Blue Jay Beginnings: the Jerry Garvin Jersey

As the 2021 Toronto Blue Jays continue their quest for a playoff spot, I've been revisiting my roots with my home team. I've been a fan from the very beginning, and attended that first game in the snow on April 7, 1977. I was in Grade 10 at the time, and my friend Dan and I both got notes from our mothers allowing us to miss an afternoon of school.

I sat in Section 5, Row 5, Seat 27, and the ticket price was $3. To give you an idea of how lousy our seats were, I present the Exhibition Stadium seating chart:

This chart must be from the early '80s sometime, as you can see the price has gone up. Regardless, these are wretched seats. We're just behind the right-field fence; not terrible in and of itself, but because of the stadium's oddball configuration, we're facing the left-field bleachers, not the action. And yes, those aluminum benches weren't exactly comfortable on a zero-degree day in early April.

As befits an expansion team, the 1977 Blue Jays were abysmal and would stay that way for the rest of the '70s. Our heroes were zeroes, but hey, they were ours. A star-crossed Texan named Doug Ault was the franchise's first poster boy, belting two homers in the Jays' 9-5 win over the Chicago White Sox on Opening Day. (He retired in 1980 with a career .236 average and 17 home runs.) Ault was joined by luminaries like Otto "The Swatto" Velez, Sam Ewing and Jeff Byrd, who went 2-13 in his only season in the majors. That '77 team finished 54-107, 45 1/2 games behind the first-place New York Yankees.

Now, for years, I've wanted a powder blue (road) jersey from 1977, with the name and number of a favourite also-ran. I settled on lefty pitcher Jerry Garvin, a career Blue Jay (1977-82) who pitched fairly well in 1977, finishing 10-18 with a 4.19 ERA. Garvin won his first four starts in his rookie season and had a terrific pick-off move. I wanted to commemorate someone who wasn't famous—that part was easy; none of them were—but not completely obscure, either. Somebody who had modest success but wasn't a star, and spent his entire career with the Jays. I also wanted an original Blue Jay, selected in the 1976 expansion draft. Garvin fits the bill on all counts.

The best the Jays Shop (the official team store) could do was a home jersey, early '90s vintage, with player name and number. That wouldn't do. Alas, as I did my research I came to realize that the jersey I'm after never existed historically. Player names didn't appear on the jerseys until 1980. I didn't care. One of my zero-heroes was destined to live on in infamy, and Theodore Jared Garvin was my choice.

But where would I find such an obscure jersey? Obviously it'd have to be custom-made. I thought I had a lead with The Dream Shop, a one-man operation in Pennsylvania who clearly does meticulous and exquisite work. Unfortunately he needed me to provide a blank jersey of the right vintage in my size, which wasn't feasible. I didn't want to hold out for the slim chance that such a rare bird would pop up on eBay. Even if it did, it would've involved more effort and expense than I was willing to put in.

Enter the fine folks at Custom Throwback Jerseys, who were able to deliver a jersey that's very close to the real thing. Here it is (the blurring is an artifact of me not knowing how to use my new phone's camera):

I think you'll agree it's a great-looking uniform. The material is high-quality fabric (100% polyester, double-knit, says the website) and all the details are sewn on, not printed. Even though CTJ is located in Canada, they charge in US dollars, and if you're in Canada HST is charged, also in US dollars. Bit of a bummer, that, but for just over $250 Cdn., I own a very special relic from a bygone era of Blue Jays baseball. I'll wear it to a game for the first time next week, and the first Blue Jay nerd who spots it and knows who Jerry Garvin is gets a free bag of popcorn on me.

Virtual Ballpark Experience

As COVID restrictions, which I'm in full support of, continue in Ontario, one thing that I really miss is going to baseball games. To compensate, I've devised what I call the virtual ballpark experience. Here's what you need:

• an interest in baseball (obviously)
• subscription to MLB TV or MLB Audio (the latter is dirt cheap: US $19.99 for one year)
• a device with which to watch a game
  
• ballpark-esque food of your choice
• (optional) a scorecard. This is the one I use; you might prefer something more or less elaborate
• three to four distraction-free hours
  

If you have MLB TV, you can watch any game, live or archived, subject to blackout restrictions. Those of us on the cheaper plan can access home and away radio broadcasts of any game, including postseason, with no blackouts. Now, you'll note that earlier, I used the word "watch." How do you watch a game if you're limited to radio feeds? Simple. Every day in the regular season, the fine folks at MLB offer a free game of the day that radio listeners can access. And if you find the TV commentary too minimalist, which I often do when I'm scoring, you can overlay the radio feed. Of course, it helps if the free game of the day involves at least one team you care about, enough to cheer for or against them.

I've had some fun with the food aspect. I try to limit myself to food I can buy at my local ballpark, Rogers Centre. So, my dinner of choice is two mustard-drenched Yves veggie dogs, Smartfood Movie Night Butter popcorn (expertly mimics the dry stadium variety), a can of Coke and a bowl of Breyers chocolate ice cream. To really make it authentic, the Coke is served in the commemorative plastic cup ("White Sox, 2005 World Series champions") I got at U.S. Cellular Field in Chicago, where I saw Mark Buehrle's no-hitter in 2007. Over the years I've collected a fair number of those baseball-helmet souvenir ice cream cups, and to honour my beloved cat (surely a Tiger fan), I serve the ice cream in a Detroit Tigers mini-helmet. I must admit, I do cheat a bit with the veggie dog toppings—grated old cheddar and diced tomatoes, neither of which are available at the ol' ball yard.

Once the food is ready, it's a matter of munching away, watching the game and filling out your scorecard. I can't think of a better way to spend a few hours. You're as "at" the ballpark as you can be, arguably more comfortable than the fans in the actual seats on a frigid April night at Fenway Park (a game I watched from home a few weeks ago). The only bummer is having to prep the food and do the dishes afterwards. Still, you can pause the game to cook, clean up, use the facilities, whatever, and not miss a single pitch. The MLB TV interface helpfully includes an in-progress box score and play summary, which makes scoring a breeze.

And you know, that old adage is true: go to a baseball game and you never know what you'll see. The Seattle/Boston tilt I watched had the Mariners winning in extras, scoring 7 runs on 3 hits. The Seattle radio crew informed me that it's only the eighth time since 1901 that a team has scored seven or more runs on three or fewer hits (last time it happened was 1994). Also, I recently had the pleasure of scoring Joe Musgrove's historic no-hitter, the Padres' first (they went 52 years, 1 week or 8,205 games without one).

So, take yourself out to the ballgame! No need to leave your living room. You won't catch a foul ball or home run, but you can do the seventh-inning stretch if you'd like—a nice little wrinkle I'll try to remember for next time.

Restore Blue Jays Radio

E-mail recently sent to Sportsnet, media conglomerate responsible for broadcasting all things Blue Jays:

---------------------------------------------------------------

Hello,

I'm writing to express my outrage at Sportsnet's decision to axe the Blue Jays radio broadcasts. I've been a Jays fan since 1977, and my primary means of processing information is auditory. As such, I don't even own a TV. I fell in love with the game on the radio—first with Tom Cheek and Early Wynn, then the legendary tandem of Tom and Jerry. Both are sorely missed, but in recent years I've quite enjoyed the quality work of Ben Wagner and Mike Wilner.

For those of us who aren't visual or are visually impaired, radio isn't a frill or an add-on. We need a dedicated radio broadcast in order to follow the game. Your stated reason for ditching the radio broadcasts (COVID-related travel concerns) simply doesn't pass muster. Ben and Mike did a phenomenal job in 2020 broadcasting off monitors from a Toronto studio. Don't kid yourselves. We, the fans, see this decision for what it is: a short-sighted cost-cutting measure.

Though you may not know or believe it, baseball is made for radio. The slower pace of the sport allows the broadcaster to weave into their commentary stories, stats, and baseball history. A great radio voice paints a picture for the listener, enabling us to effectively "be" at the ballpark through the magic of sound and experience the timeless feel of this grand old game.

Alas, as the 2021 spring slate begins, I have no way of following my team. The radio booth lies empty for the first time since 1976. Many Jays games have no radio coverage at all, and those that do feature the opposing team's broadcast. Obviously, their focus is not on the Blue Jays, who are just "the other team" on the field. Lest you think this won't affect my fandom, know that I'm seriously considering switching allegiances to one of the other 29 teams. Unlike you, they recognize the value for money that radio provides.

You also need to understand that I'm not a lone voice. I draw your attention to this petition, which has been signed by over 2,100 irate Blue Jay fans: https://www.change.org/su/p/rogers-media-keep-toronto-blue-jays-radio-broadcasts-alive/f

I urge you to end this travesty and restore to the airwaves a dedicated Blue Jays radio broadcast. Canada's only major-league team deserves better than bush-league media coverage.

Baseball and Slow Travel

You don't need me to tell you that we suddenly find ourselves living in extraordinary, unprecedented times due to the spread of COVID-19. I've certainly never experienced anything like this, and I've been around a while.

A few weeks back, I was basking in my usual spring ritual: listening to the first baseball games of spring training and eagerly awaiting the regular season, which was due to start on March 26. As of March 13, all spring training activity has ceased and MLB rather optimistically says that opening day will be "delayed." As far as I know, this is the first non-labour suspension of baseball since World War II.

For years now, I've been hoping to pull off a week-long visit to Florida for spring training. (I may be the only Canadian who's never been to Florida.) Thank God I didn't have the means to do it this year, or I'd be stuck in the Sunshine State with no games to see and a 14-day quarantine awaiting me upon return. I'm still quite excited about the trip, which has progressed well beyond dreaming into planning, but my enthusiasm is now tempered. Even if I can afford it, who knows if in a year's time anyone will be able to travel anywhere?

Nevertheless, let's envision a world where COVID-19 has done its business, moved on, and a modicum of normalcy has been reestablished. If I could take in spring training, what might that look like?

The Blue Jays train in Dunedin, a small city in the Tampa-St. Pete-Clearwater metro area. A flight from Toronto to Tampa would get me there in under three hours, and I'd be all set, right? Yes, but I dislike flying, the biggest reason for my disdain being that it's like teleportation. You don't get to see what's between here and there, and to me that's the whole point of travelling.

I don't drive, but I toyed with the idea of simulating the well-worn trek down I-75 popular with snowbirds on Greyhound. Like the road-tripper brigade, I'd take it slow and stop along the way, roughly at the end of a day's drive. I even mapped out a six-day itinerary: Toronto-Detroit-Cincinnati-Chattanooga-Macon-Orlando-Tampa. And for variety, a different route back over five days: Tampa-Jacksonville-Raleigh-Baltimore-Albany-Toronto. All well and good but for one consideration—safety. Greyhound's bus depots are often in spotty if not outright scary parts of town, and I soon realized that my fantasy of walking several blocks, in the dark, to the nearest hotel could result in a mugging or worse. And even if I made it to said inner-city hotel, it might not be the kind of place where I'd want to bed down for a night.

Plan B, which didn't last long, is the no-bed-required option, a continuous 41-hour trip on three Greyhound buses, again getting there one way (Toronto-New York-Orlando-Tampa) and returning another (Tampa-Tallahassee-Cincinnati-Detroit). The way there wasn't too severe in terms of layovers, but on the return trip a five-hour layover in Cincinnati (9:00 p.m-2:00 a.m.) didn't exactly thrill me. In any case, I've done this before, 20 years ago, when I took the Greyhound to San Francisco and back. That trip was even longer, and when I straggled back home I vowed I'd never again sleep on a bus ... because I can't sleep on a bus.

I've now landed on Plan C: Amtrak, the USA's passenger rail system. This entails one compromise: I'd have to return the same way I came, and checking the Silver Star timetable, the same part of the country (NC, SC, GA) is in darkness both ways. Boo, hiss! Also, a continuous trip from Toronto isn't possible by rail; the schedules simply don't hook up. I'd have to take the Maple Leaf to New York, stay overnight, then board the Silver Star in the morning. On the plus side, I'd have only one sleep on the train which, though not a proper bed, is far better than the bus. And if I had the cash, I could splurge for a roomette.

As for getting around the Tampa area, public transit will do the trick, though I can see from researching schedules that PSTA and HART aren't exactly the TTC. But with careful planning, one can make it from A to B. It's also dirt cheap. And lucky me, I'd have three teams' games to choose from in the metro area, with the Phillies training in Clearwater and the Yankees in Tampa proper.

The rather pokey way I like to get to and visit new places now has a name: slow travel. I'm not sure I subscribe to or follow all its tenets, but in both my preferred transportation modes and sightseeing predilections (offbeat, weird stuff), I qualify. Anyway, once COVID-19 has run its course and I've saved up sufficiently, I look forward to getting to know Amtrak, seeing a bit of Florida, and taking in some spring training baseball—something any serious fan really should do at least once in their lives.

Play Ball!

Well, not here, not yet. But soon enough: opening day is March 28. Anyway, down in Florida and Arizona, all 30 MLB teams are playing ball in what's rather oddly called spring training. I say that because the first game took place on February 21. That's winter on any calendar, no? Regardless, I relish the arrival of spring training every year because it signifies the beginning of the end of winter.

Now, up here in Toronto, we've had more snow than we know what to do with, it's bitterly cold, and winter can hang around till mid-April. That's why I said beginning of the end. But the mere fact that baseball, that quintessential summertime sport, is being played somewhere means Old Man Blizzard and his good buddies Ice Storm and Wind Chill are on their way out. Good riddance, I say.

Baseball and radio go together like peanut butter and jam, and every year at this time I celebrate the return of my favourite broadcast teams: Jon Miller and Duane Kuiper (Giants); Dan Dickerson and Jim Price (Tigers); Ed Farmer and Darrin Jackson (White Sox). As for the hometown Blue Jays crew, I miss Tom Cheek and Jerry Howarth, but Ben Wagner and Mike Wilner do a decent job and their chemistry is good.

One pet peeve, and this is not confined to Blue Jay broadcasts, is the incessant use of player-specific adjectives. Examples:

• "Three outs, all on fly balls. Now, that's an un-Marcus-Stroman-like inning."
• "He just flailed at it. What an un-Miguel-Cabrera-like swing that was!"
• "He's already issued five walks, which is so un-Sam-Gaviglio-like."

I've never understood this. Why invent new words when you've got old ones that work fine? It's as though they feel they must conjure up fresh adjectives for each player, because of course un-Marcus-Stroman-like is completely different than un-Sam-Gaviglio-like.

Newsflash, boys: there's an elegant, simple word that encompasses un-Marcus-Stroman-like, un-Miguel-Cabrera-like, un-Sam-Gaviglio-like and un-Insert-Player-Here-like. That word is "uncharacteristic." If it seems unwieldy, try "unusual." And you can even use "unlike" sans player name in the middle, like so: "He's already issued five walks, which is so unlike Sam Gaviglio."

I'm happy to report that things are looking up, though. Why, on a broadcast last week Wilner said of some pitcher, "He's just not himself today." Yeah! Beautiful. See? Pithiness is next to godliness.

But whatever your quirks, all you broadcasters out there, I thank you profusely for bringing the old ball game to us season after season, 162 games a year. Baseball is the sound of summer, even in these un-baseball-like cold temperatures.

Welcome to Siberia

If this is spring, I want a refund.

Temperatures remain frigid—it's so bad that tomorrow's high of 2° C is below the normal low for this time of year, 4°. This weekend's ice storm was so abominable I stayed inside for two days. I'd hoped to use the downtime to catch up on a few baseball games, but that didn't work out so well. All my favourite teams were snowed out or rained out the whole weekend, including the Blue Jays in Cleveland.

Today came the ultimate indignity. Now that the ice storm had petered out to a steady, cold rain, I thought I'd take in the Jays-Royals game tonight. After all, we're so smart up here in Toronto, prepared as we are for lousy Aprils. Our stadium has a roof. No postponements here. Take that, Cleveland!

Uh ... hold that thought. This afternoon brought chunks of ice flying off the CN Tower, with police cordoning off adjacent walkways near Rogers Centre in the interest of pedestrian safety. But Ma Nature wasn't done with us yet. A fragment of ice struck the stadium roof and tore a hole in it over the right field corner. Further flying debris caused leaks in left field. They've repaired the hole, but evidently enough issues remained with the roof that tonight's game was postponed. They'll play two tomorrow, assuming (1) they can patch up the roof in time; and (2) the ice shards stop flying (given tomorrow's balmy high, they sure as hell won't melt).

MLB is on pace to set a record for April postponements. Pretty much everywhere north of the Mason-Dixon line, it's been resolutely miserable. The White Sox and Twins were set to a play a four-game series in Minneapolis starting Thursday; three of the four were snowed out. As for the games they could get in, such as in Boston (game-time temp: 34° F/1° C) and Chicago (38° F/3° C), players resorted to ski masks, sweaters and hoodies in the futile quest to stay warm. Earlier this week, games in Denver and Minneapolis were played in the 20s Fahrenheit, which is minus single digits Celsius.

I'll give the last word to Kansas City manager Ned Yost, whose team narrowly escaped their own mishap with flying ice on the ride in from Pearson Airport: "If you come to a dome and get banged, something ain't right."

No, it ain't, Ned. Welcome to Siberia.

Yes, Sir, Let's Admire That One

If you follow baseball in Canada at all, you know who I'm talking about. The title alone gives it away. That's how deeply and ubiquitously the voice of Jerry Howarth permeated baseball culture in this country. With last week's retirement announcement, the baseball world has lost one of its golden voices.

Stephen Brunt's warm, insightful tribute, which I urge you to read, says it best: "What will summer sound like now?" For legions of Torontonians, Ontarians and Canadians, myself included, Jerry was the Voice of Summer for 36 years, especially after assuming the Jays' lead announcer role when his long-time partner Tom Cheek died in 2005.

Baseball and radio are made for each other, and as a primarily auditory person, I'm wired to lap it up. The best broadcasters keep the listener informed,  entertained and when necessary, amused. Beyond that, the cream of the crop—and Jerry is certainly one—are gifted storytellers, taking on the persona of a wise, kindly uncle who slips in a life lesson or two amidst the grand slams, gold gloves and chin music. Sometimes I think the reason I've spent so many summers with Jerry, all 162 games' worth, is more about palling around with the uncle I never had than the race for the pennant.

As we sit on the cusp of spring training and a new season of Blue Jays baseball, we don't yet know who will take the reins as lead radio voice. But we do know who we'll miss. To the man who opened every broadcast with a warm "Hello, friends," I say farewell, friend, God bless, and enjoy your well-earned retirement.

On a related note, Leo Cahill, legendary '60s and '70s coach of the Toronto Argonauts, passed away earlier this week. Flamboyant, outspoken and quick-witted, Leo was a larger-than-life personality on Argonaut teams that had more than their share of outrageous characters. I can't recall any coach or GM, save perhaps the Leafs' Harold Ballard, who so thoroughly dominated the local sports scene. Cahill's brilliance as a coach was often overlooked, and as a recruiter he had no peers. Among his many accomplishments, Leo lured Joe Theismann away from the Miami Dolphins to lead the 1971 Argonauts to the Grey Cup, a game which left quite an impression on a certain 10-year-old.

Cahill never won a Grey Cup, but as a CBC colour commentator he got to call the second half of the Argos' 1983 victory, the one that broke Toronto's 31-year championship drought. And it's somehow fitting that the Boatmen won the last Grey Cup game played during his lifetime, last November's 27-24 victory over the Calgary Stampeders, the very team that beat Leo's squad in '71. Ironically, the heavily favoured Stampeders blew the 2017 game in a manner eerily reminiscent of the 1971 Argos.

Goodbye, Leo, God bless, and thank you. We won't see your like again anytime soon, and whenever I don my Mike Eben jersey—which arrived in the mail the day you died—I'll remember you, double blue forever.

Words and Music Are Everywhere

Now that the CD is out, I've returned to one of the things I love best: songwriting. And I'm here to tell you that songs can come from some pretty odd places.

In November I took a train trip to Cornwall, and between Via's attendants handing out Remembrance Day poppies, the music I was listening to on the way (Miles Davis Quintet, Live in Europe 1967), a piano sitting in a downtown square with jammed keys and a bit of research on the Lost Villages, I came up with a tune called "Lost Villages Wail." (It's not really about the Lost Villages—they provided me with good metaphorical meat, though.)

I generally write chords first, then melody, then words. If nothing comes spontaneously I go back to my "bits," those fragments I've recorded that on their own are little more than promising parts lasting no more than 10 seconds. If I'm lucky, I can string two or three together in the same song, but more often than not I create the music from scratch around one strong bit. And again, if I'm lucky, sometimes I get a melody so evocative that the words practically write themselves. That's what happened with December's new song, "The Lord's Glue."

This month's new song, "Let Love Strum You," springs from a truly bizarre source: a lumber outlet jingle I heard on a baseball broadcast. I pilfered the chords and melody verbatim, made it my chorus, and wrote the rest of the music around it. For the lyrics, I drew inspiration from this poem by John O'Donohue that I saw in a church bulletin. Nothing was used verbatim; I simply borrowed a few of his words, then filled in the rest. In fact, the tone of my lyrics differs considerably from that of the poem.

Words and music—they really are everywhere if you look. And all this is coming reasonably soon, I hope, on my second album, Days of Secret Seeing.

Let's Go, Bro Jays?

How about those polite Canadian fans, eh? Viewers across Canada and the United States witnessed yet another example of boorish behaviour last night when a Rogers Centre bleacher creature threw a beer can at Orioles' LF Hyun Soo Kim as he was tracking a routine fly ball. An embarrassing but isolated incident—the actions of one drunken idiot. Right?

Wrong. I wasn't there, but here's an eyewitness account from CBC reporter Jamie Strashin, who was: "Unfortunately, it's not just one idiot. There were again numerous fights at last night's game (I witnessed two from my seat along the first-base line) and a beer can may not have been the only thing hurled from the crowd. There were reports of racial slurs lobbed at Orioles outfielders Jones, an African-American, and Kim, who hails from South Korea. CBC sports reporter Scott Regehr was at the game and says Orioles first-base coach Wayne Kirby, a heavyset black man, got a rough ride from four 20-somethings decked out in Blue Jays garb sitting near him. 'They were yelling at him to go get some more fried chicken,' Regehr says. Regehr says the same quartet that was going after Kirby almost came to blows with another group nearby. Ushers came to speak to both groups but nobody was ejected and the tension remained. 'Watching this great game became secondary,' he says. 'People were concerned about their safety and whether this fight was going [to] erupt.'"

I'll quote another section from the article because it's spot-on, and not coincidentally the main reason I rarely attend Jays' games these days: "With Jays tickets relatively affordable compared to those for Leafs and Raptors games, the Rogers Centre seems to attract a younger crowd. And it's a crowd looking to have a good time. For many, the game appears to be only a backdrop to party. In a province obsessed with liquor regulation, the Rogers Centre sometimes resembles a free-for-all. If anybody was actually cut off Tuesday night, I didn't see it. It seemed everywhere you looked, somebody was double-fisting a pair of tall cans. Beyond carding people, is anybody actually monitoring beer sales? Yes, you can only buy two at a time, but in my section alone, at least a dozen clearly intoxicated people continued to return to their seats with fresh rounds. Who knows how many cans of beer the team sold at prices ranging from $10.50 to $14? A whole lot, as the long lines for the men's bathrooms would suggest. By the seventh inning, the same uncomfortable edge felt during last year's playoffs had set in. For the most part, stadium staff and ushers appeared overwhelmed and unable to contain unruly behaviour. After last year's incident-filled playoffs, there hasn't been a noticeable increase in security or police personnel to deal with combative fans."

The solution is obvious, and you know and I know that no one will go within a million miles of it: stop selling liquor at sporting events. Let the bros who use watching the game as an excuse to drink themselves stupid do so in bars or in their own homes, where they can pelt their TV sets with beer cans and yell any base insult of their choice. If my surefire fix is unpalatable, how about at the very least (a) cutting off liquor sales earlier and enforcing that cutoff; (b) jacking up the prices to whatever level it takes to prevent public drunkenness; (c) expanding the non-alcohol sections at Rogers Centre?

In a statement on their Twitter feed, the Blue Jays apologized to the Orioles and Major League Baseball, and among other things made a vague promise that "we will also enact heightened security measures and alcohol policies that will ensure the fan experience and safety of everyone involved." Translation: someone like me will be barred from bringing a plastic water bottle into the stadium, while sales of tall cans go on unimpeded. Cheers! And let's go, Bro Jays.

Summer Potpourri

This month's post is a bit of a mish-mash, as none of what's on my mind merits a full-blown screed. So, in no particular order:

New Covers. "God's Children" (The Kinks), "Late Night" (Syd Barrett), "Lightning Rose" (Jefferson Starship—ongoing Paul Kantner tribute). Coming soon to an open stage. I'm also working up "Moments of the Soft Persuasion" (Peter, Paul and Mary), but not for live performance. Oh, I can get through it okay but this tune, which has an absolute killer chorus, falls flat without harmonies. If I could find a Paul and Mary to sing it with me, I'd sing the Peter bit. In the meantime, I aim to record a version by overdubbing all three vocals. In trying to work through the changes I kept getting stuck on this one chord. Had no idea what it was. I finally isolated what the singers were doing and figured at the very least, those three notes must be constituent parts of the mystery chord. Those were A, C# and F#, all on the second fret. I then randomly wrapped my thumb around the bottom strings on the same fret and as soon as I strummed, I knew I had hit on it. But what was it called? Since my last "secret chord" post I've discovered a handy chord namer. But if you punch in this chord—a shape that frets everything at the second fret but leaves the D-string open—check out the unwieldy names it generates! That's why I call my chords "Am funny," "Fmould" and so on. That said, "Bm9/F#" was both pithy and accurate, so Bm9/F# it shall be. The magic chord occurs between F#m and G at the start of the killer chorus. Try it, you'll love it.

Brexit. David Cameron will go down in infamy as the British PM who irreparably fractured not one but two long-standing geopolitical alliances—the European Union and the UK itself—all for the sake of quelling internal party squabbles. A bit drastic, no? It's also cost him his job, which may not be a bad thing.

Populism. I've had a couple of people tell me that Donald Trump is eminently qualified for the US presidency because "he's not a politician." You've heard these arguments too, I'm sure. Here's what I find odd: if you wanted someone to train your prize race horse and ride it to victory, would you hire an accountant? Is a jockey your go-to guy when preparing your year-end financials? I'm guessing not. So why does prevailing wisdom tell us that politicians are corrupt, incompetent and unfit to govern simply because they're politicians? And were we to elect a plumber, beautician or snake-oil salesman, would he/she not be tarred with the same brush after a term or two in office anyway? I don't get it.

BMO Field. My tailgating concerns aside, the Argos' new home is a winner even if the team isn't yet. I missed last night's opener but took in the preseason game a couple of weeks back, and I loved it. The seating is cozy, intimate and, for those of us old enough to remember CNE Stadium pre-baseball, a throwback to a golden era of Argonaut football. (Pedantic aside: we football fans never, ever called it "Exhibition Stadium." The Blue Jays brought that moniker in 1977. It was and shall forever remain CNE Stadium. More pedantry: the new place is pronounced BEE-mo, not B-M-O.) I've lately been looking at aerial maps, present and historical, to determine where the CNE's north grandstand was in relation to the new digs. We had season tickets for a few years in the '70s and I recall them being in said grandstand, Section D, Row 33. Seats might have been 3 and 4. As far as I can tell, the old grandstand would cut across the south end of BMO Field on an angle of, oh, 60 degrees or so, meaning my CNE seat would be floating in space somewhere around what's now the 20-yard line, near the west sideline. You see, BMO faces directly north/south; CNE Stadium had a broadly NW/SE orientation. That alone made my first visit to BMO a bit jarring, because there I was, in essentially the same place watching the same team, and the views, the atmosphere, everything is almost-but-not-quite like I remember it. We are, after all, talking 40 years later. It's kind of like looking at an old family portrait on a funny angle with 3D glasses, and there's a blank space where Uncle Ted and Aunt Bertha used to be.

CNE Stadium is now a parking lot, with a cracked marker in the middle of it that says "Exhibition Stadium - Home Plate." Useless if you're trying to locate the grandstand, which was so far from the plate that it may as well have been in the next county. Anyway, I dream that someday the city will create a proper memorial for CNE Stadium, even as revisionist historians decry it as the Mistake by the Lake. (Pedantry, final instalment: whatever its flaws, not a soul called it that during its lifetime. The revisionists have borrowed/appropriated the nickname of Cleveland Municipal Stadium.) In the meantime I'll learn to love BMO, tilted angle, missing persons and all. Whether or not you're all misty-eyed over CNE Stadium, BMO Field is a marked improvement over the Argos' former home, the cavernous and sterile Rogers Centre. Which, by the way, I think is an okay venue for baseball. Not stellar, but serviceable.

By the way, here's a fabulous photo of CNE Stadium in its pre-baseball configuration. This was taken on November 25, 1973 at the Grey Cup, two weeks after my first game there, the Eastern Semi-Final between the Argonauts and Montreal Alouettes. And here's the football field in 1976, during the facility's conversion for baseball. I guarantee I would have been at this game, but am not in the photo. Section D was about 15 yards deep in the near end zone and is cropped out of the shot.

Grammar. In the space of 24 hours I've heard two football commentators say something like "The training staff is going to be very precautious." The adjective is "cautious," guys. Sufficient in and of itself; no need for a prefix. You can be very cautious and take precautions, though.

Plenty of Good Seats Available

Especially after the Kitchener Panthers' drubbing of the Maple Leafs, 19-1, in Game 2 of their first-round, best-of-seven playoff series. Ouch. Burly Kitchener DH Bryon Bell—who Mr. Stuck-in-the-'70s (me) kept calling Buddy Bell—was a one-man wrecking crew, smacking three homers and driving in nine runs.

So much for the game; I'll give you a taste of Dominico Field's ambience instead. Save for three rows of wooden benches down the first and third baselines there's no seating as such, much less reserved seating. Admission is free. Most fans seat themselves somewhere on the hill, the early birds having already procured the prime shady spots. The regulars bring all the amenities—coolers, portable lawn chairs, their trusty Leaf ball caps—and there's always just enough on-street parking to accommodate them. Your trusty reporter stows his scorecard, sunscreen, extra water and bagged lunch in a backpack, arriving by bicycle. I too always secure a parking spot, probably because most of the cycling contingent "park" their bikes right where they're sitting.

The ballpark features a rudimentary scoreboard that no spectator can see: one, it's not bright enough and two, it's attached to the press box and faces the field. Ah, well; presumably the players have a good view of it. And as for said press box, it really is a box in which I'm guessing more than one is a crowd. The field is of course natural grass, with dimensions of 305 feet down the left-field line, 355 to straightway centre and 296 in right. (If that seems paltry, consider that the new Yankee Stadium is only 318 in left, 314 in right.)

After the lineups are announced, we're asked to stand and remove our caps for the playing of the national anthem, a tinny brass-band version. As is the norm for Toronto, no one cheers until or unless something happens, and the wheezy denouement of "O Canada" hardly qualifies. As the score suggests, we had little reason to cheer at all. But a few of us let the first-base umpire have it in the top of the sixth when, after the Leafs retired the lead runner at second for the third out, the ump called the runner safe at first on the fielder's choice. Truth be told, the Leafs asked for it by throwing to first to complete the phantom double play. It was that kind of day for the home side.

Keeping score may seem the province of grizzled bleacher creatures, but it's fun, too. And with no radio broadcast available it's hard to follow along otherwise. In-stadium announcements are infrequent, with a full line score given after every three innings (i.e, twice during the game). And sure, some games are broadcast on community cable, but the only way to tune in at the ballpark is to sit beside the "booth," a glorified tent they set up beside the press box. Airwaves indeed! Transmitter range, two metres. I suspect the five people huddled 'round the booth were four more than the legion of viewers watching at home. If you're into the baseball Leafs, you're here, not glued to your TV set.

As for practicalities: when nature calls, you can hike to the washrooms the players use (far beyond the centre-field fence) or nip into one of the portable toilets behind the press box. Your unofficial scorer had no choice but the latter, and even that was a tight fit time-wise.

Concessions? They used to have a stand beyond the fence in centre, but I doubt it's still operating because the PA guy no longer announces it. Try the ice cream truck on Barton Avenue or, for a wider selection, the convenience store at the corner of Barton and Christie. As far as I know, none of the proceeds go to support the team. To do that, buy a cap, T-shirt or jersey from the guy in the press box, or if that's breaking the bank, try a $5 raffle ticket from a guy named Al. ("Al's coming around one last time, folks. Last call for our raffle. Prizes include dinner at Kingsway Fish & Chips, a pair of Argos tickets, and a CD.")

Your token teetotaller is proud to report that no alcohol is sold at the ballpark (hooray). Of course, resourceful imbibers bring their own, as evidenced by the beer cans strewn around the recycling bin. As is their wont, the police turn a blind eye to alcohol consumption in this and other public parks, but that's another rant for another day. In related news, you can smoke here. But I try to be both sparing and considerate, sitting as far from others as I can and being mindful of which way the wind's blowing.

As for the quality of play—today's debacle excepted—the IBL is semipro and roughly equivalent to Class-A ball. A handful of major-leaguers have passed through its ranks, including a few big names like Ferguson Jenkins, Denny McLain and John Axford. Ex-Blue Jay pitcher Paul Spoljaric spent six seasons with the Leafs after retiring from MLB.

Go Leafs Go!

Oh, and the ones on skates too, I guess. I hear they're making a bit of noise now, but I'm talking about the Toronto Maple Leafs baseball team, known as the baseball Leafs or Intercounty Leafs to distinguish them from their better-known counterparts of the ice. Bet you didn't know that the original Leafs—now Boston's AAA affiliate, the Pawtucket Red Sox—had been using the Maple Leafs moniker for 30 years before the hockey team appropriated (stole) it in 1927. Take that, er, hockey Leafs.

Dominico Field at Christie Pits, home of your Toronto Maple Leafs

The Leafs opened their IBL season on this sun-drenched afternoon with a convincing 9-4 win over the London Majors. As Dominico Field—still "The Pits" to most of us—has no reserved seating or admission charge, exact attendance figures are unavailable but I'd say around 250 of us showed up to cheer on the home nine.

Home nine? But whither the big boys? Well, the Blue Jays are in town this weekend too, hosting their expansion cousins, the Mariners. Alas, times are so tough in Jayland that after making the third out in the fifth inning of yesterday's 8-1 drubbing, the boys threw the ball around the diamond and waited for the next Seattle hitter. (What with their defensive lapses of late, it's easy to see why three outs don't seem like a full inning.) Anyway, bottom line: why plunk down $20 to see a squad that's scored three runs in four games when across town, hungry young bucks aflush with the thrill of opening day will entertain me gratis?

More on my "gameday experience," to use the sports marketing vernacular, in my next post.

In Search of April

Here in Toronto, we had our April in March and as payback, we're now getting March in April (snow is predicted for Monday and Tuesday). So, budding flowers aside, how can you tell what month it actually is?

Simple. Check the AL East standings. Who's in first, Mr. Abbott? The sad-sack Baltimore Orioles, of course—an anomaly that can only occur in the month of April.

The Case Against Evil

With a weighty title like that, you might well expect a lofty philosophical discourse, cogently structured and flawlessly argued. If so, sorry to disappoint. I do, however, offer humble anecdotal evidence from the world of baseball.

Somewhat miraculously, the 2011 Tampa Bay Rays find themselves in the playoffs after trailing the Red Sox by 9 games as late as September 3. (Boston's spectacular collapse is in itself legendary, but I'll leave that for the denizens of Red Sox Nation to dissect. You know they will.)

Okay, so a team that's done rather well for itself in recent years makes the playoffs again. So what? Well, the Rays began life in 1998 as the Devil Rays, which is where the evil comes in. A quick glance at the Devil Rays' year-by-year record paints a clear picture:

• 1998: 63-99, last place, AL East
• 1999: 69-93, last place, AL East
• 2000: 69-92, last place, AL East
• 2001: 62-100, last place, AL East
• 2002: 55-106, last place, AL East
• 2003: 63-99, last place, AL East
• 2004: 70-91, 4th place, AL East
• 2005: 67-95, last place, AL East
• 2006: 61-101, last place, AL East
• 2007: 66-96, last place, AL East

In and of itself, compelling evidence that evil doesn't pay, no? That's nine last-place finishes in ten seasons. But there's more.

In late 2007, ownership revamped the team's logo and uniform and, most crucially, ditched the "Devil." In owner Stuart Sternberg's words, the rechristened Rays would be "a beacon that radiates throughout Tampa Bay and across the entire state of Florida." Lovely sentiments, but could they actually win? Let's have a look:

• 2008: 97-65, 1st place, AL East; AL Champions
• 2009: 84-78, 3rd place, AL East
• 2010: 96-66, 1st place, AL East
• 2011: 91-71, 2nd place, AL East; AL Wild Card team

That's four straight winning seasons and playoff appearances in three of those four years, and this from a team that (a) plays in toughest division in baseball; and (b) has a history of futility about as grim as it gets. So, kids, take good care when naming your sports teams. As the luminous Tampa Bay Rays have shown, good must trump evil, at least in the world of baseball.

(How, then, to account for The Evil Empire and their 27 World Series championships? Or the 1919 Black Sox? Or Roger Clemens? Ah, other posts for other days.)

The Almighty Knuckleball

Just finished a great article on the knuckleball by Marty Noble on mlb.com. If you're wanting the inside story behind this mysterious pitch, do check it out. Opposing hitters often find humour the best way to cope with a knuckleball, and in that spirit, I wanted to share a few of the more amusing quotes:

"Throwing a knuckleball for a strike is like throwing a butterfly with hiccups across the street into your neighbor's mailbox." — Willie Stargell, Pittsburgh Pirates

"I wish it were that easy." — R.A. Dickey, knuckleball pitcher, New York Mets

Bob Uecker, broadcaster and former catcher, on how to catch one: "Wait till it stops rolling, go to the backstop and pick it up."

Dear Winter

In Scottsdale, AZ at 3:11 p.m. Eastern, wiry Giants righty Tim Lincecum threw a first-pitch ball, low and inside, to Arizona's Willie Bloomquist. And with that, Spring Training began. Major-league pitchers are honing their deliveries; major-league hitters likewise their swings. Tomorrow brings a full slate of games in the Cactus and Grapefruit Leagues, including my Blue Jays' Florida debut vs. the Detroit Tigers.

In a little over a month, the boys of summer will make their way north ... to Cleveland, Detroit, and Chicago; to New York, Seattle, and Boston; to Pittsburgh and Philly and Baltimore. Yes, even to chilly Toronto.

Baseball is coming. Winter, you have been warned.

And That Ball Will Fly, Fly Away

Baseball lost another legendary broadcaster this week when Dave Niehaus, the voice of the Seattle Mariners since their inception, passed away suddenly. A touching tribute can be found here.

Still Raining at Rogers Centre

Mr. Mario Coutinho
Vice-President, Stadium Operations & Security
Toronto Blue Jays Baseball Club
1 Blue Jays Way, Suite 3200
Rogers Centre
Toronto, Ontario M5V 1J1

Dear Mr. Coutinho:

I am writing to discuss your recent attempts to remedy the problem of drinking patrons frequenting the non-alcohol section (520/521).

First, I will summarize the changes that have been implemented of late, presumably in response to my letter of May 4:

• The dry area has been reduced by approximately a third, with a tarp at Row 14 acting as the dividing line between the drinking and non-drinking parts of 520/521;
• “NO ALCOHOL” is now printed on any ticket sold in Sections 520/521 (to Row 14 only);
• Approximately five inconspicuous 8½ x 11 flyers announcing the new non-drinking area (stated as “Section 520, Rows 1 to 14”—no mention at all of 521) appear in the washrooms, concourses, and once in a while, the beer cart;
• The Budweiser cart—after a brief and blessed absence of perhaps a week—has been reinstated in the concourse directly behind the section.

Predictably, these superficial remedies have done nothing to alleviate drinkers’ continued presence in the non-alcohol area. The only tangible result has been a smaller section facing the very same problem.

In my previous letter, I outlined the following contributing factors:

• Inadequate signage
• No promotion
• Improperly trained beer vendors
• The preponderance of empty seats, especially in the upper rows
• Ill-situated concourse beer stand

Of these you have addressed only the fourth, and this in a most infuriating way by lopping off a third of the section. Signage remains poor; the non-drinking section is still Rogers Centre’s best-kept secret (the “NO ALCOHOL” designation on tickets informs only those who already know); vendors continue to hawk beer to non-drinking patrons; and business remains brisk at the Bud cart below.

And the latter, I suspect, is the telltale indicator of where your priorities lie. Tell me: if the non-drinking section is such an affront to drinkers—and evidently, an utter enigma for you to administer—why are you bothering? If your recent attempts to mollify the teetotal are any indication, the non-drinking section will be whittled to nothing by season’s end.

Once again, I urge you to seriously address my concerns.

Sincerely,

Vern C. Nicholson

cc: Richard Wong, Senior Vice-President, Stadium Operations
Liquor Enforcement, Alcohol and Gaming Commission of Ontario

Opening Day

For those of you who couldn't make the reading I'm posting it here, introductions and all. This piece will eventually appear as part of Season Pass, likely as the lead-up to Opening Day 2009. Enjoy!

LAURIE FREEMAN (M.C.): It gives me great pleasure to introduce Vern Nicholson, who has spent the past four years honing his mystic/autistic memoir Leilani's Gift. Now Vern is embarking on a new work, the baseball-themed Season Pass, from which he will read tonight.

VERN: Thanks, Laurie, and thank you all for coming. Good evening. [Produces the actual pass] Exhibit A: the Toronto Blue Jays Season Pass. For $95, the bearer is entitled to one seat in the upper deck for any game during the 2009 season. This lends itself to a mad quest on my part: to attend all 81 games this year. To heighten the drama, our hero was inspired to couple his rabid pursuit of baseball with one far more daunting—asking 81 women out, one for each game attended. Tonight I’d like to read an excerpt from Season Pass called “Opening Day.”

April 7, 1977: Snow blankets Toronto’s Exhibition Stadium. Forty-four thousand await the start of our first major-league baseball game. White Sox second baseman Jack Brohamer takes full advantage, skiing across the powdery infield using catcher’s pads and two baseball bats. The neophytes in the stands take little notice. Baseball in the snow… what’s wrong with that?

Labatt’s, makers of a popular beer called Blue, owned the franchise. A name-the-team contest was held the previous summer, and the squad was christened “Blue Jays” in hopes that “the Blues” would catch on as a nickname. From day one, the home nine has been known as the Jays. Yes, there is a God.

A teenage nerd, I’d handed Mom’s note to Mr. Tullo, my homeroom teacher, that morning. God forbid I should skip school for anything, least of all a sporting event. My friend Jeremy did likewise and, legit and good to go, we hopped on the Ossington bus with his older brother, Jason. This was “Opening Day” in baseball parlance, and we didn’t know what to expect. If Opening Day was special, an annual rite that dampened the darkest of winters, what did that make this, Toronto’s first? I felt like I stood at the dawn of time.

“Okay, Cyc,” Jason said with a sly grin. “Let’s test your baseball knowledge. What’s ERA?” Cyc, short for Cyclops—a sobriquet earned in ‘72 when I was whacked in the eye by a frozen tennis ball. This was Jason’s first big-league game too, but he’d followed the Expos on TV for years. He was older. He knew his stuff.

“Uh … Estimated Runs Allowed?” Jeremy cackled, though I could tell he didn’t know either. We got off at Rogers and Dufferin to wait in the cold for the 29. “Well, it’s a pitching stat. You got that at least,” Jason said. “ERA. Earned Run Average.” I stared at him blankly. “How many earned runs a pitcher allows per nine innings.”

“An earned run means the team scored with hits, not errors,” Jeremy offered, eager to impress. “Right,” Jason nodded as the bus pulled up. “Man, this is historic, and we’ll be able to say we were there.”

And I was. My ticket stub proves it: right field reserved bench (and that’s what they were—section-long, frigid aluminum benches), Section 5, Row 5, Seat 27, $3.00, enter through Gate 11. A star-crossed Texan named Doug Ault would be the first Blue Jay hero, belting two homers that day in a 9-5 Toronto win.

After Opening Day and the big victory, I was shocked to discover that the Blue Jays would play again the next day. And the next day, and the day after that, and every day that week, and then another week’s worth of away games. My sporting rhythms, attuned to the football Argonauts’ 16-game schedule, couldn’t quite grasp that these guys played 162 from now till the end of September—81 here, 81 on the road.

By this time, we neighbourhood kids had taken to the diamond ourselves. I couldn’t catch, run, throw, or hit, but I could be counted on to bring the radio. Day after day, I tucked my RCA transistor inside my glove so we could follow the Jays on CKFH. Tom Cheek and Early Wynn, a hall-of-fame pitcher none of us had heard of, called every game. Tom was a veteran broadcaster, a laid-back Floridian with a sonorous baritone and a dry wit. Early? Well, he may have won 300 games, but his cryptic drawl translated poorly to radio.

The same couldn’t be said for this exotic, thoroughly American pastime. Slow enough to let Tom paint a picture, a nine-inning game left plenty of room for Early’s tales from yesteryear. Baseball on the radio was like a tall glass of lemonade on a hot day: gulp it down and you miss the point.

With no intent, these upstart Blue Jays had plugged us into the way-back machine, a timeless Norman Rockwell within. Popcorn, a dog, and a drink. Bleacher bums heckling the ump. A walk-off single to send ‘em home smiling. The race for the pennant. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, misfits and average Joes coming of age, echoing, foretelling, being. In baseball a team could never run out of time, only outs. Time-less.

Beyond the ritual lay the language, the syntax of the ol’ ball game. As Tom and Early soon taught me, statistical terms like ERA were just the launch pad. To follow the dance, I had to understand sac bunts, double plays, walk-offs and rundowns, slurves and sliders. Along the way I asked my fair share of dumb questions. (Why was there a “designated” hitter? Weren’t they all hitters?)

Once I could really tell rundowns from walk-offs, I was ready for southpaws, submariners, and suicide squeezes, nightcaps and no-nos, Texas Leaguers and Baltimore Chops. Meanwhile, Tom and Early held master class daily on CKFH. Each home stand or road trip was a university-of-the-air with your hosts, Professors Emeriti from Cooperstown U.

“And Ashby has earned himself a Golden Sombrero. Waaay out in front on that change-up.” (Ashby struck out for the fourth time, swinging at a slow pitch before it reached the plate.)

“That hot shot just handcuffed Garcia. Wise choice to eat the ball.” (Garcia had so much trouble catching a line drive he had no play at any base.)

“Whoa! Guidry was singin’ a little chin music there, Tom.” (Guidry threw at the batter’s head; in his playing days, Early was a chin-music maestro.)

To double the fun, Tom had a few Cheekisms, wry turns of phrase uniquely his own: “Seems Mr. Garvin here can’t stand prosperity” told us that pitcher Jerry Garvin had blown yet another big lead. “It’s Katie-bar-the-door” meant the opposition had loaded the bases and was threatening to tie or go ahead. And if, for instance, an opponent snagged a scorching liner that should have been the game-winning double, Tom would say, “Mercy. Now, that makes you want to go back to the clubhouse and tear all the fuzz off your T-shirts.”

The ’77 Blue Jays gave us ample opportunities to ravage our clothing. Our heroes were zeroes, luminaries of the diamond like Otto “The Swatto” Vélez, Tim Nordbrook, Sam Ewing, and Jeff Byrd, who went 2-13 in his first and only season in the majors. Oh, and a 6.18 ERA. The team finished 54-107, 45½ games behind the first-place New York Yankees. Race for the pennant … ¿qué?

Jeremy, Jason, and I didn’t care—baseball had come to the Ex! Little did it matter that Exasperation Stadium was the majors’ worst venue, the only ballpark where a game has ever been called due to wind (April 30/84 vs. Texas; 6’4” hurler Jim Clancy was blown off the mound, somehow managing six pitches before the umpires shut it down).

Thirty-two years from that blustery Thursday in ‘77, I’m a middle-aged nerd, my Blue Jays wear black, a soccer field sits atop a levelled Exhibition Stadium, and Tom Cheek—who called 4,306 games before brain cancer got him—lies in a simple plot in Clearwater, Florida. These days the boys play at Rogers Centre, a concrete behemoth with a roof … great for snowy days like this April 6th, 2009.

So ditch the skis, Jack Brohamer, and bar the door, Katie, wherever you are. It’s Opening Day, the Tigers are in town, and I’ve signed up for all 81 games. Halladay winds and it’s time to play ball!

All 81? Mercy.

The Non-Alcohol Section: So Wet I Need a Raincoat

Mr. Mario Coutinho
Vice-President, Stadium Operations & Security
Toronto Blue Jays Baseball Club
1 Blue Jays Way, Suite 3200
Rogers Centre
Toronto, Ontario M5V 1J1

Dear Mr. Coutinho:

I am a loyal Blue Jays fan who attends upwards of 70 games per season. A lifelong non-drinker for a variety or reasons, I choose to sit in the non-alcohol section (520/521).

I wish to draw your attention to the failure of Rogers Centre to consistently maintain Section 520/521 as an alcohol-free section, a state of affairs that hampers my enjoyment of the game.

First off, I wish to note that by and large, your ushers do a good job of enforcing the non-alcohol policy. When they happen to spot a guest consuming alcoholic beverages in the prohibited area, they politely inform the guest that the section is alcohol-free and ask them to move. Yes, most guests do comply, but I raise this point to illustrate the crux of the problem: ushers shouldn’t have to haul hordes of beer-drinking patrons out of this section night after night.

Why do drinkers flock to an ostensibly alcohol-free section? I offer several reasons:

• Inadequate signage. Unless a patron is looking for one of the modest signs adoring the passageway from the concourse to seating areas, one would never know that this section has been designated alcohol-free. There is absolutely no signage in the seating area. This paucity of signage can be rectified by: (a) painting the seats in 520/521 a different colour; (b) slapping a (large, visible) sticker on every seat in the section—perhaps a beer stein enclosed in a red circle with the words “NON-ALCOHOL SEATING AREA” would do the trick; (c) hanging a banner in the top row that spans the width of the section, with graphics/text as in (b) above (the banner would be immediately visible to patrons as they turn to go up the stairs to their seats); (d) providing larger and more plentiful signage throughout the concourse.

• Lack of awareness. A simple in-stadium announcement, together with a graphic on the video board, could be made once per game—ideally in the second or third inning—to ensure that all fans at Rogers Centre (a) know that this section (and the corresponding Level 100- and 200-areas) exists, and (b) are reminded that those who choose to sit in these sections cannot consume alcoholic beverages.

• Improperly trained beer vendors. On at least three occasions, I have seen beer vendors (a) hawking beer in the non-alcohol section and/or (b) selling beer to patrons seated in the section. Presumably, neither the vendor nor the patrons realize that the section has been designated alcohol-free. Beer vendors must be trained to (a) refrain from hawking beer in the non-alcohol section; and (b) refrain from selling beer to patrons seated therein. (Ignorance on the patron’s part is not a valid excuse.)

• This-section’s-empty-hey-let’s-sit here syndrome. I understand that—despite its prime location down the first base line—520/521 is usually the most sparsely populated section in the upper deck because the vast majority of guests prefer beer with their baseball. That’s fine, but the lure of empty seats combined with inadequate signage and utter lack of awareness (see above) ensures a steady stream of “migrants” into 520/521. As noted earlier, the ushers do their best to stem the tide; with adequate signage and increased awareness they wouldn’t have to.

• Strategically misplaced concourse beer stand. If Rogers Centre is serious about creating a non-alcohol seating area in Section 520/521, why is a Budweiser cart situated in the concourse directly behind Sections 520 and 521? Irrespective of the actual seat number printed on their tickets, patrons tend to line up, grab their beer, and head up the nearest aisle, which of course leads directly to the non-alcohol seating area.

I love watching baseball, but I can’t say I enjoy the split focus that makes up my in-game experience. I spend half my time focusing on the field and the other half playing unofficial section cop. Often the usher is busy tending to other duties, or there are too many migrating drinkers for one usher to handle.

It is my steadfast belief that implementing the simple structural changes outlined above would go a long way toward making Rogers Centre a more hospitable place for drinkers and non-drinkers alike. Though I may be the only one writing, I’m not the only regular in this section who is troubled by these ongoing infractions. As such, I urge you to give my concerns your utmost consideration.

Sincerely,


Vern C. Nicholson

cc: Richard Wong, Senior Vice-President, Stadium Operations
Liquor Enforcement, Alcohol and Gaming Commission of Ontario