About an hour north of Toronto is an amusement park called Canada’s Wonderland. When it first opened it tried to be a mini Disney World, with stage shows (that my mom who hated rides would force us to watch) dolphins and seals (thankfully long since abandoned) and the Kingswood Music Theatre, where Toronto adjacent Gen Xers saw their first concerts.
Back then, for about half the price of a single admission now, you could buy a Season’s Pass. My friends and I would use our babysitting money to spend most weekends in the summer riding bumpy wooden coasters and eating dipped ice cream cones.
This also coincided with my growing obsession with the Toronto Blue Jays. I first went to a game on a school trip, back when the team played at Exhibition Stadium (yes, I am old) and became an instant fan - but it wasn’t until puberty that it bubbled over into something far more intense.
Baseball players awakened some feelings in a young Ruth Kapelus. I would develop passionate, all-consuming crushes on certain Jays, weaving wild daydreams where we would meet somehow, fall in love and get married. My wearing braces, glasses and growing out the remnants of an ill-advised perm would vanish in these fantasies. I was instead the perfect girl, one who even a professional athlete could love.
And so it happened that one Saturday at Wonderland when I was around 13 and hanging out with a friend, two Jays pitchers - Duane Ward and Todd Stottlemyre were there signing autographs. Duane and his moustache did nothing for me, but Todd with his blonde mullet and seeming anger issues - well that was a different story. There was nothing I loved (love?) more than an emotionally unavailable man.
But by the time my friend and I had stumbled on the signing, the line was already cut off for being too long. Disaster. This was my chance to meet Todd Stottlemyre, fall in love and get married. I had to quickly regroup and come up with a plan.
Inspiration struck when I remembered I had figured out how to cheat on one of the carnival games. For a quarter, you would try and roll a bowling ball into a dip and win a stuffed toy. (It’s too hard to explain, so here is a photo).
Like all carnival games, it was designed for you to lose. But I had gamed the game. The key was to pick a time when all the lanes were occupied, and when the carny wasn’t looking, place it in the dip.
I ran over to the nearest game, threw my quarter in, ‘won’ a stuffed purple & green stuffed dinosaur, and ran back to the autograph session, dragging my very disinterested friend with me. I implored a security guard to give the toy to Stottlemyre. Taking pity on me, he did and then pointed at me in the crowd to show Todd that it had come from me.
Stottlemyre picked it up, held it to his chest and mouthed ‘thank you’. I nearly combusted on the spot. I wasn’t sure what my next step in strengthening our relationship would be, but at least I had gotten his attention. My friend and I wandered off to ride the Mine Buster, our favourite roller coaster.
Hours later, as we were heading home, we passed the stage where the autograph signing had been. There on the table - sad and alone - sat the purple & green stuffed dinosaur. Todd had left it behind. The thank you had been insincere! Our romance over before it began. I was devastated.
I wish I could say that this made me realize that I was never going to somehow meet a Jays player, fall in love and get married. But the truth is that most of my teens was spent with wild crushes on other Jays players. Todd might not have been for me, but that didn’t mean another baseball player wasn’t.
Decades later though, I got closure. About a year ago, Todd appeared in my Twitter feed, and I was able to tell him my pathetic tale of pubescent woe.
And while I have long since abandoned my goal of marrying a Jays player, my love for baseball has never wavered. I never imagined that a single school trip to Exhibition Stadium could so change the trajectory of my life, but baseball has brought me some of my best experiences, best trips, best friends. And for that, I am inordinately grateful.
Which is good, because I’m not sure my middle-aged body could handle the Mine Buster anymore.
I always like your stories. Well done.
I love this story, Ruth.