If Paul Beeston,
as a youth, was an athlete of any sort, it is not evident. Paul was and is a fan. You don’t need to have been a former player to run a major league team, but you do need to love sports. You do need to understand why kids and fully grown people love their team.
—Ken Dryden in a salute to the Blue Jays president,
Iwanted this blue Jays season to go on and on. To experience again what a full dome looks like and sounds like, to see what a city with something to share feels like, so Paul beeston could go on and on as the blue Jays’ president. he was the team’s first employee in 1977. Players, managers, general managers and owners have come and gone. With the end of this season, Paul is retiring.
About 25 years ago, I called Paul with a favour. I told him that when I was 12 years old my father had taken me on a baseball trip. Just the two of us. We drove to cincinnati and saw my favourite team, the dodgers, play the reds. I watched big 6’6” Frank howard, one of my heroes, hit a ball so hard he’d barely left the batter’s box before it short-hopped the right centre field wall at crosley Field. We had a vendor at comiskey Park in chicago spill beer all over us as we watched the White Sox and Tigers, and a few days later in detroit saw Norm cash of the Tigers hit a ball onto the roof of briggs Stadium, also against the White Sox. In between, my father and I argued about everything, laughed, and, with my mother miles away, I ate a double order of pancakes every meal until I didn’t eat another pancake for 10 years.
I told Paul I wanted to go on a baseball trip with our son, michael, who then was also 12. I had figured out a route; could he help with the tickets.
michael and I left Toronto on a Friday at noon, a cooler filled with pop in the back seat, baseball caps on our heads. michael had the map. We watched the Indians at Jacobs Field. On Saturday we drifted south through Ohio — everything in summer green. We found a motel in northern Kentucky just across the Ohio river from cincinnati, ate at the Italian restaurant where the matchsticks scene in rain man was filmed, and discovered a dirt oval car race in the middle of nowhere. Sunday, we saw the reds. monday, we went north again towards South bend and Notre dame, and discovered that the class A South bend blue Sox were playing the Wausau Timbers. Tuesday, we watched the cubs at Wrigley Field; Wednesday, the White Sox at the new comiskey; Friday, the brewers in milwaukee. Saturday — why not? — we drove to madison, Wisconsin and saw an NFL pre-season game between the Green bay Packers and New Orleans Saints.
After the game, we drove to Kalamazoo, found a motel, then drove the rest of the way Sunday morning, in time for a Tigers — White Sox game in detroit. between this week full of games, we argued a lot — to this day there remains a difference of opinion over whose fault it was when my navigator fell asleep for a moment, I took a wrong turn, and we got lost in Galion, Ohio — we laughed, talked about who knows what, ate ribs at montgomery’s in cincinnati and deep dish pizza at Gino’s in chicago.
It was perfect. Paul had arranged the tickets. he knew.
If Paul, as a youth, was an athlete of any sort, it is not evident. Paul loved, and loves, sports. he was, and is, a fan. you don’t need to have been a former player to run a major league team. but you do need to love sports, because you do need to understand why kids and fully grown people love their team and spend all kinds of money buying tickets, T-shirts and bobbleheads, to say nothing of all the time and soul deep passion they give for a bunch of guys who often play like millionaire losers and crush their spirit. Paul got it. he didn’t go on radio and talk about players as “assets,” about “bottom lines” and “EBITDA.” he talked with the excited, always hopeful, always believing voice of the fan. he cared, and cares, as much as we do, and for the same reasons. (Once I said to him I thought he’d sounded in an interview a little too much like a Gm rather than a fan, which isn’t good because fans want their Gms to be a lot smarter than they are even when they think they are a lot smarter themselves. I don’t think Paul ever forgave me for my comment).
Our kids have grown up. my wife, Lynda, and I like to spend about 10 days each summer drifting around the u.S. midwest. It’s America at its best — college campuses, back roads, and baseball. And before we go, I call Paul. I tell him where we want to go; he calls his buddies and sets up the tickets. It’s time he could spend doing other things, it’s trouble, but I think he enjoys all this as much as we do. cleveland, Pittsburgh, detroit, cincinnati, Kansas city (Lynda’s favourite ballpark), milwaukee, and St. Louis, where baseball matters most. And along the way, steel towns, mining towns, Primanti’s, the Warhol museum, getting sideswiped by a drunk cyclist, the Iowa State Fair, montgomery’s (again) for ribs. We argue, we laugh, we talk about who knows what. And every year we can’t wait to do it again. A few years from now, our son, michael, will take his two sons on their own baseball trip. That I know for sure.
It has been a great run — Paul’s for more than 30 years, this year’s “drive of one — five.” At the All-Star break in early July, it wasn’t going to happen. The two World Series championships in 1992 and 1993 would remain the crown jewel of a career. What has happened since has surely seemed a gift. It has brought back memories and created new ones for many. (I was told of a 98-year-old woman, long in the fog of Alzheimer’s, with the blue Jays playoff games on her TV, having her feelings of 20 years ago flood back).
Teams need great general managers, and Paul had his in Pat Gillick (who gave one of the great all-time hall of fame induction speeches in 2011). They need great managers and players. but Paul, getting past his shtick of unlit cigars, no socks and damon runyon-esque growl-ofa-voice, has been the indispensable man, linking owners and fans. It was far from certain in 1977 that the blue Jays would be a success. Paul started with a win and a sellout at exhibition Stadium in 1977. he finished with a win and a sellout at rogers centre in 2015.
Thanks, Paul.
Paul Beeston gets it. He always did. He understands the passion of baseball fans, and why fathers and sons will drive across the continent to cheer on their team