Remember this time last year? I do, because it was literally a year ago and honestly I think it would be strange to draw a total blank in regards to the events of the last 365 days. I mean, at the very least, you’d at least recall that this time last year was Thanksgiving weekend, so even if that’s all you’ve got, there’s that.
But I digress.
Last year, just in time for turkey and for my heart to stop, the Blue Jays ascended to the ALDS game with the Texas Rangers. And this mattered for a couple of reasons:
1) At the time, we hadn’t been in the postseason since Rose met Jack on the Titanic (see: 84 years)
2) Texas seemed big and/or bad
3) For some reason, we opted to use all five games (it’s best 3/5) to clinch the title — so it was a roller coaster of emotions and stress and me screaming in public places
4) It ended with The Bat Flip (you know the one)
And so, guess who we’re meeting up with again. You know it: on Thursday afternoon at 4:30 p.m. EST, the Blue Jays’ best friends will meet Toronto in Arlington, where all parties involved will fight to the death for an ALDS title while also trying to pretend Odor did not punch Bautista in the face this past summer.
Because here is the thing: a lot of people say baseball is boring. And while I personally find those people boring (honestly, just watch the game — there are so many nuances, you will pass away out of shock before you pass away out of boredom), I say to them this: the upcoming Texas/Jays series? The opposite of boring. These are two teams who are greatly bothered by each other. In one corner, the Rangers are nursing a broken heart after watching Jose bat flip in game five last year. (Boo hoo.) In the other, the Jays are like “Remember when you physically assaulted one of our players?” So there’s a lot on the line. Also, now we’re on their turf. (At least for the first three games.) This is like Rockford and Racine, but somehow more nerve-racking.
So if you don’t care about baseball and the Jays at this point, I can’t honestly help you. I’d like to, but if you felt nothing after watching our beautiful sons revel in their three-run glory, I fear you may be dead inside, or at the very least, just somebody I don’t have very much in common with. (Which to me is worse.)
But if you do care — if, like me, you couldn’t sleep because of how stoked you were that postseason glory had come again (and are now very tired and intend on napping for most of the afternoon because otherwise you will die) — then holy shit, we finally have something to be thankful for if/when our family makes us go around the table naming things. Postseason 2016 — guys, we are in this together (or else).
