What happens when your favorite team doesn't just lose, but disappears? If you're from Montreal, you probably already know. If not, this is the story of how it feels when something you love gets cut off mid-sentence. In 1994, the Expos were on top. Best record in baseball. A team that felt destined. Then came the strike, and the season ended not with a loss, but with a silence. For fans in Montreal, it wasn't just a heartbreak. It was a goodbye we never saw coming.
This isn't just about baseball. It's about growing up in C te-des-Neiges with a transistor radio pressed to your ear, and a tennis ball in your glove. It's about backyard games, Jarry Park magic, and the way a team can become your identity without you even realizing it. The Expos weren't just a ballclub, they were part of our DNA. A lifeline, a soundtrack, a second language we all spoke.
Inside these pages, you'll find the pulse of a city that dared to believe in baseball. You'll meet the kids who played stickball between alley walls, who saw Tekulve pitch sidearm and thought, maybe I could too. You'll remember names like Steve Rogers and Andre Dawson, and revisit moments like Blue Monday that never stopped stinging. There's humor here, and heartache, and a quiet kind of hope. Because the thing about fandom is... you stay, even when the team doesn't.
Whether you were there in the stands at Jarry Park, or you've just heard whispers about the team that could've been, this book brings it all rushing back. The green grass. The hot dogs you couldn't afford. The joy of a stolen base, the ache of a missed chance. It's a love letter to the Expos, but also to every fan who's ever given their heart to something that let them down and loved it anyway.
Because sometimes the game ends.
And sometimes, it just... vanishes. But for the ones who remember, the score never really fades.