The Best Of Times

We've all been guilty of some healthy Rogers-bashing, ever since the Mother Corp. took control of our beloved Toronto Blue Jays. But credit where credit is due, and damned if the organization didn't get it right Wednesday night, as they -- we -- sent Cito Gaston off in style.

I wasn't able to make it down to the Cable Box for the festivities, but that might have worked out for the best. Because the video tribute in Cito's honour left me speechless, and, no lie, teary-eyed. If you were at the ballpark, let me know what the atmosphere was like. It looked electric on the tube. And tell me I wasn't the only grown man all emotional.

Watching the Cito testimonials from the likes of Hank Aaron, Dusty Baker, Gord Ash, Bobby Cox, and the Toronto Blue Jays heroes of years gone by -- Tony "Thanks Clarence" Fernandez, Robbie Alomar, Jesse Barfield, Duane Ward, Pat Hentgen, and Jack Morris, to name a few -- I was struck by how much everyone had aged. They were young men when they patrolled the field, and when they stepped into the batter's box, at the SkyDome. Not anymore. The game goes on, leaving players in its wake. And there stood Cito, having managed, and more importantly mentored and befriended, so many of them. Watching footage of Cito and Paul Molitor hug, both in tears, after Toronto had won the 1993 World Series ... I was at a loss for words.

Much like Cito's tenure as The Manager -- and you really ought to read read Dustin Parkes' "Thank You Cito," and Stoeten's "Why Tonight I'll Cheer For Cito" -- his tribute was a roller coaster of emotions, as well. When Joe Carter had the floor, and finally looked towards Cito and said, "Thank you, brother. I love you," that was it for me. I was reaching for the goddamn Kleenex. Because Carter nailed it. We're all thankful to Cito. We all love Cito, in some way, because he is synonymous with the best of Toronto's baseball times. Synonymous with success. With pennants. With back-to-back World Series championships.

Vernon Wells was next, as he should have been. Next season, Wells will pass Tony Fernandez's mark of 1,450 games as a Blue Jay. For better or worse, Wells will have worn Toronto's jersey longer than anyone. And he nailed it, too, about Cito's mustache. Whoever came up with the idea for all the guys to wear fake mustaches to start the game, I salute you. Bloody brilliant.

What I'll always remember about Cito is, of course, the salad days. I'll also never forget how I felt the day it was announced he was on his way back to the Toronto dugout. It made sense, in a way, that he never managed elsewhere. He was Toronto's manager, and only Toronto's manager. Cito Gaston, from 1982 onwards, the year I came into this crazy world, was a goddamn Blue Jay. And what Cito taught me, and his players, was to always play with pride. Hustle and heart, yo. Right up until the very end.

When I think of Cito, I think of respect. Is there any more humble gesture than the fact he always refers to Jackie Robinson as "Mr. Jackie Robinson"? And when I think of Cito, I think of pride. Cito always carried himself with immense pride, and that's got a lot to do with the incredible racism he endured while he worked his way up to the Major Leagues. Most importantly, Cito leaves baseball, and leaves the Blue Jays, with pride. In retrospect, looking back to last season, when mutiny broke out in the Blue Jays clubhouse, and I and others were calling for Gaston's head, I'm now glad the Jays kept Cito in charge. He deserved a send-off; a party. He deserved to go out on his own terms. He deserved to go out a winner. And over the Yankees, in his final home game, no less.

Look, Travis Snider will be fine. I disagree with Alan Ashby when he says the Jays still don't know what they've got in the young phenom. They've got a guy who's raked at every level, and will do it in the Majors, too. J.P. Arencibia will be fine, too. Maybe. Hopefully. A September sitting on the bench, while not practical, and certainly not ideal, will not ruin his career. Cito did what he had to do, and leaves with his head held high, and with pride. It would have been a lot tougher to watch The Manager leave the dugout with a Baltimore OrioLOLes-esque 63-95 record.

Fitting, no, that John Buck hit his 20th home run on Thank You, Cito night. Fitting that in Cito's final home game did the Blue Jays break their club record for home runs in a season. One last time, thanks to Jose Bautista, and all the home runs, did Cito leave his mark on the Toronto Blue Jays. A hitting coach, until the very end.

And in that very end, during his post-game interview with Sam Cosentino, as he looked back on his career, his more than 20 years as a member of the Blue Jays, as a citizen of the fine city of Toronto, I thought Cito said it best ...

"It was all good. Everything was good."

Indeed. 

Forever The Manager in my eyes, and in my heart. Thanks, Cito.

Getty image, yo. Via daylife.

Run and tell that!1

The Toronto Blue Jays hit so many home runs, so often, that visiting bullpens are cowering in fear at the SkyDome.

Literally.

After four Tuesday night, and 13 in their last five, give Toronto 215 jacks on the season. (Jacks, long balls, taters ... what am I missing?) And of those most recent 13, none, believe it or not, have come as a result of Jose Bautista's -- I love the following description -- violent swing.

Your 2010 Blue Jays are averaging 1.58 dingers -- How could I forget dingers? -- a game. To eclipse the team record of 244, set 10 years ago when Tony Bautista and Carlos Delgado hit 41 apiece, and Brad Fullmer hit 32, and Jose Cruz hit 31, and Raul Mondesi hit 24, and Shannon Stewart hit 21, and Darrin Fletcher hit 20, and Alex Gonzalez hit 15, they need 30 bombs -- how could I forget bombs? -- in 24 games; 1.25 a contest.

Records are falling. Records will fall. Not bad for a rebuilding season. Entertaining, at the very least. And, hey, just imagine Toronto's on-base percentage wasn't a laughable .314, good for 27th in the league, in the company of the Houstons, Baltimores, Pittsburghs and Seattles of the baseball world. (FYI: In the World Series years -- the salad days -- Toronto's OBPs were .333 and .350, respectively.)

I can. If more Blue Jays got on base, fewer would go yard. And then, who knows, maybe that photo, that priceless moment in the Texas Rangers bullpen, doesn't happen. Doesn't get captured. That would have been a shame.

Year of the pitcher? The Toronto Blue Jays would disagree.

Epic image courtesy daylife.

On Baseball and Life ...

After stops in Florida, Colorado, and beautiful Southern California, the Toronto Blue Jays are back home. Thanks to the convenient and wildly popular G20 conference our fine city will soon be hosting, a nine-game homestand is now only six-games long.

While we're no longer being subjected to "OMG NO ONE IS GOING TO THE JAYS GAMES!!!1" stories, attendance remains low. After 31 games at the SkyDome, Toronto is averaging 17,596 fans a game, good for 28th in Major League Baseball. Only the Cleveland Indians and Florida Marlins average fewer.

There are no simple solutions. It's perplexing, considering the Blue Jays are only 5.5 games out of first place in the ultra-competitive American League East. It's easy to say: "Hey, get your ass down to the ballpark." But it's not that simple; life is never that simple. And I was reminded of that very fact while on my baseball road trip of a lifetime, thanks to an email from baseball stranger Jay. He sent me an email about life, baseball, family, and getting down to the ballpark for a game, and I'd like to take the opportunity to share it with you. I found it to be a fantastic read, and I think you will too.

Thanks Jay.

Navin:

I hope you don’t mind, but today is the day that I have decided to use part of your inbox, mostly to encourage you on your journey and to say thanks.

Perhaps it is the passing of Ernie [Harwell], or perhaps the secret pleasure I enjoyed yesterday of leaving the office to attend a business meeting and catching Lind’s ninth-inning homer on the radio while I drove (screaming like a kid), but these things when woven with your daily entries have compelled this baseball nut to sit down and pen a few thoughts.

I am no one to you - just a “baseball stranger” - yet here I write. And you may be at the other end wondering who is this quack and simply hit delete. And I will be ok with that, because for me this is kind of cathartic anyways. However I hope you care to read on so that I can help fill up a small part of your next long bus ride.

I want to let you know that you are doing both yourself and the baseball fans of Southern Ontario and great service. So, thanks for sharing. We all get to enjoy a piece of your trip and I suspect there are legions of bygone baseball fans who wish they could be along for the ride with you. See deep down, I think there is still plenty of baseball fandom in Ontario.

You are absolutely correct in what you say; it has become tiring to read about the low attendance numbers, etc. As we know, the Toronto sports fan (sans Leafs) is a fickle one. We must hope for Alex Anthopoulos’s master plan to come to fruition, for that will be the day that the casual fan returns to the Skydome to see just what all the fuss is about.

But oddly, those of us who count the game as a passion are often consumed by it in different ways which sometimes preclude attending games at the Skydome. (I’ve just realized that I am finding myself feeling apologetic. I have not been down to the concrete coffin at all this year. Not once. Yet.) Let me explain.

See, I have a perspective that is maybe not unique but perhaps indicative of part of the problem. As I near the mid-life crisis age of 40, life gets in the way a bit more. I have two sons, both of whom love the concept of baseball but are not quite ripened yet to the point where they truly love it for what it is. I’m working on that. I help coach my 11-year-old, and my 6-year-old will start to play next year (if he so chooses). I still play the game myself, desperately hanging on to whatever scraps I can of a once quite-capable baseball skill set. And since Dad can still play the game a bit, they come to the ballpark to watch. So as you see, baseball is very much alive and well in our house.

When spring arrives and we sit as a family to fill in the Milk calendar with all of the baseball games, practices, and tournaments dates (not to mention the soccer, flag football, family cottage weekends, and other commitments) we suddenly find ourselves booked solid (especially the weekends!), yet without any dates set aside to go see our beloved Jays.

And how can a family with two young ones travel downtown on a school night from Burlington to goto a Jays game that most assuredly will last 3 hours?

Trust me, we WANT to. But it is just not practical. Does this make me one the fickles? I pray not. Because I love baseball with my whole heart. And I sneak lots of TV time in the evenings after the kids are in bed. I am a true fan. But does it make me a bad person or a fairweather fan because I don’t goto the ballpark? How much of a hypocrite does it make me to state that I am passionate but won’t consider travelling the QEW on a weeknight?

Yet, I can tell you about similar life experiences of many of my baseball-playing suburb-living brethren. And thus my point: there are many of us who love the game so much, and our time devoted to it in so many different ways, that the priority of dropping everything for a day to go downtown becomes a monumental task. There are lots of us out here just like me. I play with or against them twice a week. They all know the game inside out just like me. They understand the fact that Cito should be pinch running for his backup catcher when behind by one in the late innings. They get it that lefties don’t hit lefties well - and not just because the stats say so, but because many of us have tried to do it and it is hard to do! And they too coach their sons’ teams and still play themselves a bit and try to keep the wife happy around the house and make their mortgage payments on time. And yet very few of the brothers tell of making trips downtown much anymore. Who has the time or the money?

I carry a certain burden of guilt for not making the trip more often, because they need our support. And my kids need to be there more often so that it becomes part of their fabric also. I want them to learn to love it just like me. I harken back to my formative years which were spent cutting class to get to opening day at the Ex, and waiting out long rain delays huddled under a blanket just so I could see my heroes play. Even one of my first dates (then with my now wife of almost 15 years) was mostly to go and see George Brett play live. Sometimes as kids our parents would take us on Saturdays and sit in the left field bleachers on Dominion Days. Staring at George Bell’s “purple butt.” Was there the day Junior Felix hit a home run on the first pitch of his career. Was there in ’87 (for every game) when we folded against the Tigers. Big Jim Clancy. Talking to pitchers in those crappy bullpens while they warmed up. All of it. It is my duty to ensure that my kids have these same memories in their vaults.

Is my perspective a “normal” one? I don’t know, but I think that the common theme might be time. Or lack of it in the lives of many people. Unfortunately, the bitter irony of that is that baseball has no clock. No two-minute warning. Not 140 characters at a time. Not guided by the next reminder popup on the BlackBerry.

The game is referred to as “America’s Pastime”. Yet nowadays, there is no need for common folk to “pass time;” time passes much too quickly as it is. And it seems that going to the baseball game just doesn’t align with the overloaded schedules of suburbia.

Anyways Navin, I find myself rambling on and should sign off now. But I feel better that I cleared my head a bit of the whole attendance question, because I think deep down I feel like I “own” a piece of the problem. No clear answers perhaps, but at least maybe some clarity and a renewed sense of need to push the day at the ballpark higher up on the honey-do list at the house. Hopefully your pilgrimage will continue to inspire and awaken baseball fans from their long naps and they too will recollect the memories that made them fall in love with the game.

Yours in Baseball,

Jay

Stealing Home: Braving Atlanta

The bus ride from Cincinnati to Atlanta was definitely the most harrowing on #TBRTOAL. Perhaps it was the fact that I visited Turner Field on practically no sleep, but the stadium left me feeling underwhelmed. There's nothing wrong with it, but it certainly didn't wow me.

Read all about the tomahawk obsessed folks down in Atlanta, my bus ride, chicken and waffles, and why you always want to arrive at downtown ATL's Greyhound station before dark, at GlobeSports.com.

Oh, I almost forgot: cheers, Atlanta; to 1992!

Robbing Alomar

Yesterday, Wednesday, January 6, 2010, was all about the Baseball Writers Association of America. Their annual 15 minutes of fame. Their time to shine. And shine they did.

The BBWAA must get off on the attention. They should. They must. It's why the script never changes. We, the fans, and we, the bloggers, know what's coming. Ever year, it's the same story: outrage at the Hall of Fame results, followed by anger and exasperation. It's like clockwork. And Twitter has certainly made it easier to vent.

Roberto Alomar is a first-ballot Baseball Hall of Fame player. You know it. I know it. All of the members of the BBWAA know it. He received more votes - 397 - than any other first-year candidate not to be elected. But thanks to the democratic process, a few men denied Alomar his right. And what the fuck can you do? Democracy's all we've got.

I was disappointed. Angry. Forever the optimist, I figured Alomar was a lock. I was excited to see Robbie become Toronto's first contribution to Cooperstown. Finally, I'd have to make a visit. I openly brooded over the snub. But I've realized there's no point. Alomar will get in. Next year. It's a fact. He won't have to agonizingly wait the way Andre Dawson did, and the way Bert Blyleven continues to. It isn't much, but it's something.

In a sick way, it's been fun. Reading articles such as "Roberto Alomar's omission a travesty" by Boston Herald writer, and BBWAA member, Steve Buckley took me back to a time when Alomar was the best second baseman in all of baseball; when Alomar and the Blue Jays ruled the baseball world. Alomar did it with his bat and, Lord knows, he did it with his glove. In October, Alomar dominated. A .313 postseason batting average. A .347 World Series average. And people noticed.

Buckley said it best: "We botched it. There's no other way to say it. We botched it."

Indeed. A few men wanted to punish Alomar, and they did. That's life. That's democracy. It's why a guy like George W. Bush ruled the free world for eight awesome years.

Next year, the BBWAA will atone for their petty mistake. And at Roberto Alomar's induction ceremony, we will party like it's 2010.

Deep Thoughts: Monday. Again.

Another fucking Monday, to be exact. And it's back to the grind. Blimey.

1. Congratulations to Chris Bosh, the newly minted all-time leading scorer of our Toronto Raptors. While I've only recently accepted my true feelings for Vince Carter - the greatest Raptor ever - I refuse to label Bosh number two, or second best. Carter's 1A. Bosh, 1B. And if Bosh sticks around and leads the Raptors to playoff glory, he could eventually be 1A.

2. At 17-18, the Raptors are a game below .500. The glorified break-even mark has become the benchmark in this city. These days, anything above .500 is a bonus. For the Raptors, however, .500 may be good enough for the Eastern Conference's 5th seed. Playoffs!!1 In Toronto, we dream big.

3. With Canada leading Switzerland 1-0 after 20 minutes of their World Junior semifinal, I couldn't help shake the feeling that part of me was rooting for the underdog Swiss. Would you really have been upset if Canada lost? We are the number one hockey development nation in the world, regardless of whether we win this year's tournament. And imagine what a story it would have been, and what a boost for their hockey program, if the Swiss had somehow been able to pull it off. Here's hoping they go home with the bronze.

4. That being said, there won't be an inch of me rooting for the U.S. in Tuesday's gold medal game. Their hockey program can go to hell. And Jerry D'Amigo? Yes, please.

5. The Buffalo Bills are undefeated in 2010. Undefeated this decade. Playoffs!!1

6. These days, when a Toronto Maple Leafs forward gets hurt, it's frankly a bit exciting. With Mickey Grabs and Wayne Primeau out, who gets the call from the farm: Tyler Bozak? Christian Hanson? Ryan Hamilton? Andre Deveaux, the Marlies' leading scorer? It appears only one forward will be summoned, as John Mitchell is ready to return. And beacon of positivity, sunshine, rainbows, and lolipops - Damien Cox - tweeted that it won't be Bozak.

7. This is awful, but why can't Rickard Wallin get injured? Why can't Vesa Toskala have heart problems?

8. The Toronto Blue Jays will emerge victorious in the Aroldis Chapman sweepstakes. I've got a hunch, rooted in nothing but rampant homerism.

9. Nice to see Edwin Encarnacion in the news. Sure, it was because some fireworks went off in his face, but you know what they say: there's no such thing as bad publicity. From Deadspin:

"Encarnacion was setting off fireworks on New Year's with his family in the Dominican Republic, when his brother lit a rocket. It shot laterally instead of straight up, and Encarnacion's infielder instincts took over. He got in front of it, and knocked it down with his head."

You see, he can play the hot corner. He'll make us forget all about that Scott Rolen guy.

10. Speaking of our beloved Blue Jays, check out the recent entry "New Beginnings" over at Mop Up Duty, by renowned J.P. Ricciardi hater Callum Hughson. The crux of Callum's argument is that he prefers "homegrown" teams, ones full of drafted talent, developed and nurtured into winners, instead of teams put together by the mighty checkbook. Now, I love the homegrown stuff, if you know what I mean, but when it comes to my baseball team, I don't give a flying fadoo Bobcat how the Blue Jays are put together, as long as they win. In 1992 and 1993, when the Blue Jays ruled the baseball world, they, to quote one of my heroes George Costanza, " spent, baby!1" Highest payroll in the league. Luring to town free agents such as Jack Morris, Dave Stewart, Dave Winfield, and Paul Molitor. And I had no problems with how Toronto went about their business. None. Because they got the job done. And we'll forever have the pennants to prove it. Why do I hate the New York Yankees? Simple: jealousy. They've got an owner who spends everybody else into the ground. My team doesn't. That's it, that's all. Money doesn't ensure success - the Yankees won two world series in the 10 years we just completed. But in a league devoid of a salary cap, money always gives a number of teams a better shot than the Blue Jays.

11. Another point Callum brought up in the comments was that if I didn't care how the teams are put together, would I throw my support behind the Blue Jays if their roster was full of baseball's notorious douchebags: Jonathan Papelbon, A.J. Pierzynski, Joba Chamberlain, Sidney Ponson, Alex Rodriguez, Brett Myers, etc. The answer is: if they win, of course. As soon as a serial douchebag puts on a Toronto jersey, he becomes my douchebag. I hated Darcy Tucker before he became a Toronto Maple Leaf. Shayne Corson, too. Even Gary Roberts, a little bit. Dave Manson. Roger Clemens. Hell, I cheered for Bryan Marchment when he played in Toronto. I justified Tie Domi's douchebaggery in my head, on many occasions. I could go on. The point is: once "the player" represents a Toronto sports team, their past is forgiven and forgotten. It's irrational, but it works. If Chris Neil were a Maple Leaf, I'd probably cheer for him too. That's what being a fan is all about.

12. Brett Myers punched his wife. Joba's been busted for DUI. Make no mistake about it, I don't condone those actions. My fandom is about what they do on the baseball field, and only the baseball field. Athletes, especially people like Myers, Joba and, I don't know, that Tiger Woods guy, are not role models. They're the last people your kids should be looking up to, and it's your responsibility to make sure they don't.

13. I finished Jim Bouton's Ball Four Saturday evening. A wonderful read, and I highly recommend it. It hit me as the book, and Bouton's 1969 season, was winding down: Bouton essentially kept a blog, and made it into a book. In seven chapters, he has written daily entries chronicling his season with the Seattle Pilots and Houston Astros. Bouton was ahead of his time.

14. Little known fact: Jim Bouton co-invented Big League Chew, the greatest bubble gum ever manufactured. A large portion of my high school years were spent with a ridiculously large wad of Big League Chew in my mouth. Original flavour, of course. Those were good times. To this day, when I step on the diamond in the summertime, I prefer to do it while chewing on some BLC. It makes me feel more like the pro ballplayer I'll never be. Thanks, Jim Bouton.

15. I've celebrated the greatness that is commenter Handsome Tony Viner over at The Tao of Stieb before. No joke, his comments regularly have me laughing out loud. I leave you with his latest, from December 30 of last year. It's a beauty ...

You are ready to accept fifth place behind Baltimore, Darren? Your defeatism is pathetic. In my world you would be involved in a tragic helicopter accident just for speaking as such an absconder.

Look, I have been a little too busy to comment on the posts of this Tao lately, but I feel I must respond to all of this ridiculous negativity.

I have built a team that will win 85+ games in 2010, and stands a great chance of shocking the world with over 90. Sure, Doc is gone, Rolen is a distant memory, and Scutaro walked. But rest assured, I expropriated an agglomeration of assets from the teams that relieved me of their contracts, mainly due to my sexy, underhanded business practices.

Rolen will be a constant injury risk for the Reds, and I defrauded them of their most inimitable pitching prospect and two other, very useful players. Encarnacion will hit 30+ HR and Roenicke will post an ERA under 3.00 and a WHIP around 1.30.

Boston will regret handing me their second round pick, especially when Scutaro's true physical condition shows itself. I have seen the relevant medical reports on his heel, and that little louse Theo Epstien has not. I signed Alex Gonzalez for less than half of what that boor paid for Scutaro, and he will outperform him in every category in 2010-2011.

The Halladay trade was a ruse from the beginning. After it was clear that Roy would not re-sign here, due to his personal braggadocio and obvious need for attention from the US sports media, I set a trap for that addlepate Ruben Amaro Jr. It was sprung according to MY plan and on MY terms. I appropriated a future ace, a silver slugger and a future all-star catcher for basically one year of Halladay. Doc was a great pitcher, but he is too expensive, uncontrollable, and his decline is imminent indeed.

I am extremely smart, and uncompromisingly handsome. The true operational art of disingenuous, duplicitous, fallacious business dealing is lost on most of these baseball people, who have never been involved in a hostile takeover in Hong Kong or run an (illegal) mobile communications network monopoly, as I have.

If you want to deprecate, and expostulate about the immediate future of the team you love, you are barking up the wrong tree. This team will be a major force to be reckon with in 2010, nevermind in 2011 and beyond when we have only ~$40MM committed to payroll, and I commit upwards of $120MM on a yearly basis.

The moral of this little talk is this: You are just going to have to show some blind faith in my handsomeness, and smart, sexy business strategies.

Sincerely,

Handsome Tony Viner

Heroes

Joe Carter rightfully deserves the title of "World Series Hero." But there is no bigger home run in the history of the Toronto Blue Jays than Roberto Alomar's two-run shot off of Dennis Eckersley on Sunday, October 11, 1992, in the 9th inning of game four of the ALCS.

It was at that moment when the Blue Jays shed the label of chokers and, finally, became the best team in baseball.

Robbie took home the ALCS MVP trophy, and rightfully so. His numbers from the six-game series were outstanding:

26 at-bats, 4 runs, 11 hits, 1 double, 2 home runs, 4 RsBI, 5 stolen bases, 2 walks, 1 strikeout, a .423 batting average, .464 on-base percentage, .692 slugging percentage, and a 1.157 OPS.

Speaking of heroes, the one, the only, Paul Molitor. Check out his numbers from the six-game 1993 World Series:

24 at-bats, an astounding 10 runs scored, 12 hits, 2 doubles, 2 triples, 2 home runs, 10 RsBI, 1 stolen base, 3 walks, 0 strikeouts, a .500 batting average, .571 on-base percentage, 1.000 slugging percentage, and a mind-blowing 1.571 OPS.

MVP, indeed.

There were others. In his career in the ALCS, spanning three years (1991, 1992, and 1993), Juan Guzman started five games for the Toronto Blue Jays. He won them all, with an ERA of 2.27; 31.2 innings pitched, only 8 earned runs allowed. He walked a ton of guys, 18, but struck out 22.

Who can forget Jimmy Key's performance in 1992? Pitching from the bullpen during the ALCS, he made his final start as a Blue Jay in game four of the World Series, going 7.2 innings, allowing only one run on five hits, while striking out six. Key threw 91 pitches that night, 57 for strikes. Roy Halladay would have been proud.

It wasn't the last we'd see of Key. He came out of pen in game six to throw an inning and a third of one-hit relief; the winning pitcher of the game in which Toronto was crowned World Series champions for the first time ever in life.

There are so many more performances I could single out. Too many.

Tremendous memories. I'll relive them all tonight, in what will be one massive love fest at the SkyDome. I anticipate never hearing the building louder than it will be tonight. Until the Toronto Blue Jays win another World Series ...