As regular readers of this space likely know, I have a goal to attend 80 of the most iconic sporting events and/or venues the world has to offer by the time I turn 60. So, as Mona Lisa Vito (aka Marisa Tomei) famously stated in My Cousin Vinny … “My biological clock is tickin’ like <foot stomp> this <foot stomp>!” (See the scene here.)
Because of this, and because my hometown Detroit Tigers, the Seattle Mariners, and the Philadelphia Phillies all flamed out of Major League Baseball’s post-season short of the World Series, I made a decision based largely on finances to attend Game 6 of the 2025 World Series in Toronto.
I had lodging lined up in those other cities and even had someone who’d likely be able to secure me a ticket for a reasonable rate in Philly, so if it were any of those squads, I’d have attended a game.
Admittedly, I was asleep at the wheel for Games 1 and 2 of the Series and didn’t even examine too carefully what the cost of attending in Toronto might be. I did, however, look at Games 4 and 5 in Los Angeles and while they were more affordably priced than Toronto’s Game 6 and 7 (the curse of success, I suppose) there would also be airfare, ground transportation, and lodging costs involved.
Potentially, none of that would exist by traveling a few hours north. I could take the VIA Rail train out of Windsor, Ontario, directly to Toronto’s Union Station, walk a few blocks to the Rogers Centre, watch the game, celebrate (fingers crossed) a win with the locals, hang out in Union Station through the night, and return home on the first train to Windsor the next morning. And, despite paying more than three times as much as I’ve paid to attend any of the previous 29 events, I’d still manage to come in under my total budget for attending a World Series.
Plus – the whole biological clock thing – I only had one more crack at a World Series before June 2027 and there is no guarantee the Tigers, Mariners, Phillies or even the Guardians or Blue Jays would be there in 2026.
So the afternoon of Game 5 I booked my roundtrip train ticket and found the best deal I could on a single seat for Game 6 and made the purchase.
I was going to the World Series!
Here’s my own personal version of notable Canadian actor Kiefer Sutherland‘s show, “24” (without all the violence of course;-).
Friday, October 31, 10:30 a.m. EST
A previously scheduled haircut now complete, I swung back by home to pick up a few things I’d failed to pack and began the journey to the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel.
Was I surprised when I got to the border control booth and, upon telling the Canadian customs officer why I was entering the country, he asked to see my ticket?
Perhaps.
Was I all too willing to seek permission to pull out my phone and show it to him?
Absolutely!
Was he a touch jealous?
I believe he might have been.
Satisfied I wasn’t an ugly American entering his homeland with ill intent, he told me to enjoy the game and let me pass.
I’d never been to the Windsor Train Station before so I wasn’t sure what to expect.
Picture the largest pavilion in a municipal park you’ve ever visited, put four walls around it, a couple vending machines inside, a small ticket counter, and two restrooms and you’ve got a pretty good idea of the relative size of Windsor Station.
Being Canada and all, there was a small display case touting the Hockey Hall of Fame (Event No. 27, by the way) filled with goalie masks.
I decided I’d try to do a video log to chronicle my travels. The first installment was filmed outside the Station.
Friday, October 31, 4:45 p.m. EST
We’d just pulled out of Oakville Station and I exchanged a pleasant goodbye to my seat row mate, a twentysomething who operates his own hardscapes business. He was traveling back home to visit family and friends for a long weekend and Halloween party.
Yes, he planned to watch that night’s game, as was 75% of Canada I was thinking. Especially the fella four rows in front of us who, donning a Blue Jays jersey and cap, was a LOUD TALKER. The 12-pack of Molson he brought along when he boarded in Brantford (hometown of Wayne Gretzky, BTW) did nothing to soften his tone.
I was able to glean that this fella is now divorced, the father of two, had some substance abuse issues in his past (and maybe present based upon an empty 12-pack I noticed when we disembarked [disclosure: he did give some to his row mates]), works on power lines, lost some friends who plummeted to their death after not harnessing in correctly, and wasn’t sure where he was going to stay that night, but had some buddy whose flat he’d probably crash at.
He was stoked for Game 6 and felt it would be over after tonight.
That made two of us!
Somewhere following the departure of my pal who left me in Oakville, I figured it’d be prudent to look to see what the Union Station hours were. I’d just assumed that in a city of nearly 3 million people and close to 8 million in the immediate area that it’d be open 24/7.
I was wrong:-(
The website indicated it closes at 12:45 a.m.
Surely that’d change following a Blue Jays’ victory, I figured.
Should I tell my wife that I might be facing several overnight hours on the streets of Toronto? Beyond making her worry was there any point in that?
I chose not to and began researching 24-hour diners … just in case.
Friday, October 31, 5:40 p.m. EST
Our train pulled into Union Station about a half hour later than scheduled and as I disembarked the first order of business was to scope out the place, find a spot for hunkering down later, and confirm with someone that it does, in fact, close its doors.
It does, I was told, typically by 1 o’clock each morning, but because of the game tonight – as well as Halloween – those hours might vary.
Here’s hoping!
From Union Station I simply needed to follow the Blue Jays-clad crowd and, it appeared, that could all be accomplished without going onto Front Street. Following the SkyWalk over the various rail tracks we ultimately spilled out near the Ripley’s Aquarium of Canada where it seemed like everyone was posing for photos in the fading daylight with the Rogers Centre and CN Tower for backdrops.
Why would I be any different, well, accept for the striking a pose thing?
The inside of the SkyWalk (left) as well as a shot of the CN Tower at sunset (Rogers Centre partially visible behind it) through an extremely dirty window in the SkyWalk.
Friday, October 31, 6:15 p.m. EST
Some sights from outside, clockwise from upper left, one of the oddest pregame giveaways I recall … bread; Katrina was hoping Marlins Man had a hook up for her; the Rogers Centre marquee says it all; even the side of the marquee had Blue Jays’ fever; a spot for fan photos in a random corner outside Rogers Centre.
By the time I made my way to the plaza surrounding the Rogers Centre, it was clear these Toronto fans were more than ready for this game.
The crowd – some costumed thanks to it being Halloween night – was festive and plentiful. There were even folks around without tickets who were just there to experience the vibe. I overhead a mother telling her two children that they were just looking around and then they’d head back to Scotiabank Arena where they had tickets for a watch party.
Yes, you read that correctly. The game was being played four blocks away with 45,000 people in attendance and another 18,000 or so would take it in via videoboards just down the street.
Two things I observed while milling about the area:
First, in one of the all-time strangest pre-game giveaways I can remember, I was handed a 4-pack of King’s Hawaiian Sweet Rolls. I’ve seen energy drinks, canned cocktails, tobacco substitutes, and the like given away before events but never did I receive a package of slider buns. What the heck were folks supposed to do with those, considering they wouldn’t be allowed in the stadium? Consequently, the few trash receptacles nearby were overflowing with packages of King’s Hawaiian.
Second, I spotted a woman @Katrinaisnice holding a sign that wanted @Marlins_Man to have her join him at the game. The Marlins Man is a fella who sat behind homeplate at the first five games decked out in Miami Marlins’ garb. He’s been doing it for several years. I actually learned just a day or two earlier that I knew a fella who knew him. I texted Ryan who, first laughed, and then told me he didn’t think Marlins Man would be at tonight’s game. I hope Katrina found a taker.
Friday, October 31, 6:45 p.m. EST
I’m in!
Suprisingly, entry into the Rogers Centre went as efficiently as I’ve seen at a major event such as this. Perhaps it was due to me walking to the opposite side of the plaza where all the people were congregating, but I had – essentially – next-in-line service, scanned my ticket and was now attending my first World Series since Game 3 of the 2012 Tigers-Giants Series at Comerica Park.
And it wasn’t as though I was among the earliest entrants.
I quickly ascertained that Torontonians were FIRED UP for this possible clincher. The concourses became increasingly more and more crowded until, as I took a lap, I discovered a choke point in left-center field where the Fox Sports Studio team was set up. Whether it was due to the space it was occupying, the number of gawkers watching A-Rod, Papi, and Jeter, or something else, we were essentially at a standstill for several minutes. Which afforded me a glance at the World Series Trophy and – for reason’s known only to him – A-Rod clenching his pen between his teeth.
Eventually, I made my way up to my seats in the 500 Level. And if you think that sounds like a long way from the field of play, you’d be right. It was borderline vertigo-inducing and the players appeared somewhere between ant- and mouse-sized below.
But I was in the building and had a chance to witness a season-ender.
Clockwise from upper left, the Fox Sports desk with A-Rod, Papi, Jeter, and a bit of the World Series Trophy; this fan was predicting the future; a look at the sea of fans on the Rogers Centre concourse; the MLB Tonight studio desk at field level; and a random oversized Blue Jays hat was available for photo ops along the ramp to the 500 Level.
Friday, October 31, 7:30 p.m. EST
As I settled into my seat in the next-to-last row I took it all in. The grandeur of this stadium, of the crowd that was beginning to fill up the seating areas a solid 45 minutes before first pitch, and of Dodgers’ starting pitcher Yoshi Yamamoto who was beginning his pre-start routine with an unfathomable long-toss regiment from deepest center field to the wall in right field. The distance was so great the fella who was returing his throws needed to 1-hop them to the Yamamoto.
From there, it was time for pre-game falderal.
The ceremonial first pitch came courtesy of Devon White who made a whale of a catch in 1992’s Game 3 against Atlanta. And, yes, it should have been a triple play!
From there it was anthem time (both the U.S. and Canadian), an obligatory hype video for the home team, and the taking of the field by the Blue Jays.
Finally, it was game time!
Friday, October 31, 8 p.m. EST
Game 6 could hardly have started better for the host Blue Jays. Pitcher Kevin Gausman struck out the side in the top of the first and then followed it up with another perfect inning, fanning two more.
Alas, Yamamoto was every bit his equal, facing the minimum six batters through two innings as well.
Los Angeles scored three runs in their half of the third, but Toronto countered with one its own to narrow the gap, slightly. From there it was Nervous Nellie time for the majority of the 44,710 fans.
A few observations from my spot amid the Rogers Centre rafters’ riff-raff.
- I purposely selected my headwear for the game – Montreal Expos hat – as a nod to Canadian baseball. I’m still bitter enough about Toronto’s George Bell winning the 1987 American League MVP over Detroit’s Alan Trammell that there was no way I’d wear a Jays’ hat. But the Expos, a team yanked from the country by MLB and wealthy owners – yeah – I can get behind that. Surprisingly, I received plenty of compliments about my headwear, including a hat tap from another Expos’ wearing fan during my walk around the concourse earlier.
- Knowing what I paid for my seat, I was aghast to overhear the fella to my right explaining baseball to his female companion. Did he really just drop the better part of $1,500 CAD and bring someone with him who didn’t know a thing about baseball!?! As I overheard her sarcastically say to the person to her right, “Nothing like learning baseball at Game 6 of the World Series.” Oy vay, he had!
- Converserly, four adult family members and massive Blue Jays’ fans, were seated in single seats throughout my section. They found four seats in the last row that remained vacant following the third inning and rejoined together there. I spoke to one earlier in the evening and they’d just driven eight hours from Sault Ste. Marie, ON, to Toronto for the game.
- Though I’m guessing it wasn’t them, I swear the person a row below me to my left was Jeopardy! Super Champion, Mattea Roach. A Canada native, Roach went on a month-long winning streak the spring of 2022 and amassed over half-a-million U.S. dollars in winnings. If, in fact, it was Roach sitting in front of me … they enjoy cold beer (or four!)
Was this person seated a row in front of me to my left Jeopardy! Super Champion, Mattea Roach? I think it’s entirely possible.
Friday, October 31, Sometime Around 10 p.m. EST
The Blue Jays began running out of time. After leaving runners at first and second in the sixth inning, about the only positive to come from that was Yamamoto’s exit from the game to start before the seventh inning.
Friday, October 31, Approximately 10:45 p.m. EST
With Yamamoto out there was a sense of hope among us fans in the outer reaches.
That a 2-out double was wasted in the seventh inning and runners at first and second with one out in the eighth went without a run certainly tempered that optimism.
But Blue Jays’ fans from Halifax to Whitehorse dreamed the impossible dream in the bottom of the ninth when Toronto catcher Alejandro Kirk was hit by a pitch to lead off. And when Addison Barger striped a 2-2 pitch to the base of the wall seemingly scoring pinch-runner Myles Straw, the Rogers Centre was ready to lose its roof.
Alas, what I was able to see from my vantage point, but fans behind me or those potentially looking at the runners couldn’t see, was that Barger’s line drive was wedged between the base of the wall and its padding. Dodgers’ center fielder Justin Dean raised his arms immediately to indicate it was unplayable which meant Straw was returned to third base.
Still, the crowd was crackling as, with tying run on a second, nobody out, and the line up destined to turn over to lead off hitter and ALCS hero, George Springer.
Dodgers’ manager Dave Roberts pulled the struggling Roki Sasaki in favor of Game 3 starter (and thought-to-be Game 7 starter), Tyler Glasnow, to face the hot-hitting Ernie Clement.
Then, in a decision that our high school baseball coach, Larry Weis, is no doubt still angry about, Clement did the unthinkable. Not only did he swing at the first pitch against a starting pitcher coming out of the bullpen, he popped out to second base, thus not advancing the Blue Jays’ cause whatsoever.
When light-hitting shortstop Andres Gimenez then hit a sinking liner to left-center on the second pitch he saw and Kike Hernandez leapt, caught, and threw in one motion back to second to double off Barger, the nearly euphoric crowd was gobsmacked into stunned silence.
The entire sequence played out on the field directly below my vantage point and no matter how loudly I yelled “BACK!!!” to Barger, it did no good. He violated one of the earliest rules of baseball: see the ball hit the ground before taking off. He took a couple of hard steps toward third before realizing he needed to get back.
And, just like that, the Blue Jays went from 180-feet away from extra innings to – three pitches later – having to face the World Champions in a deciding Game 7 a day later.
Friday, October 31, 11:15 p.m. EST
Clockwise from upper left, at the back of a bar in left-center field is the distance, presumably, to hit one there; a shot in the 200 Level of Rogers Centre; this mural adorns a wall in the concourse; the Sportsnet postgame set on the field; and the scoreboard lets folks know the World Series continues.
Like many of my 44,000-plus fellow fans, I was in no mood to leave.
I sat and surveyed the scene around me: The fella in front of me called a buddy to talk it out; my family from Sault Ste. Marie began exploring tickets for Saturday night; the Mattea Roach doppelganger finished their last beverage, gathered their belongings, and began descending the stairs; and that guy and his female friend who’d, apparently, never seen a baseball game before … yeah, they weren’t even in their seats for that fateful ninth inning.
As I slowly steeled myself for what lie ahead – six hours on the streets of Toronto – I came to grips with the fact that my shot at seeing one of only 121 final games of an MLB season had been dashed in a matter of three pitches.
Three stinking pitches!
Extra innings would have certainly been nice for my situation. I figured the longer I could stay in the Rogers Centre the better. So I took the long way out of the stadium, stopping to examine some spots I’d not seen on my way in.
And then, I left the climate controlled confines of Rogers Centre for the cool Halloween Night air of downtown Toronto.
Friday, October 31, 11:50 p.m. EST
Clockwise from left, I got up close to the CN Tower; and was reminded of how soon the 2026 Milano-Cortina Games are; there was a healthy supply of law enforcement ready for something that didn’t seem to materialize.
As me and thousands of others sought solace with each other on Front Street, a few things popped into my head.
- Thank heaven it’s not raining;
- The city was ready for a victory (or righteous rage) based upon the volume of police in riot gear along the street;
- As a man with a megaphone railed against Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney for all to hear, it seems everyone, everywhere has something to complain about;
- The CBC advertisement for the 2026 Milano-Cortina Winter Olympics made me realize I’ll be there in fewer than 100 days;
- I wasn’t familiar with Sportsnet’s Tim Micallef, but I walked a block with him and chatted him up about all things Canada, including any pointers he had for my coming trip to the 112th CFL Grey Cup;
- Finally, the Los Angeles Dodgers wasted little time in getting out the Rogers Centre. By the time I’d made my way to Front and Lower Simcoe streets, the Dodgers’ team buses were rolling through the intersection.
Saturday, November 1, 12:15 a.m.
I arrived back at Union Station where I witnessed an odd amalgamation of baseball fans and Halloween revelers co-mingling in search of transportation out of the city center.
Many of the costumed seemed to lean into the Joker and Suicide Squad franchises. I saw countless iterations of Harley Quinn (the Joker’s girlfriend) as well as the Joker himself. To say I had my fill of white face paint with bright red lip gloss would be an understatement.
As many of the Halloween party goers skewed younger (think teens and early twenties), there were more than a few who were – shall I say – underdressed for the early morning hours of November 1. Somewhere there were parents who would not have approved of their costume choices, methinks.
Anyhow, I approached a uniformed security guard and asked if there was, in fact, a designated closing time for the station. He said that there was (1:30 a.m., he’d heard) but that the bus station’s doors stay open later. He also tipped me to an all-night A&W Restaurant a few blocks down on Front Street that might provide me some shelter and sustenance during the overnight hours.
I found a comfortable seat out of the way in the station, took out a notebook I’d brought along, and began jotting notes down about my experiences to the moment.
All was well until about 1:45 a.m. when more security began doing a sweep of the area I was in. They noted the last trains were soon to depart and we should all get to our spots. I asked for directions to the bus station (also part of the Union Station complex) and made my way there.
Saturday, November 1, 2 a.m.
To give you a sense of some of the folks hanging with me in the Bus Station. On the plus side, the vending machines offered some fine fare that reminded me of the convenience stores in Japan.
The bus station was bustling (see what I did there;-). It seems many of the Halloweeners planned to party until they could party no more. Buses, it appeared were the preferred mode of transportation out of Toronto, with the last one scheduled to depart shortly before 4 a.m.
This boded well for me wandering the streets. It would, in effect, be only about an hour and a half that I’d have to kill outside the cover of the station.
I attempted to find a seat out of the way but was unsuccessful. Apparently, I was a magnet for others to sit near. Mainly it was 17-to-20 year olds who’d not fully thought through returning to their homes from whatever party they’d attended.
As I went into full eavesdropping mode, I inferred that many had not purchased a bus ticket prior to arriving at the station (they were now sold out) and were suffering from sticker shock on the cost of rideshares on such a busy night. The rate I heard time and again was $300 to get them to their destination, something this crowd either would not or, more likely, could not pay. Others, it seemed, felt Halloween night would be treated the same at New Year’s Eve and trains would run later than normal … which they did not.
Finally, I could take it no more, and put on my dad hat and addressed the five who were seated directly behind me.
I suggested that their parents would probably like to know where they were and that they were safe (if they’d not already been in contact) and that if they were tired of sitting around here waiting for Uber rates to drop, perhaps they should go to the A&W a few blocks away, get something to eat, and try again in an hour or so when they’d likely become more affordable.
They politely thanked me for my thoughts and before I knew it had left (either to get away from dad or to get a few orders of fries and a root beer).
Meanwhile, I went back to checking out the scene around me which continued to amaze at how many people had, apparently, not thought through how they’d get to their homes.
Eventually, a little before 4 a.m., the final bus left the station and security paid us a visit asking where we were headed.
I proudly responded, “A&W!”
To which he chuckled.
By 4 a.m., I headed out into that chilly, dark Toronto night.
Saturday, November 1, 4:15 a.m.
Perhaps I was expecting, nay, hoping for an American A&W experience where I might be able to get a chili dog and a root beer float to wash away my cares at a quarter past four in the morning. Alas, what I found was more closely related to a McDonald’s or Wendy’s.
Sure, there was root beer and fries, but the sandwiches were limited to burgers and chicken. I went with the Chubby Chicken Burger with fries and root beer and looked for a seat.
What I saw were several, rapidly hanging over post-adolescents in all manner of face paint and costumes, congregating at various tables among discarded bags, wrappers, napkins, and cups festooning much of the rest of the seating areas. I cleaned off a spot on the counter facing out the front window and awaited my number to be called.
As I claimed my order, I noticed a sign posted behind the counter: “Maximum 30-minute seating time.” I looked at my clock and figured I’d need to be on my way by about 4:45 which would mean a 45-minute walk around downtown.
I sipped my soda and munched on my fries and got a jump start on some of my New York Times games.
Saturday, November 1, 4:45 a.m.
Clockwise from upper left, the exterior of the Hockey Hall of Fame from across Front Street; a display of the commemorative coin from 1972’s Summit Series; the Eaton Centre is all in on the Blue Jays; the exterior of Union Station; the workers and customers at this Starbucks were away so the mouse came out to play; this sculpture of young hockey players is in front of the Hall of Fame.
As I made my way back to Yonge Street, I was far from the only one out. Many that I saw were still in costume and, apparently, decided to do what I was doing: biding their time until public transportation began again. I saw only a few folks who appeared to – maybe – be baseball fans. The lion’s share of people out were those getting their Saturday started and a few from the unhoused population who were doing what they’d likely be doing 364 other nights of the year.
It was an invigorating walk about half a mile up Yonge Street to the Eaton Center. Along the way, I spotted a mouse running laps around the dining area in still-closed Starbucks (perhaps it had a nip or two of one too many espresso beans?), walked by a few folks laying face down on the sidewalk’s steam vents seeking warmth, and found a couple of active construction sites.
Besides watching the rodent races at Starbucks, I spent a bit of time at the exterior of the Hockey Hall of Fame, a spot I’d visited just a few weeks earlier as Event No. 27. Previously, I’d not taken the time see the sculpture out front or note the 1972 Summit Series remembrance.
Before I knew it, I was approaching Union Station and stood off to the side waiting for the doors to open shortly after 5:30 a.m.
Saturday, November 1, 5:35 a.m.
Back in the comforts of Union Station, I proceeded to my VIA Rail gate and got comfortable, awaiting my scheduled 6:50 a.m. train to Windsor.
It was a much quieter trip back to Windsor. Mercifully, my loud-talking, beer guzzling passenger mate did not return to Brantford at this early hour (color me shocked!). Most of us who made our way onto my car either closed our eyes or pulled out a device to wile away the hours until we arrived at our destination.
For me, that was Windsor and I was back by …
Saturday, November 1, 11:45 a.m.
As I climbed in my car and began heading toward the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel for my hour or so commute back home, I realized I had to make one final stop. Thought it’s literally an hour from my driveway, I don’t make it to Windsor … ever.
So as I drove down Riverside Drive, I pulled into a parking lot near the Bert Weeks Memorial Gardens and took out my phone one more time to capture an image I’ve rarely seen in person: The Detroit skyline from the Windsor side of the Detroit River.
