one he waited almost four years to get, the one that had the entire Air Canada Centre chanting his name. It was the last goal he ever scored in the NHL. Wade Belak was only 35-years-old. Boogard and Rypien, even younger. I can't help but think about how young they were, over and over and over again. There's something about these three men dying that's left me cold, that's taken away from the invincibility of a professional athlete, the guy who's "living the dream," even the enforcer. Even though I know, to begin with, that the invincible pro athlete doesn't exist, that he's a construct, a product of television, and the Internet, and a vicious news cycle. These guys, they're just like us. Sometimes they're not happy. Sometimes they hate their job. Sometimes they drink to ease the pain. Sometimes they're so fucking afraid of the future, they'd rather not even face it. The deaths of Belak, Boogard, and Rypien have taken away from the innocence of hockey, and of sport. The game's supposed to give, not take away. Enough. For the Blue Jays, it was revenge, pure and simple. Unlike the last time Toronto and Seattle completed a three-game set, the mood in the Toronto clubhouse -- the swanky, air-conditioned Rogers Centre clubhouse -- was jovial. "I'd be lying to you if I said we didn't talk about that April series before game one on Tuesday night," said manager John Farrell. "They ended our season after, what, 10 games?