TORONTO — No one wanted to go home. Not yet.
Inside the Blue Jays’ clubhouse after Game 7, as the clocks crept further into the next morning, no one wanted to leave. They’d just lost the World Series, 5-4, in 11 innings to the Dodgers, a heartbreak that may never heal.
Ernie Clement, the breakout star of the Blue Jays’ World Series run, stood in the middle of it all and poured his heart out. He didn’t want this to end. He wanted to pull back the hands on the clocks. He wanted to draw new days on the calendar, anything to spend another moment in this exact room with these exact people.
“I’ve been crying for an hour. I thought I was done with the tears,” Clement said, wiping them away. “I just love these guys so much. It was so much fun coming to work every day.”
This is what the 2025 Toronto Blue Jays lost in Game 7 of the World Series on Saturday at Rogers Centre. Yes, they lost a game they had a dozen opportunities to win and they lost a shot at bringing a championship back to Toronto for the first time since 1993, but all of those ideas are so big right now. They need time to be wrestled back down to the ground.
These tears were for one another, for a tomorrow that suddenly existed without the men standing next to them.
“I just could not wait to come to the field every day. I love these guys so much,” Clement said, his eyes scanning the room to remember every detail. “That’s all I care about. We gave it everything we had. When you fall short, but you can say that you left it all out there, there’s something to be proud of there.”
This is typically when the real world creeps in, but they wanted to keep that outside a little longer. They moved softly across the room, hugging one another, thanking one another, exchanging that quiet moment of eye contact that either says “I love you” or “I’ll see you soon.”
For some, “see you soon” might not be in the cards. Chris Bassitt, set to be a free agent at 36, stood at his locker and turned slowly, sensing the cameras waiting behind him, but his manager cut in to stop him. Before the questions started, John Schneider said he needed one more moment with his pitcher.
Schneider and Bassitt grabbed one another and didn’t let go, Schneider burying his face into Bassitt’s shoulder and Bassitt burying his into the shoulder of his manager. They spoke so only they could hear, Bassitt’s big right hand smacking Schneider’s back once, twice, three times. He grabbed a fistful of Schneider’s shirt. He didn’t want to let go.
“I hope I have another chance with this group. I love this group. I love these guys,” Bassitt said, his eyes welling up. “You just never know, but I would love to have another shot with this group.”
Even Bassitt couldn’t hold back the emotion. He had to stop and look up to the ceiling, wiping his eyes. Bassitt is stubborn, often stoic on the field, but suddenly all of this emotion came pouring out of him.
“It’s hard to replicate true love,” Bassitt said. “You can try to replicate this and a lot of people will try, but it’s not really possible. This group is really, really special. The ending just sucks.”
Across the room, Max Scherzer had to take those same slow breaths as his friend, collecting himself between words.
“I may be 41 years old, but I never thought I could love baseball this much,” Scherzer said.
Vladimir Guerrero Jr. spoke of how proud he was of this group, this team projected by everyone else to stumble through another unspectacular season. Guerrero’s Blue Jays have sent a message to the rest of baseball: The Blue Jays are back, and if they play the right notes this offseason, they could be here to stay.
“I’ll remember this group forever,” Bichette said. “This group has taught me what a team is. I think it’s probably the most valuable lesson of my career.”
All the while, Schneider moved from player to player. You could hear where Schneider was in the room without looking, the sound of his bear hugs and the loud thud of his hand on their backs.
Schneider prided himself on one specific thing this season. He’d never held a team meeting. He never needed to, and in Schneider’s mind, the sign of a great clubhouse is one that runs itself. Inside those walls were 26 players who loved one another, who held one another accountable, who empowered one another.
At the podium, Schneider struggled through the emotion and said:
“I just had my first team meeting.”
For the rest of Schneider’s life, he’ll be asked what he remembers about the 2025 Blue Jays.
“All of ’em. Like, literally all of ’em. It’s not very often you get a group together that genuinely likes one another and genuinely cares about one another,” Schneider said, his pride pushing through. “And I’m talking about their wives, their kids, and them. It’s a special group. I think Blue Jays fans for generations are going to remember this team.”
The 2025 Toronto Blue Jays mattered. A country fell in love with a ballclub again, full of hope and wonder. That ballclub fell in love with one another, too, and even though Game 7 finally told them this dream season was all over, none of them wanted to listen. Not yet.
