I wasn’t a baseball fan. The
only sport I consistently watch is Formula 1 racing. It captivates me with its
fast-paced excitement, with 18 cars zipping around the track in a competition
that allows only one racer to win.
Yet
last week, I found myself consumed with excitement and anxiety over a team
sport—one with a pace that seems almost plodding in comparison: baseball. I
joined the throngs of Canadians rallying behind the Toronto Blue Jays this
season.
Although
I don’t have a television and refused to pay $39 for a subscription to watch
the World Series, I eagerly read about each win and loss in the digital pages
of the CBC newspaper. As the stakes grew
higher, my desire to witness the final games intensified.
On
Friday night, I asked my son if my husband and I could watch game six at his
home. With the Jays ahead in the series three to two, this could be it – the
game in which Canada won the World Series.
My
son enthusiastically agreed to us coming over.
Our
plans were slightly complicated by Halloween, but only ten children rang our
doorbell for treats. I placed a box of small, stale chocolate bars on the front
porch and left, hoping for a night of thrilling baseball.
Watching
sports fills me with overwhelming anxiety. I’ve seen enough skaters tumble and
heroes strike out to develop a superstitious belief that my presence somehow
jeopardizes their performance.
The Blue Jays lost game six – groan! – which
only amplified fears, and I spent Saturday wondering if I should find somewhere
else to watch the game seven. My son had whispered as we were leaving on Friday
night that the loss was entirely my fault, deepening my internal turmoil. I knew I could not return.
Nonetheless,
our friends, avid sports fans, invited us to watch Game 7. With my stomach
churning, we arrived and the tension was substantial. When my new favourite
player, Bo Bichette, hit a home run, the electrifying atmosphere was palpable.
I loved the casual shrug of his shoulders as he strutted to first base, the
confident swagger of a player on top of his game.
Then
there was Vladdy, who made a spectacular catch at first base, stretching his
body to grasp the ball, followed by an incredible double play that had us all
on our feet. And let’s not forget Ernie’s gleeful slide into home plate,
whether necessary or not—it was pure joy embodied. I was there for each moment,
feeling the energy of the crowd around me.
Yet,
despite the exhilaration, my anxiety persisted. When the Jays pulled ahead, I
lived in fear that they would fumble and allow the opposing team to seize
victory. But this remarkable Blue Jays team didn’t falter; they played like
superheroes, giving everything they had to bring that coveted trophy to Canada,
to reward all of us who cheered them on with fervour.
In
the end, they did not win. I felt a familiar gremlin whispering, “It’s all your
fault.” But as reality pressed upon me, I reflected on a bittersweet truth: If
I was somehow responsible for their loss, I’d also played a role in their
extraordinary performance. And that was not reality.
I
joined the many who felt the sting of disappointment. Canada rallied around this team, in a time when so many things seem to
be stacked against us, from tariffs, to an impending generational budget and
the beauty of autumn leaves falling off the trees as our weather turns gray and
icy.
Yet
within this collective feeling of loss, I believe there was a win. We witnessed a group of athletes, none of whom are
officially Canadian, pull the country together in a common desire for great
sportsmanship.
Yes,
we wanted a win, and we didn’t get one. But we experienced an emotional
rollercoaster, laden with both joy and disappointment, alongside a display of
extraordinary skill and team spirit. It was a beautiful thing to behold.
Embracing the uncertainties that lie ahead—the tariffs, the budget, the cold
winter—we can only hope to mirror the spirit of this team. If we unite behind
our country as passionately as we did for the Jays, perhaps things might just
be okay.
Kathy Lennox
is a retired health care executive. She
spends much of her time Volunteering, playing with grandchildren and trying to
stay fit.
She has often written
short poems and the occasional story for her own amusement. Recently she added learning more about the
art of writing to her bucket list and joined Brian in some of his Writing
Personal Stories courses.
Kathy lives in Oakville
with her husband, Ian, and continues to tell tales.
For more essays, short stories, and poetry by you fellow writers see here (and scroll down).
See Brian Henry's upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and four-day retreats here.
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