Craig Greenham, The Conversation
Jays losses therefore feel personal — and so, too, does the team’s success. (Pexels photo)
The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. This tidy maxim has been used for years to describe sports outcomes.
This polarized expression, however, oversimplifies fan reaction to events like the Blue Jays’ World Series loss, ignores the complicated emotional terrain of fandom and fails to recognize the psycho-social forces at work.
So, why are so many Canadians so deeply invested in the Blue Jays?
Fans develop parasocial relationships with players, teams and even broadcasters — evident in the outpouring of emotion surrounding Jays’ announcer Buck Martinez’s cancer journey — through repeated media exposure.
Over time, these constant encounters foster a sense of familiarity and emotional intimacy, as if a genuine personal relationship exists. In a way, it makes sense: over the course of a long season, many Blue Jays fans see and hear more from slugger George Springer than from some of their real-life friends.
Personal pain
Jays losses therefore feel personal — and so, too, does the team’s success. This connection is captured by the concept of what’s known as BIRGing — basking in the reflected glory — when fans feel a sense of personal triumph when their team performs well, as though there’s a twinning of fates.
The phenomenon was playfully illustrated in a 2024 A&W promotion — “Blue Jays Win, You Win” — that offered free or discounted food after each victory, literally tying fan rewards to team success.
Of course, the opposite is true too. When the Jays fall short, fans feel lacerated. The more crucial the game, the deeper the cut. Given this emotional investment, it’s no surprise that Blue Jays fans felt like a bundle of nerves heading into Game 7 and were devastated by the result.
The nature of the Game 7 loss inflames the emotions further — a game the Jays were leading until the ninth inning. There were opportunities to increase that lead that went maddeningly unrealized, embattled relievers yielded home runs to Dodger lesser lights, there were near-collisions in the outfield that could have jarred loose a key run from an outfielder’s glove, and a play at home plate that required frame-by-frame analysis to determine an outcome ultimately unfavourable to the Jays.
Canadians understand the description “sudden death” as a hockey term, but there’s no denying that Game 7 created a similar profound sense of loss, not just in Toronto but across the country.
In the sports realm, the late inning events resembled a funeral for Jays fans. The finality and closure was symbolized by the final out; the loss of routine and community created a void and disconnection for fans; there were feelings of mourning a dream amid the vanquished hope as the team fell just short of the ultimate World Series goal; and there’s now an unknown future that brings with it the anxiety of not knowing which players will return and an understanding these opportunities are rare.
Players and fans have to navigate and negotiate their way through the loss. The tears on the field and in the clubhouse mirrored those in the stands and living rooms across the country, a vivid reminder that fandom is as much about emotional commitment as the scoreboard.
Haunted by the Maple Leafs
Of course, Blue Jays fandom isn’t siloed — especially for those in Ontario. Many of the club’s loyal supporters are equally passionate about the forlorn Toronto Maple Leafs, who have not won a Stanley Cup since 1967.
The hockey club has put the fan base through the proverbial wringer with prolonged periods of ineptitude, mixed with inexplicable collapses and controversial playoff defeats.
The fragility of this fan base is palpable — excited in hope, but also braced for doom because of its frequent visits. Toronto sports fans aren’t used to being favoured by fortune. That’s why moments like the Joe Carter World Series home run in 1993 or the Kawhi Leonard buzzer-beater baseline jumper in the 2019 NBA playoffs have been immortalized.
They’re outliers, those precious times when the fan base evaded the grim reaper’s scythe and grasped the greater glory.
The rarity of these victories elevates them to mythic moments — reminders that even in a history full of sports heartbreak, there are flashes of transcendent jubilation that justify the fan’s emotional investment.
Five stages of grief
Sports fans are nothing if not resilient, however, and Blue Jays fans are working themselves through the classic five stages of grief — denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
What has likely expedited the process and softened the blow for some is the fact that the Blue Jays weren’t expected to challenge for the World Series at all in 2025. The club finished last in its division in 2024 and surprised the baseball world with its rise to prominence.
This process is called framing and it explains how people interpret and give meaning to events. It’s the lens. So instead of focusing on the anguish of Game 7, diehard fans emphasize team growth, memorable moments and optimism for next season.
Naturally, nothing in baseball is guaranteed and a Blue Jays return to the World Series in 2026 will require the personnel, performance, health and luck necessary to have success. Fans, meantime, will use the off-season to emotionally steel themselves for, potentially, another wild ride. Spring, after all, is the season of hope when anything seems possible.
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
