Not gonna lie – last night – the night the Dodgers won the World Series, stealing it out from under us when we were on the brink of taking the Title with just two outs left in the 9th – was painful. Painful in the extreme.

I was there and we were devastated. The shock of going from screaming and singing our hearts out, having led the whole way into the 9th, to that sudden drop dead – it’s over, they’ve won moment. It was crushing. Hard to process and we put on our coats and hats in almost slow motion. But there was real raw emotion in the ballpark and those of us who had high-fived each other all night were hugging even in our misery, already saying “we’ll get them next year.”

We had one friend across the section aisle, who showed up for the World Series every home game in the same seats wearing his 1992 championship coat – and we got to hang with him through three of the games in that section – he ended the night by telling my son “your Mom is a good woman”. And I left feeling the warmth of the embrace of a stranger telling me to keep my chin up. When else do you get that anywhere and especially in TO, not ordinarily known for public displays of emotion? Worth the price of admission right there, damn near anyway.

The reality started to set in shortly after and made for an interesting few hours.

‘The long, long walk home was eerily almost silent as 45 thousand of us from the Dome and at least as many from neighbouring Scotiabank Arena’s watch party strolled around downtown, aimlessly or headed home, heads down, long faces – solemn and sullen – not even really talking to each other. A hundred thousand walking wounded. And then the damned fireworks. It was unbelievably annoying, adding insult to injury for some reason as fireworks went off, inexplicably, many times during out journey home. We saw teens and twenty-somethings passed out on the street, we gave them our waters from the stadium, they were barely conscious and still muttered “Sorry about the Jays, guys.”

We were orderly in our retreat but didn’t find our voice for a few hours. By the time we hit the burger joint by our house though, with Jays fans fresh out of the game congregating there, conversations started and we bonded over our anger, disappointment and what we could or should or would have done differently. And by then we could already laugh at ourselves and the universe. At least a bit. We reminisced about 1992/93, those of us who’d been there for that. This happened just outside the Wheat Sheaf where I watched the 92 winning game. I was back on the same intersection, but this time with my son, on our way home from having been at the game in person.

My family was extremely lucky to be able to go to all the home games of this post-season. Only one set of two tickets were ultimately not used, the 3rd home game – 5th game of the ALDS, which did not have to be played as we defeated the Yankees in just 4 games. I’ll put that money to next year for one or two extra games. We were able to be there for the games otherwise played, which was every single home game of this stunning post-season. Two of us at a time, but I went to games with my spouse, daughter and son and they went in various other combinations too. It was the privilege of a lifetime.

Much has been said about this team and I’m not gonna put it any better than this – the 2025 Blue Jays deserve their own documentary, titled courtesy of Ernie Clement: “Uncommon Men: The Story of the 2025 Toronto Blue Jays”. The whole country would watch and watch again. We’d live through this season again if we could and with any luck, at least something similar will happen next season.

Pitchers and catchers report in 100 days. I have our quarter season tickets ready. And we’ll be ready for the post-season 2026 at the drop of a hat.

One day Springer will get his horse and I want to be there to see it!