Live from the Fall Classic: Game 7 with The Rover

“Yamamoto’s coming in,” someone behind me yells. “How is that even possible?”  

It’s the bottom of the 10th inning of the deciding game of the World Series, and Yoshinobu Yamamoto, who has two wins already in the series, is being given the opportunity to further cement his place in baseball history. The Jays go down quietly, in order, again unable to solve Yamamoto. He retires the 3 batters he sees on just 13 pitches. 

The anxiety in the SkyDome (I’m not calling it by the other name) is palpable; I see the man in the Bichette jersey in front of me rocking anxiously back and forth. The father and daughter beside me are no longer smiling or seemingly having any fun. 

I look over at my sis. She exhales deeply, mouths ‘wow,’ and smiles.  

I say to her, quietly, “Can you imagine if this were the Expos?” 

We go to the 11th inning. 

***

The most fun I’ve ever had as a baseball fan was in the summer of 2003, when I was a season ticket holder for the Montreal Expos. 

I went to 50 games that year and got to see Vladimir Guerrero in the prime of his career. I made friends with the other regulars, cracking jokes, sharing the fancy condiments that we’d bring on dollar hot dog days, and enjoying being a part of the exclusive club that still saw value in going to the cavernous Big O, even on the nicest of summer days. 

The Expos were surprisingly good that year. In late August, they hosted the Philadelphia Phillies in a four-game series. If the Expos won all four, they would be tied for the Wild Card, with just one month left in the season. They won the first game, but in the second game of the series, they trailed early, 8-0. 

There were only 12,509 in attendance that night at the Big O, but we were loud, and we had faith; the banner hanging in the right field bleachers that said ‘BELIEVER FEVER’ confirmed it. When the Expos trailed 10-3, we kept cheering. Miraculously, in the bottom of the 7th inning, the Expos woke up, scoring 8 runs in the inning, and giving them an 11-10 lead. 

During that wild 7th inning, my heart was pounding. I screamed until my voice was hoarse, and I felt like every cheer would propel my Expos not just one step closer to an improbable playoff spot, but with each cheer, I hoped that someone, anyone, would see what the team meant to our city and ride in like a knight in shining armour and save the Expos. 

In the final game of the series, over 20,000 showed up on a Thursday afternoon. Future hall of famer Guerrero hit a home run in the bottom of the 1st, and the party was on. Believer fever, indeed. The Expos swept the Phillies, and I felt a sensation foreign to Montreal baseball fans — hope. La Presse captured my joy, for posterity. 

The feeling was fleeting, but in that moment, supporting the Expos gave me a sense of belonging and made me feel whole.

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***

A couple of decades later, and I’m at Game 7 of the World Series in Toronto, the Blue Jays and the Los Angeles Dodgers, for all the marbles. It even went to extra innings! It’s been 48 hours since it ended, and I still can’t believe I was there.   

The starting pitcher for Toronto was veteran Max Scherzer, a 41-year-old clutch playoff performer trying to close out the series and win his third championship ring. Pitching for LA was Shohei Ohtani, who’s also an all-star hitter and who can only really be compared to Babe Ruth. In the game where the Dodgers clinched their spot in the World Series, Ohtani hit three home runs and had 10 strikeouts. Even the Great Bambino would’ve doffed his cap to that.  

My sister got us the tickets, and we took the train in on Saturday morning from Montreal. I will forever be grateful for the experience we got to share. And don’t bother applying, Amy has locked up another Sister of the Year award, her umpteenth in a row. Did I mention she also got us tickets to Game 1? 

Needless to say, I never got to experience anything like this with my beloved Expos. Blue Monday, the nickname for the fateful deciding game of the 1981 National League Championship Series game when the same Dodgers eliminated Nos Amours in their only ever playoff appearance — on a home run by Rick Monday — happened the day before my first birthday. I was not in attendance. 

I hated the Jays’ 1992 World Series opponent Atlanta Braves for flying our Canadian flag upside down. And in 1993, I really hated the Phillies, who the Expos came so close to catching. It was easy to be happy for Toronto when they won, all those years ago. Plus, Montrealers knew they were next. 

In 1994, the Expos had the best team in baseball, the stands were packed, and the outlook was bright. Had there not been the players’ strike in August, the team would’ve had the best record in Expos history. Had the owners not cancelled the season in mid-September, the Expos would’ve made the playoffs, ensuring the revenue required to keep the team together. Who knows what could’ve been? 

The Expos packed up and moved to Washington, DC, 10 years later. Like many Montrealers, I held on tight to that anger for a long time.  

Then, in 2019, the former Expos, now Washington Nationals, won the World Series. I had spent that season’s playoffs not wanting to contemplate how it would feel if my old team won, afraid it would conjure up the sadness from when they left that had now been buried for so long. 

I watched them win and felt nothing. No anger, no bitterness. I turned off the television, happy for all those long-suffering fans in DC.

“For the next couple of hours, I know that the clock moved, but I could swear that time stood still.”

In the happiest of coincidences, this is the first season that I truly invested myself emotionally in the Toronto Blue Jays, watching nearly every game, all summer long. It wasn’t intentional, but in an effort to lower my existential dread by watching less TV news, I found myself flipping the channel to the Jays game and leaving it there for the night. Don’t fret, I still have terrible anxiety about the world, but I’ve managed to cut US cable news out of my diet, which I think is a pretty big win for me and those in my vicinity. 

As it turns out, those Blue Jays were really good. And fun to watch. They spent most of the summer in first place. And their superstar first baseman, Vladimir Guerrero, Jr., is the Montreal-born son of Expos legend Vladimir Guerrero, Sr. 

That the son of Montreal’s last great baseball star is a Toronto Blue Jay is both proof that I’m not young anymore and, most importantly, that the baseball gods have decided to throw Montrealers a bone. 

I bought Amy and I twin t-shirts, of the toddler Guerrero in his Expos uniform, doffing his cap to the crowd with his mantra ‘BORN READY’ written underneath in Blue Jays font. I wore my Expos cardigan, vintage from the early 80s, and Amy wore her Expos toque with the pom-pom. I wore my Jays hat, but brought my Expos one, thinking I would switch if the Blue Jays needed a little luck. 

We got to the stadium early, watched the Dodgers take batting practice, and did a lap of the concourse, flipping through a rack of both S and XXL World Series hoodies, the only sizes still available. 

As the SkyDome started to get more crowded, it didn’t immediately get any louder. The crowd was tentative. I had watched Game 6 on TV at home in Montreal, and that crowd was boisterous from the hop; they were ready to make history. The Game 7 crowd was much more nervous, myself included. Among the most nervous in our section was a lone Dodgers fan, wearing a white home Dodgers #17 Ohtani jersey. 

Bo Bichette homered to make it 3-0 Toronto in the bottom of the 3rd inning, and the crowd briefly exhaled, but the Dodgers got a run back in the top of the fourth, and the Dodgers fan in front of us looked around to make sure he could cheer without reprisal.

Then, in the bottom of the fourth, Blue Jays shortstop Andres Gimenez was hit by a pitch, and the benches cleared. No brawl ensued, but it put everyone in that stadium, both on and off the field, even more on edge.

For the next couple of hours, I know that the clock moved, but I could swear that time stood still. The teams traded runs in the 6th inning, and in the 8th, Toronto’s rookie phenom Trey Yesavage gave up a solo homer to Max Muncy, making the score 4-3 for the home team. We went to a nervous ninth. 

The Toronto Blue Jays were two outs away from winning the World Series. Miguel Rojas, the least threatening batter on the Dodgers, was at the plate. All I could think was that Ohtani was on deck, and that closer Jeff Hoffman needed to get Rojas out and would face Babe Ohtani for the World Series. With the count full, Hoffman threw a slider that Rojas hit over the left field wall, tying the game. I watched the Dodgers dugout explode, then turned my head in time to see the ball sail over the wall. They were two outs away. 

There was a chance for Toronto to win in the bottom of the ninth, on a play at the plate so close it required a replay. “Oh I don’t want the World Series to be won on instant replay!” I exclaimed a little too loud, and the guy beside me looked at me like I was insane. “I’ll take it however I can get it,” he muttered. 

And that’s when I knew that as much as I wanted the Blue Jays to win, this wasn’t life or death to me like it was to all the people around us, or like it would’ve been with the Expos. If I were in the stands watching the Expos in the bottom of the ninth of Game 7 of the World Series, I think I would’ve started smoking cigarettes again, two at a time, right there in the seats.

In the top of the 11th, Shane Bieber got 9th-inning hero Rojas to ground out, and the same with the mighty Ohtani. With two outs, catcher Will Smith homered to left. 5-4 Dodgers. Heartbreak. 

“Vladdy’s leading off the bottom of the inning,” I said to Amy. She nodded. We didn’t say much in the extra innings; the tension was so thick in there. The SkyDome was eerily quiet. 

“Some 18.5 million Canadians tuned in to Game 7, all sharing this moment.” 

Behind us, a kid not much older than my 7-year-old nephew is talking to his father. “I need to go to the bathroom, Dad,” he pleads. The dad tells him that he, in fact, cannot. 

“They’re closed, I’m sorry.” 

“Closed? What do you mean?” 

“Yes. They open again after the inning.” 

“But Dad, I have to pee!” 

Amy and I glanced at each other and stifled our laughter.  

Guerrero Jr. hit a leadoff double off of Dodgers ace Yoshinobu Yamamoto, who was the Game 2 and 6 starter, and now had a chance to close it out for L.A.. Isiah Kiner-Falefa laid down a perfect sacrifice bunt, and the junior Guerrero moved to 3rd base, 90 feet from tying the ballgame. 

He’d never make it home. 

Addison Barger walked, but Alejandro Kirk hit a broken-bat ground ball to shortstop Mookie Betts, who fielded it cleanly, stepped on second to force Barger out, and fired to first base for the game-ending double play. The game was over. 

“NO! NO! NO! NO!,” cried the kid behind us, as the Dodgers piled out of their dugout and onto the field. The Dodgers jumped into each other’s arms and surrounded Yamamoto on the mound, seemingly swallowing him whole. Around us, fans were sad. Most stood in silence. 

From our seats, we could see it all unfold so perfectly. I paid close attention to Jays catcher Alejandro Kirk jogging slowly off the field, carefully dodging the celebration happening on his infield, in front of his fans. 

The Dodgers fan in front of us didn’t know how to react; he was surrounded by sadness, which doesn’t really lead to celebration. Then, my sister leaned over, put her hand on his shoulder to get his attention, and shook his hand. “Congratulations,” she told him. He smiled, thanked her, and relaxed. Then the people to his left and his right shook his hand too. 

A party was starting on the field, and the Dodgers fans were gathering behind their dugout. I suggested to Amy that we make our way down to the 100 level and invite her new friend.

Yoshi was his name. He’s originally from Tokyo, but lives in Houston. He booked a flight and bought his Game 7 ticket on StubHub after watching the Dodgers’ Halloween win the night before. This was Yoshi’s first-ever trip to Canada. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked Amy.

“I saw you were all alone,” she told him. “My brother and I have been watching you all game. You’ve been so respectful to everyone, and you deserve to celebrate. If I went to watch my team on the road and they won, I’d hope people would be nice to me.” 

“What’s that logo?” Yoshi pointed to my cardigan and Amy’s toque. He’s too young to know the Expos. “We’re from Montreal, and that was our team, The Montreal Expos,” I told him. “They moved to America. They’re now the Washington Nationals.”

“I’m sorry,” he told us. 

“It’s okay,” I said. “It was a long time ago.” 

Yoshi and Amy posed for a photo, with the Dodgers celebration in full effect behind them. They’re both smiling, ear to ear. It was a beautiful moment, and it apparently meant a lot to Yoshi, too. 

We said goodbye, congratulated him once again, and walked out of the SkyDome, happy and grateful. 

Some 18.5 million Canadians tuned in to Game 7, all sharing this moment. The Jays came within a hair’s breadth of beating the Dodgers and gave the country the chance to feel something collectively. It’s a dark and scary world right now, and this team, and our collective embracing of them, helped beat those feelings down, if only for a little while. To me, that’s bigger than winning the World Series. 

The Toronto Blue Jays will never replace the Expos, and that’s okay. As long as I can still wear my vintage Expos cardigan, I think I’ll stick around on this Jays bandwagon for a while.

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