The Dream Dies Hard: A Game 7 Epic in Toronto

The air in Toronto on Saturday, November 1, 2025, wasn't just cold—it was heavy. Heavy with the weight of expectation, the buzz of a 32-year drought, and the pure, agonizing knowledge that it all came down to a single baseball game. The Los Angeles Dodgers had snatched Game 6, forcing this ultimate, heart-stopping showdown: Game 7 of the World Series against our Toronto Blue Jays.

This wasn't just a game; it was a national obsession.

The Commute and the Callback to '93

The clock ticked past 6:00 PM as we jumped into the Lyft, a sensible Honda sedan. The ride to Common Good Beer Company in Scarborough’s Ellesmere area was an immersion in the moment. The radio, alternating between smooth '80s hits and the urgent pre-game commentary, was a time machine.

A newscaster's voice, thick with Canadian pride, cut through a traditional synth line: "Go Jays Go!" The sentiment was everything. Toronto, and all of Canada, was united behind that Blue uniform.

Then came the nostalgic gut-punch: the radio host mentioned that 30 years ago, the Blue Jays won the World Series on a Game 6 walk-off. Thirty years. The symmetry of the moment was chilling—could the Jays repeat history, even if this time it was Game 7? The thought sent a jolt of hope straight to the core.

I instinctively rubbed the World Series 2025 logo on my blue T-shirt, a custom gift from my friend—my kababayan—a talisman of our shared fandom and immigrant community pride.

The Melting Pot of Common Good

We arrived at the brewery—Scarborough’s own craft beer haven—at 6:25 PM. The place was a beautiful blank slate, spacious and industrial-chic, the perfect vessel for a collective sports experience. Common Good, known for its community spirit and excellent brews like the local Ellesmere English Amber Ale and the popular Solace Hazy IPA, had transformed its tasting room.

Initially, it was quiet. The small crowd, already diverse, was scattered. I saw a couple of white patrons deep in a board game—perhaps a Common Good tradition—oblivious to the approaching storm of baseball fever. Everyone was perched, waiting. The two large projector screens, the altar for the evening, dominated the room.

By 7:14 PM, the quiet vanished. Our group of kababayans started pouring in, and the atmosphere shifted from "pub" to "family reunion." We converged on the main middle table, setting up a spontaneous, glorious feast that ignored the brewery's "no full kitchen" policy.

The food was a testament to our community's spirit:

• A perfectly sliced, golden mangoes.

• Giant bags of salty, satisfying chicharon (pork rinds).

• Crisp, flavourful peanuts.

• A couple of large catering trays of spicy chicken wings.

A small pop-up stall near the screens was selling incredible-smelling Mexican food—tacos and quesadillas—offering a complementary spice to the evening's international energy. We were a global city watching a North American game, celebrating with food from everywhere.

The Roar and the Tense Tie

At 7:52 PM, the lights dimmed slightly. The room hushed for the US National Anthem, followed by the spine-tingling sound of O Canada. The game was on.

The energy was a slow burn until 9:01 PM. That's when it happened. The Blue Jays hit a massive homerun. The entire bar ERUPTED. Beers sloshed, hands were high-fived until they were raw, and the cheers were so loud they momentarily drowned out the broadcast. The dream felt real. The possibility of the first championship in over three decades was suddenly a line drive over the fence.

The talk turned instantly from the game to the aftermath: "If the Jays win, Monday has to be a holiday!" The sentiment was a plea, a hope for a collective day off to celebrate national triumph.

As the game wore on, the momentum swung wildly. There was a sudden, intense commotion on the field—a bench-clearing incident, perhaps—that ratcheted up the tension in the brewery to an unbearable level. Every face was glued to the screen.

The game became a grinding, tense affair. The score was tied, and every pitch felt like a matter of life and death. The pitchers battled, the batters scraped, and the innings ticked past.

The Silence of Midnight

Then, the true agony began. Game 7 went to extra innings. The clock sailed past 11:00 PM, then midnight. Everyone was tired, full, and running purely on adrenaline and hope. At 12:06 AM, the final, crushing moment arrived. The Dodgers scored a home run in the extra frame. A lead that would not be relinquished. The final outs came quickly after, and the Los Angeles Dodgers officially became the 2025 World Series Champions.

The collective sound in the brewery was a heavy, deflated silence. No one screamed. No one threw anything. Just a deep, shared sigh of disappointment. The dream, which had shimmered so brightly for hours, dissolved into the early morning mist of Scarborough.

We lost, but we lost together. Standing there, among the empty beer glasses and the scattered mango peels, I knew one thing: this wasn't just about a team. It was about community, culture, and the shared, agonized hope of a nation fighting for its moment. The loss stings, but the memory of that night—the food, the friends, the roar of that one great home run—will last until the next chance we get.

What's a major sporting event you've watched in a pub or community setting where the atmosphere was almost better than the game itself?