski's been shut down, I selfishly propose that Millar take his spot in the rotation. If he does, all will be forgiven. I could use some motivation to watch this team. And I sure as hell could use the entertainment.

End of the Road

Roy Halladay was brilliant, again, on Friday night. The more I picture him wearing Philadelphia red, or Dodger blue, the more angry I become as to why the Blue Jays are in their current predicament. I blame Rogers; not J.P. Ricciardi. I'm in too deep, defending J.P., for that to change. (Sorry, Joanna. Even though I'm not.)

Much like my favourite GM in the whole wide world, I'm done talking about the trading of the Doctor. If it happens, it happens. August 1, and the end of all this drama, cannot come soon enough.

If we have reached the end of the road, this one's for you, Doc ...

If you don't like Boyz II Men, stop lying to your damn self.

What's that? Yesterday's ballgame? Why the fuck would you want to talk about that? Look, it's simple. It was raining. It's now pouring. There's no other way to explain the blowage of a 9-1 lead, at home. (We're in the midst of a torrential downpour; even Toronto FC lost in dramatic, heartbreaking fashion.)

At times like these, always remember that it could be worse. We could be Baltimore Orioles fans.

I found it rather fitting that it was the Tampa Bay fucking DEVIL Rays who handed the Jays what had to be their toughest loss of 2009, all things considered. Those same DEVIL Rays everyone likes to bring up when shitting all over Ricciardi. Once again: the Rays are no model for success in the AL East; they've just been a helluva lot luckier than Toronto.

As for Scott Downs, he doesn't talk much to the media. So it was great to see him face the bright lights after yesterday's clusterfuck of a game and call his performance, and his team's, exactly what it was: "embarrassing." I don't know about you, but I've still got utmost faith in SnakeFace.

Sure, it was a brutal loss, but I'm more interested in seeing how the Blue Jays respond. Are they going to roll over and die, and allow Tampa the sweep? Or are they going to play with some fucking pride?

In the comments section of my last post, after Saturday's debacle, Bruno Von Rottweiler said: "...a lot of these players are soft, they are losers."

I don't believe that. Go Jays.

You Complete Me

It was, as always, a pleasure to watch Roy Halladay, this time from my perch in section 521, at the SkyDome yesterday afternoon. No, I don't believe it was the last time I'll see Doc in a Blue Jays uniform. And, yes, let's conveniently ignore the fact that, like my hero George Costanza, every instinct I have is usually wrong.

If it was, in fact, goodbye, Doc went out in typical Halladay fashion: a complete game six-hitter against the Boston Red Sox, in which he retired 20 of the final 21 batters he faced; seven strikeouts, nary a walk, and 78 of 105 (74%!!1) pitches thrown for a strike. Vintage fucking Harry Leroy Halladay III.

For a moment, early on in the game, I doubted Halladay. Ridiculous, I know. (I'm an idiot.) After giving up five hits and a run over the first three frames, I wondered if Doc's post-D/L stint struggles would continue. The answer, after innings four through nine, was an unequivocal "no." Halladay was sublime; save for a David Ortiz single to centre field, he was unhittable the rest of the way. It was quite the performance, one I've honestly grown accustomed to witnessing. Doc has spoiled us; he's definitely spoiled me.

There were some ominous signs: Brandy Halladay's comments, and Doc's tip of his hat to the crowd. It may really have been goodbye. A goodbye I'm not ready for. One thing's for certain: we, as baseball fans, have been tremendously lucky to have been able to watch Doc do what he does in Toronto for the past 10 years. Thanks Roy. It's been a pleasure.

If you haven't read my post on the forever popular J.P. Ricciardi - A Tale of Three GMs; Part II: J.P. Ricciardi - please do so. I'd love to know your thoughts. If Rogers was willing to spend money enough to compete in the AL East, none of this shit would be going down, plain and simple. If the plan is to continue to tighten the purse strings, Ricciardi's got no choice but to make a deal.

Interesting times, to say the very least.

See you on Friday, Doc. Maybe. Hopefully.

UPDATE: The Tao of Stieb has us covered on this most depressing Monday. And he's right:

"Oh, Roy. We're not sure what we're going to do without you. But no one - not Philly fans, or Dodger fans, or whoever - is ever going to love you like Blue Jays fans do."

True that. I need a drink.

Also, I'll be live blogging Thursday afternoon's matinee between the Indians and Blue Jays for The Score. Stay tuned for some links.

Still a Toronto Blue Jay ...

Reason number 3,543 why you should despise Bob Costas, and everything he stands for in life:

"The starting pitcher, obviously, for the American League, representing, at least for the moment, the Toronto Blue Jays ... Roy Halladay."

Oh, well done, Robert. Bravo.

Fuck Costas. This is about Doc, and Joe Maddon rightfully selecting him to start tonight's All-Star game in the house that Albert Pujols built.

Look, I'm hella proud of Aaron Hill; a couple of years ago I predicted he'd be an all-star second baseman. But no one represents Toronto like Doc.

For those of you who might be new to the blog, I made it my mission this summer to be in attendance for every Halladay start at the Rogers Centre SkyDome. I wanted to make sure I never took Doc for granted. It's ironic, because the thought of him being traded never even crossed my mind.

So far, I'm seven-for-nine. I missed Doc's start on May 17th, while a good friend tied the knot, and his effort on June 29th, while my Grandmother lay waiting for what comes after this crazy, earthly experience.

I know Doc will only be out there for two or three innings, but if there's one road start I could attend this season, it would be tonight's.

I trust that the esteemed Bob Costas won't be doing on-field introductions so, whether you're watching at home, or at a bar, take a minute to appreciate the hat Doc will surely tip to the crowd. It's the same hat he'll be wearing in the Baseball Hall of Fame one day.

"Roy Halladay, TORONTO BLUE JAYS."

For now and, hopefully, forevermore.

I don't want to talk about it ...

And neither does The Ack. But, really, we're left with no choice.

It's not news that J.P. Ricciardi will listen to offers for Roy Halladay; that's his job, fools.

What is news, and worthy of a drink or seven, is the fact that Ricciardi has "spoken with [Doc] and prepared him for the possibility that he will bring trade possibilities to the pitcher in the weeks or months ahead."

Now that, that is fucked up.

I love Doc. With all my Blue Jays fandom being. In all my years, I've never seen anyone do it better. But if he won't sign a contract extension, and I completely understand him potentially not wanting to, Ricciardi's got to trade him. Period.

I found it ironic that on the night Halladay speculation hit the fan, Marc Rzepczynski, fresh from the minors (he's never had an ERA higher than 2.93, at any level), went out and threw a gem against a very tough, all-star riddled lineup. Can we keep him?

Look, all I know is that I can't deal with another superstar - especially Doc, THE superstar - leaving town and the Blue Jays receiving nothing in return, a la Carlos Delgado. I just can't. He's in the middle of the Sports And The City banner, for fuck's sake.

The chances of a trade are slim. But the lure of 2010 may not be enough to get Doc's signature on the dotted line. Basically, we're fucked. The team, the fans, the banner; everyone.

If Doc leaves, I trust in Ricciardi that the package coming north will be formidable. If Doc leaves, he'll also take a part of me with him. His new team will become my new team; team 1A, if you will. (First Mats, now Doc. This is some bullshit.)

There's nothing I want more than for Halladay to win the World Series. Because I know there's nothing Halladay wants more. In a perfect world, it happens in Toronto. But if I've learned anything over the years, it's that dreams of this nature don't come true.

It's not about the money for Doc. Never has been. He's the anti-A.J. Burnett. It's about giving himself the best odds to win, as the window closes, ever so slowly, year after year. And I can't be mad at him for that.

I will always root for Harry Leroy Halladay III. Whether in a Blue Jays uniform, or another.

In grief-stricken times such as these, I'm looking for positives. Any positives. Here's one, I think, from Blair Facts, which should be high atop your Monday morning reading list:

"After watching Roy Halladay's face following Johnny Damon's cheap homerun at the new Yankee Stadium on Saturday, I guess it's safe to scratch the Bronx as a possible future destination for Doc."
- Jeff Blair, GlobeSports

Thank God. Anywhere but New York, or Boston. Please.

Looks like I picked the right year to embark on Mission: Doc, a quest to watch every Halladay start at the Rog Mahal. It might be his last.

(I promised myself I wouldn't cry.)

UPDATE: If Rogers gives the green light, and that's a HUGE if, put a four-year $80 million extension in front of Doc. If he signs, and Rogers allows the payroll to balloon (I'm thinking $120 million) so the Jays can surround Doc with the necessary parts, end of story.

If Rogers doesn't give Ricciardi the green light to show Doc the money, or surround him with adequate talent, well, then he must be traded.

It's really up to Rogers, not Ricciardi.

Way too many ifs.

UPDATE #2: "Ricciardi acted on Doc's orders." The fuck? If that's the case, just keep it in mind, Ricciardi haters.

Oh, Doc.

UPDATE #3: From Joel Sherman, of the New York Post: "This is not a decision initiated by Halladay. In other words, Halladay did not come to Toronto and say, 'get me out of here, my baseball biological clock is ticking and I want to go some place I can win and get paid.'"

Not that I believed Doc was behind this, but it's still a relief.

However, as The Ack pointed out, the money quote, from J.P.:

"We have kept him from free agency twice and I don't think we ahve the resources to keep him from free agency a third time, so I have to investigate what is out there. But my gut feeling is no trade gets done because we value him as one of the five best players in the game, and I don't think people will meet the price tag for that kind of talent."

For now, that's the final word.

Doc. Again.

Roy Halladay did it again. This time a complete game shutout of the Kansas City Royals on only 97 pitches, 73 for strikes. Win number six at home; MLB-leading win number 10 on the year. The man is a marvel.

Mission: Doc, to watch every start Roy Halladay makes this season, has so far been a rousing success. I took in yesterday's matinee for $11. Doc's the best, and by far the cheapest, ticket in town. And while I'm beginning to struggle in my attempts to wrap my head around just how well Halladay is pitching in 2009, I know that watching him certainly never gets old. Everytime Doc is on the mound at the Rogers Centre I sit back for just over two hours, pound a bag of sunflower seeds, and watch in amazement as he humbles the opposition. It's a beautiful thing.

Doc's on pace for 27 victories. I know, "on pace" doesn't mean shit, but think about that for a second; 27 wins. Halladay is in the midst of one of the finest pitching seasons Toronto has ever seen.

I'll see Harry Leroy on Friday, when the Florida Marlins come to town. You should, too.

Before that, however, the Blue Jays have a date with the Rangers down in Texas, Vernon Wells' home state. Since The Cito has chosen to leave Wells in the cleanup spot, I've no choice but to believe in Vernon. I'm thinking he needs my meaningless support.

So: I believe in Vernon Wells. I believe he's going to have a big series at home in Arlington, and help the Jays take three of four deep in the heart of Texas.

You Are Appreciated

Mission: Doc, to watch every start Harry Leroy Halladay III makes at the Rogers Centre this season, continued last night. I'm three for three, my friends.

After giving up an un-Halladay like six hits and two earned runs over his first four innings, Harry settled down. Like I knew he would.

With the 8-4 win, the Toronto Blue Jays are back in first place, where they belong, and Halladay improved his record to 5-1. With an offence that continues to pound the baseball (I know, not so difficult against the mighty Baltimore Orioles pitching staff), Doc's piling up the wins. So far this young season, the bats are making up for all the times Halladay pitched well in years prior, and didn't get any run support. It's a beautiful thing.

You know, I hate talking and writing about Halladay's future. Will he be traded? Will he leave in search of a ring, or even just a playoff appearance? Who knows. I don't have the answers, that's for sure. But I'm taking nothing for granted. No matter what happens, Mission: Doc means I'll have no regrets; it means I'll never wish I had made more of an effort to head down to the Rogers Centre and watch Doc do his thing.

Roy Halladay, you are appreciated.

The Cito Effect

In the 8th inning, with Scott Downs warm in the bullpen, and men on first and third with two down in a 6-4 ball game, out stepped Cito Gaston from the Blue Jays dugout. 

We, Jays fans, rose to our feet as well. It was the end of the line for Roy Halladay and, as always, he was deserving of a farewell worthy of his effort.

Only Doc didn't get the hook.

The Gastonian one reached the mound and instead of taking the ball from Halladay, who'd thrown more than 110 pitches, told him he'd see Doc in the dugout after he retired Ty Wigginton.

Doc, never one to let his manager down, did just that.

Amazing. Ladies and gentlemen, The Cito Effect.

Fret not, The Blue Jay Hunter and I are working on the t-shirts.

Foul Ball Fail

Sitting about 20 odd rows up on the first base side in shallow right field, an Oriole hit one right at me. I was ready. I'd been waiting for this moment my entire life. Only the ball smashed off the ring finger of my right hand, leaving it swollen, bruised, and my nail half black.

Fail. Shame. Bewilderment.

All those years of playing cricket, for what? The ball landed a row in front of me, and into the hands of another. I still can't believe I didn't come up with it.

And, for the record, had I made the catch, I would have given the ball to the young boy behind me.

Blue Jays Fever

On the way home from the game, an old man on the subway tapped me on the shoulder, wanting to know if the Jays were victorious. I was in my powder blue jersey, and more than happy to oblige.

Indeed they did, Grandpa.

He smiled, and then asked if Halladay went the distance. A wise old man, clearly.

I told him Doc went eight, and that Scott Downs finished off Baltimore.

He smiled, again, and thanked me.

I told him it was my pleasure, and that the Jays were winning the pennant.

A night at the ball park ...

Not even the good Doctor himself can win them all. Allowing an uncharacteristic two home runs sealed Roy Halladay's fate last night, but it's all good; it was still a pleasure to be in the building to watch him do what he does.

The Blue Jays did have their chances to win. In the 8th inning, with the bases juiced and only one out, Rod Barajas lined out to third on an absolute screamer. Travis Snider then sent the first pitch he saw into center field. (Patience, young Jedi warrior. Patience.) 

In the bottom of the 9th, Alex Rios, the tying run, stood only 90 feet away. Alas, Vernon Wells couldn't bring him home. Cue the jokes about Vernon's: (a) contract; (b) weight; and (c) laissez-faire attitude.

For Wednesday, April 22, based on the Homeland Security Advisory System, Toronto's Vernon Wells hatred level is High, or Orange; there's a high risk of juvenile and unsubstantiated attacks on the centre fielder. Don't say I didn't warn you ...

Mission: Doc   It's my goal to be in attendance every time Halladay takes the mound at the Rogers Centre this year. So far, I'm two-for-two. Thanks to my boy 40 I was in a seat I totally can't afford last night, able to watch Doc do his thing up close and personal. It was a beautiful thing, let me tell you, even in a losing cause. Swoon ...

"Viva La Vida"   I couldn't help but shake my head every time Scott Rolen walked up to home plate. For the love of God, man, pick another song ...

Thanks, Mr. Blair   Back in March, before the season started, I sent a Twitter message (I refuse to call it a "tweet") to our good friend Jeff Blair, asking him to tell Lyle Overbay that it's 2006 and not, in fact, 2009. Clearly, Mr. Blair obliged. After going two-for-two with two walks yesterday, Overbay's batting .333. His nine walks are second to only uber-leadoff hitter Marco Scutaro (13), and he's rocking a team-leading .467 OBP, and a team-leading 1.078 OPS. Welcome back, Lyle. I missed you ...

Fuck. The. Wave.   I used to be apathetic towards it. Now I'm with the Drunks; I can't bloody stand it ...

A Short Story   The following has nothing to do with last night's game, but much to do with the pennant the Jays will be winning a few months from now. My friend "Dave Schultz," who blogs over at I Mean, We Got Guys, is a teacher out west, in Oregon. She sent me an email yesterday saying a kid walked into her classroom wearing a Ken Griffey Jr. Seattle Mariners jersey. Schultzie isn't a baseball fan, but she's an incredibly smart woman, and she reads this here blog (they go hand-in-hand). So she told the misguided youth, "Ppfftt, the Jays are gonna win the pennant." Amazing, eh? She's doing her part. Anyway, apparently a factual statement like that is comedy out in Oregon. The kids laughed, she said. A lot. Yeah, I know; kids are stupid. Especially American kids. But the moral of the story, you see, is that word is spreading. Pennant. Say it. Shout it. Tell your friends. More importantly, believe it ...