Who tore my heart to shreds?

Who tore my heart to shreds?
Credit: Netflix

When I was young, almost every year I had the pleasure of attending at least one Expos game in Montreal. My father made sure to buy tickets for a double bill (yes, there were regular double bills in those days) to maximize the trip from Charlevoix to the Metropolis on sunny summer days.

For me, it was a unique opportunity to see my idols up close. Dawson, Rogers, Parrish and Cromartie were taking shape before my eyes. Despite the years that have gone by, I'm still a fan of this lost dealership, which still evokes in me my passion for this iconic sport.

Today, I visit Montreal regularly for work, and it would have been nice to combine business with pleasure by enjoying the presence of a Major League Baseball team just a few steps from my hotel. Unfortunately, the dream of seeing the Expos back in town is dwindling with each passing year, because financially speaking, we're no longer pulling our weight. The weakness of the Canadian dollar and the economic context make us the third world of professional sports, and make the return of a Major League franchise to our city a long shot.

It's true to say that it was money that killed baseball in Montreal, as Alexandre Pratt (La Presse) mentions in the documentary Qui a tué les Expos de Montréal, currently available on Netflix. I have a look of deep frustration on my face after listening to this documentary, which tells us more about the circumstances surrounding the Expos' departure for Washington in 2004. Not that the production is bad, on the contrary, but seeing the destructive events presented to us in Overtime leaves a very bitter taste in my mouth.

Beyond the money, it was Bud Selig and the 29 other owners of Major League Baseball who were the real gravediggers of Nos Amours. The conservative American executives had decided the Expos' fate at the very moment Charles Bronfman decided to put his club up for sale due to successive and growing deficits. Selig and his gang, a few years later, merely concretized (by means of skilfully prepared scenarios) the team's transfer to other climes. As the mayor of Washington put it when the team's move was announced: this is an American sport and this team belongs to us. It couldn't be clearer.

For the other 28 owners (excluding those of the Blue Jays), it was inconceivable that two Major League Baseball teams would operate north of the U.S. border. Toronto remains the only Canadian city with a Major League baseball team, and seeing them in the World Series right now makes me smile and sad at the same time. I'm happy for the Jays fans (many of whom are young Québécois), but I'm thinking that we would have deserved to experience this moment as we did in 1994, when the Expos were sailing happily towards the title before a labor dispute pulled the rug out from under us. It was inconceivable to rich Americans that a Canadian team could win the title three years in a row.

In the end, Expos fans were the big losers in all these orchestrated backroom games featuring the unloved Claude Brochu and the contemptuous Jeffrey Loria and David Samson. The club's minority shareholders and Brochu's partners at the time also had their say in the story, failing to put their big egos aside when they needed to. No one in the group had the real financial wherewithal to keep the dream alive, and so they fell into the trap of turning to the toxic Loria-Samson duo.

Selig and his henchmen did the rest of the work, acquiring the dealership and allowing Loria to afford the Florida Marlins. From then on, the moving process began. Remember the shared custody with Puerto Rico, what a joke!

It would have been nice to see some baseball in Montreal during my business trips, but life and money decided otherwise.

Go Jays Go!

This content was created with the help of AI.