When I realized that Vlad Jr. wouldn’t be able to give a World Series ring to his father, I may have shed a tear of my own

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I guess it’s official: I’ll never quite be able to describe myself as a Toronto Blue Jays fan. I say this by way of paying tribute to the particular team we all just watched fall short in an epic World Series. Like many Canadian lovers of baseball, I’m a middle-aged Montreal Expos widower who has stubbornly resisted getting on board the Jays bandwagon as a matter of identity. I’m not buying the merch. I’m not bothered when they’re lousy.

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I pay close attention to the Jays because they get extra column-inches in our newspapers, and because plenty of my friends and cronies and co-workers cheer for them, and because, like anybody else who works in Canadian media, much of my brain inhabits Toronto even though I very much don’t. (For 20 years the daily........

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