Takin' a T/O with BT: Afternoon Action with Doc Halladay and the Blue Jays

Side note: I've determined that I will eventually have a heart attack at a Jays game. The SkyDome (Anyone who corrects me has given into the corporate machine and appreciates nothing of the Jays' history.) is where I will die.

I start sweating and get a queasy feeling in my stomach after three perfect innings, thanks to McGowan and Doc—it's great.

I couldn't go to a four home run game or something like that! That would have been invariably easier on the nerves—they always have to tease me with pitching.

Ah well, we all gotta go at some point; at least my time will come in a baseball stadium. And at least I don't have to worry about hearing Jamie Campbell talk about the "potential for a perfect game" as early as the second inning.

You never mention shutouts before it's over in hockey, and you never say the "p-word" or the words "no-hitter" in baseball before it happens, Jamie. Please, please stop. 

To save you the boredom of me going through it offensively, there was one hit the rest of the game. Pitching-wise, it continued to be solid.

I'll spoil the surprise right now and say that of the two starters, only one threw a complete game, and it wasn't Doc. Jose Contreras stuck it out through eight innings.

But here's where the fun starts.

Top of the seventh, after Doc finishes off Pablo Ozuna, John Gibbons comes out and brings in Jesse Carlson. Good move, normally.

However, following Ozuna was the top of the order: the switch-hitting Nick Swisher, and the righty Orlando Cabrera.

For those who don't know, Carlson (probably the Jays second best pitcher this season) is a lefty. Needless to say, Jesse was almost flawless in relief, striking out Swisher and Jim Thome (sandwiched in between was an Orlando Cabrera double).

Then, at a point at which I thought nothing would surprise me, Gibbons brought out Jeremy Accardo and Scott Downs in the ninth. If Scott didn't get his one batter out (Sox catcher AJ Pierzynski), then Jason Frasor was prepared to come on in relief of Downs. 

Heart attacks and brain cramps aside, it seemed to be a pretty good day—and if you had just gone for baseball, it definitely was.

But with Toronto being Toronto (that's not a rip-off of "Manny being Manny," there's just no better way to say it), there were a couple of other incidents that caught my eye.

First of all, Toronto fans are jerks—to our own players.

I'll admit that I'm probably getting too old to stand in line for autographs pre-game (we determined that your best shot is as a cute four to eight year old). But we decided to head down just for kicks anyhow (that, and we wanted to see Nick Swisher's beard—it's awesome actually).

As we stood in line, there were two older ladies (probably mid-40s to early 50s—proving I wasn't too old, I guess) literally yelling at the players.

Things like, "You should go and tell your teammates to be more like you," or "Come and sign for your new biggest fan," or "Don't turn into Troy Glaus, Scott," were shouted constantly at them.

Then when Jesse Litsch came over he was absolutely bombarded with paraphernalia, affected by the waning of his teammates' willingness to sign autographs.

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