New Jack City

I stumbled upon the beauty above last week on Twitter, and procrastinated the fuck out of posting it.

I wonder who's got the bunk on top - Chris Bosh or Jarrett Jack?

And is there room at the top of the photo, there, for "RASHO"? Welcome back, big fella.

There certainly exists a stark contrast between what's going on at the Air Canada Centre these days, and down the street at the Rogers Centre.

Buy the Toronto Blue Jays already, MLSE. Monopolize that shit.

A Brutal Night

I don't want to talk about it. And I may or may not have been weeping at my seat at the Rogers Centre when Doc left the game.

To make matters worse, the Pittsburgh Penguins are Stanley Cup champions. While I'm overjoyed for the incredible bitches at Puck Huffers, fuck the Penguins.

Poor Roy Halladay. Poor Marian Hossa.

Brutality is there.

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.

Done waiting for Vernon Wells ...

Vernon Wells' .257 batting average is now the lowest among regulars on the Toronto Blue Jays. Ditto his .310 on-base percentage. His .394 slugging percentage is better than only Jose Bautista's, and not by much (.389). Our cleanup hitter hasn't homered since May 6th. May fucking 6th.

I don't even want to talk about his OPS, but I have to. .704? The Vernon Wells Hatred Advisory System is about to break. 

Wells' OPS at the Rogers Centre (Happy Birthday!) is a pathetic .563. He's hitting .172 in the friendly confines of home, with two jacks and nine RsBI. I kid you not: a single, solitary tear fell from my eye while looking at Wells' splits.

Adam Lind, by comparison, is the proud owner of a .967 OPS at the Dome. He's batting .333, with six home runs and 24 RsBI. Lind has, for all intents and purposes, outperformed Wells this season in only 25 home games.

Enough is enough. Cito Gaston has to move Wells out of the four-spot. One can only sit and watch Wells' futile attempt at being a legit cleanup hitter for so long. Of Toronto's 25 remaining games in June, 15 are at home. The Cito knows it has to be done. It's no longer a matter of if, but when.

I've got a lot of time for Vernon Wells. He can play on my team, and patrol center field, any day of the week. But he can't bat fourth. Not anymore.

UPDATE: I forgot to mention it, but it's official: the Jays are Jared Weaver's bitch. 

UPDATE #2: Adam Lind is batting cleanup this afternoon. Wells has a "day off." A real day off. Not one of his regular days off, when he's in the lineup, and does shit all. 

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.

What the blood...?

Italy. Italy! Team Canada, ousted from the World Baseball Classic, by Italy. No offence to Italy but, well, they're Italy. No matter how much I've been drinking the past few days, that's rough.

The World Baseball Classic tournament just began for Canada. And, just like that, it's over. Ended in our own backyard, no less. Cue immense sadness.

I'll be honest, I drank a lot during Canada's two games. But I'm pretty sure I didn't see Toronto Blue Jay, and The Blue Jay Hunter man-crush, Scott Richmond throw a pitch. Why not? What was he being saved for? I'm off Ernie Whitt. Huge.

It sucked to see the homeland go out like complete bitches, especially to bloody Italy, but the tournament wasn't a complete loss. After all, on Saturday afternoon, I got to experience firsthand what PLAYOFFS!!!!1 baseball would be like at the Rogers Centre.

My man Lloyd at Ghostrunner on First wrote about it, and the Drunks wrote about it, too. The atmosphere was electric. Everyone was on their feet, hanging on to each and every pitch. It was loud. It was, frankly, the opposite experience than you'd expect at the Dome for a baseball game. Sure, Canada lost 6-5, but it didn't matter. Meaningful baseball - for all intents and purposes, playoff baseball - was played at the Rogers Centre, and I was there. It was magical.

Canada may have been eliminated from the World Baseball Classic last night, but let it never be said that Toronto is not a baseball town. My city proved that it was, and is, on Saturday afternoon.

You know, there's still 162 games to be played, but it sure is a good thing the Toronto Blue Jays will be taking part in playoff baseball this October. The Cable Box will be rocking, much like it was over the weekend. The Jays are winning the pennant, after all.

UPDATE: Make sure you read Stephen Brunt's column, Arrivederci, Canada, in today's Globe and Mail.

Excerpt: "On Saturday it felt as if baseball had returned to Canada for real, for the first time in a long, long time.

"A big crowd filled two-thirds of the Rogers Centre. There was a crackle of emotion in a place not known for it in the past decade and a half. And the plucky underdog Canadian national team ... repaid the fans in full by battling to the last out against the all-star Americans. 

"If you love the game, it made your heart sing. All of those wheel-spinning Blue Jays seasons when it seemed as if the sport would never again be first in the city's heart, and still when you give people a reason to really care, it seems they will."

Clearly, that shit made me cry. Read it. Toronto is a baseball town. Believe it. Brunt is a rudey.

You wish you had one, Philadelphia...

I bet Phillies fans don't think that lid on top of the Rogers Centre looks so ridiculous anymore.

That's exactly why we've got it, because apparently baseball can be played even in November.

A mistake by the lake? Hardly. I believe every stadium should be built with a retractable roof. It would save my man Bud Selig a ton of trouble.

Prediction: I'm taking the Phillies (which means the World Series is probably headed back to Tampa Bay). Here's hoping they wrap it up tonight, and all hell breaks loose in the city of brotherly love as Philadelphians celebrate their first pro sports title in a generation.