Take me out...

It's a sunny day.. blue sky, clear as glass. You get home from work and race inside. Time's ticking. You throw on a blue shirt and your vintage Jays cap. You're out the door just as your buddy is parking out on the street, so you meet up with a high five and hit the sidewalk in the direction of the subway. Life is good.

On the subway, the crowd is mixed. Primarily businessmen/women on their way home from work. Blank stares, crossword puzzles, Sudoku. A few Jays caps stand out above the METRO dailies and REALTY magazines. One kid stands in the corner leaning against his dad's knees, looking around like he's never been on the train before. They've both got ball gloves in their left hands.

With every stop, a few more jerseys, a few more fans. The volume is rising. Every now and then, you catch the odd conversation rising above the grinding of the train.. "... and if A-Rod doesn't....", "... but with Doc on the mound...."

At Sherbourne, a group of about 15 high school kids stumble into the car. The volume jumps. T-shirts, jerseys, gloves. They're going where you are. Lots of laughing. Normally frustration from the business class... 'dang kids!'. Not today.

The changeover at Yonge is the switch. The train south to Union is 90% Ball fans. Groups of buddies randomly chanting, yelling.. high fives. The trains are packed.

You jump off at Union and hit the street. We're taking over Front Street at this point.. it's become a one-lane road. You stop for a frank on the way (onion, ketchup, mustard, and a dash of BBQ for me). Every now and then you pass a Yankee fan in the middle of the moving mass surrounded by yelling, laughing, booing Jays fans. His poor girlfriend hanging on to his arm, red face, while he puffs out his chest and shows off his 'Jeter' authentic jersey. Everybody is laughing.. the spirit is great.

By the time you merge with the crowd coming down BlueJays Way, it's electric. Buskers are in full force. A homeless guy playing spoons down at the fresh-cut fry truck, and bagpipes up on the bridge under the CN tower. Scalpers are yelling, avoiding eye contact, waving overpriced tickets in your face while cops stand by eating hotdogs. You meet up with your other buddies at the gate. More high fives. The Doc is on the mound tonight. It's a lock. The lines into the dome are buzzing with discussion. Batting averages, ERAs.. everybody knows everything, and nothing is left undissected. Somebody asks you who Teixeira played for last year. You're trying to remember when a guy three rows over yells, 'Angels!' These conversations are communal.


The game isn't something I can really describe. Everything that could've happened... happened. A-Rod's first at-bat, a 3-foot dribbler. Johnny Damon getting thrown out at second by Snider in left field. A fan throwing back an A-Rod foul ball down the first base line (sooo great.. sooo insulting). Burnett getting booed more aggressively than anyone I've ever heard.. or A-Rod getting berated every time he stepped in the box just for being... well.. A-Rod. Rolen's no-out, bases-loaded double down the left-field line in the fourth. Hill's solo bomb to left in the eighth. Chasing Burnett in the eighth, and then booing him off the field.. all the way to the dugout. Doc Halladay pitching a masterpiece, lockdown mode, classic complete game.

It was one of those nights. TV doesn't do it justice. Over 43 000 in the dome, and every single one of them knew it was going to be big. Every big play, the dome was on its feet. High fives with everybody in our section, losing voices, fist pumps. I know I'm supposed to be a little embarrassed to be so excited about May baseball. "It's a long season..." I know. I know. Doesn't matter. If you were there last night....

Then the game ended, and everybody flooded out onto the street, towards the subway...

Great game, Great night.