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I believe it was Descartes who said,

fairly certain it was Descartes who said,

"Only two things can absolutely be known for certain,

that I exist, and that I am a thinking being."

I believe that I am the manager of the Toronto Blue Jays. I believe it, I do!

But believing is not knowing. Do the Toronto Blue Jays exist? They say that, yes, they do exist.

But do "they" exist? Are they merely apparitions of my cerebral cortex?

And if they

were,

Do I exist? Does my team exist? Or are we merely thoughts conjured up by others?

The Blue Jays are good but not great. Some good players. No remarkable personalities, on the field or off.

Middle of the pack. The fulcrum of the AL East, on which the good and bad teams see-saw.

This is what gnaws at me:

If something is entirely nondescript, if something does not make an impact, be it positive or negative....

is
it
really
there
at
all?

I can't see anything. I don't know if there is anything to see here. It is immense here, and it is claustrophobic here.

in this dark void. No gravity. I scream, and I laugh, and I cry, but I make no sound!

Maybe this is just the way things work in Toronto.

There are no people, there are no roads, there is no stadium.


There is only me and my questions.

I wonder if I can hold these questions in my hand. I wonder whether I can bend them into tangible things. Perhaps I can crush them into dirt, or plant them into a tree.

Perhaps this is how God created the universe. Perhaps all matter is made of questions never to be answered.

I'm worried about B.J. Ryan's arm. On one hand, he posted some impressive numbers last year. On the other hand, people call him "Blow Job Ryan," and I'm sure they wouldn't call him that without good reason.

Maybe I'm asleep. Maybe I'll wake up and find myself in Rogers Centre, and I'll pencil Marco Scutaro in the starting lineup,

and he'll go 0-for-4 with three strikeouts.

Or maybe I'll wake up as a hunter-gatherer in prehistoric Mongolia.

Or maybe I will awake to a reality I'm completely unfamiliar with. I might wake up to find that gravity works in reverse, and that we must sit on our ceilings or cling to

fire hydrants, lest we fall through the sky and into space.

I wonder whether the postal service could still deliver the mail. I doubt it. Perhaps an elaborate network of bungee cords WOULD DO THE TRICK OH MY GOD WE HAVE NO POWER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LINEUP.

Vernon Wells is no cleanup hitter.

Oh goodness.

I think I'm going mad.

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Jeremy Accardo has nothing but upside!