As a lifelong Blue Jays supporter living on the east coast, in Toronto, I’ve always had an affinity for the western road trip. The western swing: games in Oakland, Anaheim and Seattle. And as I inch closer and closer to 30 — Dirty Thirty — there isn’t much I enjoy more than a Blue Jays game that begins shortly after 10:00 pm eastern time on a weeknight, when all the duties of the day have been completed.

Tonight, the Blue Jays kick off their first western swing of the young season in Anaheim, against the Los Angeles Angels. Ervin Santana is scheduled to throw the first pitch at 10:05 pm. And tonight, along with Monday and Tuesday nights next week when the Blue Jays are in Seattle, I’ll be kicking it old school, like I used to do so many years ago — I’ll be listening on the radio.

Back in the day, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, I don’t remember if every single Blue Jays game was televised, like they are today. I don’t think they were, but it hardly mattered, back then. I was young; I’m talking between seven and 12 years old. I had to be in bed. But I remember those late games. I remember catching an inning or two on the telly, if the game was on, and then retiring to my quarters, where my Walkman and headphones awaited. I remember falling asleep to the “Voice of the Blue Jays,” Tom Cheek, and his partner, Jerry Howarth. Tom and Jerry, yo. The voice of my fleeting youth. The best.

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We have, as my man Drew Fairservice, don of ESPN SweetSpot’s Ghostrunner on First, wrote on Twitter this morning, “the best baseball photo of the year.” Already! And he’s right.

If you don’t know by now, touching Adrian Beltre’s noggin is frowned upon. By Adrian Beltre. And by “frowned upon,” I mean: “Touch Beltre’s head, and Beltre looks like he may actually kill you.”

In lieu of flowers, donations for the Marco Scutaro Memorial can be sent to the Boston Red Sox at 4 Yawkey Way, Boston, MA 02215.

Image courtesy Jim Davis at The Boston Globe. A tip of the hat to Ranting of a Boston Sports Fan, where I originally found the photo. I trust the rants will be epic over the next few days. And to Drew, of course. Hat tips, all around, yo. For everybody. Especially Scutaro. What a brave man.

These two delightful souls were photographed by The Associated Press at the Rogers Centre SkyDome Wednesday night, taking in game two of the three game set between the Toronto Blue Jays and Oakland Athletics. No, they weren’t the only people there, but I appreciate you asking.

I can’t tell you how much I loathe the tweets and stories bemoaning attendance struggles throughout baseball. After a busy Opening Weekend at the gate in Toronto, and back-to-back crowds of 11,077 and 11,684 on Tuesday and Wednesday night, the sky is falling. Again. It fell last year, too.

Anyway, the picture. I love it. That’s fandom, right there. And those two guys are close; they’re tight. All those empty seats, and they didn’t use a buffer. Bros. For life. And I’ve no doubt: His was the most polite heckle in the history of heckles. Now, you tell me, what’s he yelling?

Image courtesy The Associated Press, via the fine folks at Yahoo! Sports.

Yesterday, after watching Melky Cabrera high-five Joe West — he high-fived Joe freakin’ West! — I had to make some changes to my My Most Favorite Baseball Players in the Whole Wide World list. Needless to say, Melky skyrocketed up the rankings.

Then Peter Hjort, of Capital Avenue Club fame (one of the best blogs in the bidness), blessed us again, with “another good Melky moment,” as he put it.

Sit back, and enjoy the 11 second ride:

When Melky’s hungry, Melky’s got to eat. And judging by the way Cabrera so nonchalantly went about his business, he knew that morsel of, well, whatever it was, was there for the taking all along.

I can appreciate a man with a plan. Long live the Melky way.

You’re the best, Peter Hjort. Gracias.

It gives me great pleasure to announce that, yes, friends, memes — Adventures of Joe West and Mustache Watch — have collided. And we have FanGraphs reader SYH to thank. You may remember SYH from such Adventures of Joe West as “Joe West … In Peril?”

Joe West is old school. Joe West is clean cut. Joe West has no time for Barry Zito’s whiskers. They’re gone, stage left.

The Great Ejector, like God, is everywhere.

Immense gratitude to SYH. A Joe West .gif! My life is that much further to being complete.

The above is evidence of Joe West’s sheer awesomeness. I didn’t even have to open Photoshop.

The bat boy, fearful, as you can clearly see, declined The Great Ejector’s challenge. Obviously.

Thank you, Derek T., for capturing this most brilliant of Joe West adventures. I am forever indebted to you.

I went through a boatload of photographs last night from Opening Day. The above, courtesy of the fine folks at The Associated Press, is definitely my favorite. Is there anything better than a walk-off home run on Opening Day, in front of your home crowd? No, there isn’t. I dare you to argue otherwise.

Look at the Reds’ faces. Go, look. The picture is a reminder of why I love baseball. And a reminder of how much I missed baseball over the winter. Nothing brings out the inner child in a Major League Baseball player, or a fan at the game, more than a walk-off home run, and the customary wait at home plate for the man’s man who saved the day.

I draw your attention above to #43, Miguel Cairo. The ageless Miguel Cairo, now in his sixteenth Major League season, with his tenth team. He’s not even looking at Ramon Hernandez. He’s got his eyes on the prize, home plate, for when Hernandez leaps on it. And he’s also making sure Jonny Gomes doesn’t get too close. You see, that’s why Miguel Cairo’s lasted so long in this beautiful game of baseball. He gets it. And, years under his belt, having surely gone through the drill before, the look on Cairo’s face suggests he’s enjoying the walk-off experience for only the first time.

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First things first: Yes, that is the least nefarious looking Old Man Winter in the history of Old Man Winters. Not that Old Man Winter’s nefariousness matters to Joe West, one way or the other.

But look at him, Old Man Winter. Look at that smug smile on his face, as if he thinks he might actually tamper with Opening Day, this most holy of afternoons. Downright defiant is what Old Man Winter looks to me, and The Great Ejector won’t stand for it.

Old Man Winter, you’re gone! And you can take Spring Training (look very, very closely at the picture, near first base) with you!

Play ball!

Thanks to steex for the Spring Training Photoshop which blessed my email inbox. And, yes, I did squeal with delight after typing “Play ball!”

It’s been three weeks since the FanGraphs staff — some of the coolest mother you-know-whats on the planet — descended on Phoenix, Arizona, to revel in the sights and sounds of Spring Training. And I can’t get her out of my mind.

Salt River Fields at Talking Stick. Now that, friends, is a name for a baseball stadium. Nay, a baseball complex. Say it: Salt River Fields at Talking Stick. Say it twice. Not only does the name roll off the tongue, but the brand-spanking new facility — home to both the Arizona Diamondbacks and Colorado Rockies — is a stunning example of why Florida’s Grapefruit League just might be on baseball’s list of endangered species.

The jaunt down to Phoenix was my first ever to watch Spring Training’s fake games. And Salt River Fields at Talking Stick, which opened its doors for the first time on February 11, 2011, and hosted its first game two weeks later on February 26, was everything I imagined Spring Training to be.

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Japan continues to tremble. The new footage that comes in, almost daily, of the incredible destruction wrought by Mother Nature, serves as a humble reminder of the power of forces beyond our control.

The recovery effort continues. So, too, does life. Just not the way it once was. And the Japanese, our baseball-loving cousins, much like the United States after 9/11, “are contemplating whether baseball can play a role in comforting a reeling nation.”

I believe baseball — professional sports, in general — is most effective in times of tragedy, and crisis. For a short while, baseball can serve its purest of purposes: distraction; respite.

Once upon a time, I was a proud supporter of the New York Yankees. For six and a half weeks, from September 18, 2001 until November 4, 2001, I rooted for the Yankees as if they were my own.

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