He Became a Canadian Clubber

“Oh, boy,” Dave Winfield says, flopping onto a SkyDome dugout seat with a plop, forcing a belch of air from a bench pillow that turns it into a whoopee cushion. “How you doing? How are things back in California?”

Not so hot, Dave. And you?

“Me?”

Wide mouth upturning into a smile ear to ear, long arms spread-eagled, Winfield doesn’t resemble a Blue Jay so much as a condor.

“The truth? I have had more fun this year.”

What? Leave the country, have more fun?

“It’s a city,” Winfield says. “You’re playing in a real city. Understand what I mean? You can walk around, grab a cab, go to

dinner, see a show. It’s a city. “

Anaheim’s a city.

“You know what I mean.”

Yeah.

“California’s got other advantages. Remember, I broke into baseball in California.”

With San Diego.

“Yeah. Only trouble with San Diego was, we never had the teams. I think we finished in fourth place once, and that was the highest we got.”

And then New York.

“And then New York. Now there’s a city. Good times, bad times.”

The 1981 World Series was a good time.

“Yes, but we lost.”

To the Dodgers. And Winfield went one for 22. It took him five games to get his first hit. When he got it, he broke up Dodger Stadium by asking for the ball as a souvenir.

“What I did doesn’t mean dirt,” Winfield says. “I wasn’t looking to become a hero. The thing to me was being helpful in getting the Yankees to a World Series. The only thing that sits badly with me is that I think we had the best team and didn’t win.”

And the Yankees never did get back to a World Series. And neither did Winfield.

“Exactly. So maybe this is my last shot. Is that what you’re saying?”

Well, Dave. Forty-one years old. No longer an everyday outfielder. Basically a hired batman.

“This is true,” Winfield says, laughing. “But if I were playing poorly, the question of my age would be pertinent. As it is, I think I’ve represented something for people 40 and older. OK, so I’m predominantly a DH. But I played in 156 games for a winning team. I’m proud to achieve what I did at 40 . . . in fact, at 41. I’m hoping to do the same thing at 42.”

Hit .290? Bat 583 times? Sock 26 homers? Knock in 108 runs? Get more hits than any Toronto player except Roberto Alomar? Lead the Blue Jays in doubles?

That’s what he did at 41.

“Different time, different place,” Winfield says. “I did a little cheerleading, too. That was something new. Being in the farthest reaches of the field all those years, I couldn’t make myself heard if I tried.

“Now, on the bench, I’m into the game more. There’s more time to converse with the other players, convey my thoughts. I can interact with my teammates. On other teams, guys thought I was aloof or whatever. On this team, sometimes I get so involved that they have to say, ‘Hey, Dave! Shut up!’ ”

As opposed to what Dave told Toronto’s fans. He told them to open their mouths. Make some noise. Told them to stop politely applauding as though they were attending an opera. Told them to make the SkyDome shake.

“Yes, I did that,” Winfield says. “But that was slightly misinterpreted. A guy came to me doing a story about the fans. I thought he was canvassing the whole team. Next day, I’m in the headlines. ‘Winfield Scolds Toronto Fans.’

“All I wanted was for these fans to get themselves more involved. They’re great fans. We get 50,000 per game. But we’re out there playing in hostile stadiums on the road, and then we come home to an ‘even’ field. ‘Oh! Nice play! Well done! Applause, applause.’ Hey, let’s rock this joint. If we can get 50,000 people exhorting us, we can go far--very, very far.”

Perhaps boldly go where no Canadian club has ever gone before.

“OK. Sure. The players here know the team’s history,” Winfield says. “So do the fans. But everybody’s been pretty cool about it. I think we should table that ‘Blue Jays never win!’ topic until we see what happens. Otherwise, people are liable to be eating some crow.”

Crow. Blue Jays. More bird talk from the man who once accidentally killed a Toronto sea gull with a thrown baseball.

“The fans used to remind me of that, whenever I came back here,” Winfield said. “That was before they got to know me. There is a rapport between Dave Winfield and this city now. I did a lot of damage to this ballclub over the years. Now I’m glad they saw some vintage Winfield when I got to play for their side.”

Yeah. Lucky for them the Angels released you.

“You mean when I became a free agent?” Winfield contradicts, grinning, controlling the spin. “Yeah, well, the Angels wanted me to stay. They just wanted me to stay for less money. Now I’m not going to do that. So, that was it for me as an Angel. There’s a span of, oh, about 10 seconds between where your heart sinks and where you can see the opportunity it creates. What can I say? I got lucky.”

No, Toronto got lucky.

“Well!” Dave Winfield says, rising to his full height, a big bird about to take flight. “Thank you!”