Takin' a T/O with BT: How Commercialism Killed the Toronto Blue Jays

If you're a Jays fan, then this past weekend was pretty depressing.

Despite taking the opener from the Chicago Cubs on Flashback Friday night, the Jays stumbled in the final two games and watched their record drop back below .500.

What's more, they accomplished the feat with some shoddy (surprise) defense from David Eckstein and little to no offense. (As we sat in the stands Saturday, Dan Eldon, Paul, Dave, and I were horrified at the idea of getting no-hit by Jason Marquis.)

I've now been to two Jays games this year and had to witness two proposals (Be original, do it on a beach or something.), and they were buried by former Jays Ted Lilly and Reed Johnson.

Side Note: You want an explosive crowd? At Saturday's game the loudest cheer was given during Reed Johnson's first two at-bats—the second came when he belted that two-run homer. From there on out you wouldn't even hear the fans again until the bottom of the eighth with the bases loaded, two out, and Matt Stairs up on a full-count.

All in all it was a crummy game on the part of the Jays—one that left most fans (and probably Doc Halladay, too) wanting more from this team.

Despite all the mind-numbing plays on the field and the "been there, done that" attitude of the offense, that wasn't what caught my eye—nor is it what will bury the team in the long run.

What caught my eye is how unnecessary the whole experience seems to be.

Maybe (and I can only hope) the Saturday I spent at the ballpark with my friends was more cartoonish than usual because it was a Jr. Jays Saturday. But from what I saw, the Toronto Blue Jays have resorted to juvenile tactics to entice a majority of the borderline fans—children or not.

Instead of catering to true baseball fans, the Jays have decided to ratchet up the "excitement" with mid-inning cartoons and "adventures." They are hoping to hold the attention of anyone uninterested in the game in hopes of dragging another few food and souvenir dollars out of them.

Speaking of souvenirs, our ball boy can't even do his job right. On a foul ball up the first base side, he fielded it and flipped it to some guy in a Cubs jersey instead of one of the many little kids at the ballpark. Sure it gave Eldon a reason to ask the question, "Why did they give the ball to Chris Farley?" but you really have to wonder why they did give the ball to him.

Random subplots aside, the perfect instance of the organization trying to "keep the attention of the uninterested" was Jays for Justice. Don't bother asking what the heck it is. Trust me, I'll tell you.

In their infinite wisdom, the Toronto Blue Jays decided to market around five of their best players: Vernon Wells, Roy Halladay, David Eckstein, AJ Burnett, and Lyle Overbay, turning them into cartoon superheroes.

At the opening of the cartoon, the JFJ graphic is flashed across the screen. My first complaint? You'd think that, having shared the city for over 25 years, the Jays would have a better idea for a name than JFJ. I mean, we've been through enough already.

Anyways, the show opens on an empty ballpark with the five players and John "Jimy Williams" Gibbons sitting in the dugout. Apparently, the extreme heat of Toronto is keeping the crowds from getting to the stadium—not the team's lack of offense.

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