World Mini-Series

In 1993, I worked at the Department of Justice in First Canadian Place. Although the idea of holing dozens of lawyers thirty-three storeys up in the air appealed to me, I hated working so high up in the sky. After the Blue Jays won the World Series we all gathered in a corner office to watch the parade down Bay Street. A line of ants riding in teeny tiny cars. Joe Carter’s big smile was hardly visible. My hero Pat Borders, a stumpy lad at best, became barely a speck. I was watching little baseball Whos in an urban Whoville.