The Toronto Blue Jays were born in a snowstorm.
It was April 7, 1977—the team’s first-ever game—and the field at old Exhibition Stadium was covered in snow. Groundskeepers used brooms to clear the diamond, fans bundled up in parkas, and the visiting Chicago White Sox looked like they’d stepped into a different sport altogether. Welcome to baseball in Canada.
That frozen first pitch marked the beginning of something quietly revolutionary. Until then, baseball north of the border was a minor league affair, an exotic curiosity. Montreal had the Expos, sure—but Toronto? Toronto was a hockey town, stiff-collared and ice-bound. Baseball wasn’t just an expansion; it was an experiment.
The early years were, frankly, miserable. The Jays were terrible. They lost over 100 games in their first season, and for several years after, they were the lovable doormats of the American League East. But the city showed up. Kids bought hats with the blue jay head logo. Adults grumbled about the cold and the concrete of Exhibition Stadium. Slowly, the game took hold.
By the mid-1980s, the team had matured into a contender. The roster was stacked: George Bell, Lloyd Moseby, Jesse Barfield—the outfield trio known as the "Killer B's." Dave Stieb pitched with grim determination. Tom Henke closed games with his horn-rimmed glasses and robotic cool. They were good, but not quite good enough.
Then came the 1990s.
The Blue Jays moved into the SkyDome in 1989, and it felt like a new era. The team brought in stars: Roberto Alomar, Joe Carter, Paul Molitor, and a young first baseman named John Olerud who hit like a machine and wore his helmet even in the field. Pat Gillick assembled a masterpiece. Cito Gaston became the first Black manager to win a World Series.
1992: Champions.
1993: Champions again.
It’s hard to overstate how much those two years meant. Toronto became the first (and still only) non-American team to win the World Series. The city erupted. Joe Carter’s walk-off home run in Game 6 of the ’93 Series is not just a Blue Jays moment—it’s a Canadian moment. “Touch ’em all, Joe!” has become national scripture.
Then—silence.
After ’93, the team fell into a long, difficult winter. The stars aged or left. The division was brutal—Yankees, Red Sox, always looming. The team wandered the desert of mediocrity for nearly two decades, rarely awful enough to rebuild, never good enough to compete. The SkyDome, now the Rogers Centre, echoed with nostalgia and dwindling crowds.
But the Jays never disappeared. They waited.
In 2015, something snapped.
Led by the bat-flipping bravado of José Bautista, the Blue Jays surged into the playoffs. His iconic home run against the Rangers—arms outstretched, bat flung like a javelin—was pure theater. The crowd at the Rogers Centre sounded like a jet engine. It wasn’t just a game. It was a reckoning.
Since then, a new generation has risen. Vladimir Guerrero Jr. swings like his father but smiles more. Bo Bichette plays shortstop with flowing hair and reckless grace. The team is young, exciting, imperfect—but they’re once again something to believe in.
The Jays are still Canada’s only MLB team. The Expos are gone, absorbed into Washington. But the Blue Jays remain—a symbol, a legacy, a late spring bloom on a frozen April field.
Baseball in Canada. It works.