The Jays are a gorgeous vintage car with a freshly rebuilt engine sitting in a Georgia driveway with no gas in the tank.

Early lead against a hungry Braves team in their house with five and a half innings of baseball remaining is exactly how we blow these things.

I've seen enough third-inning leads evaporate in Atlanta to know better, but Vladdy's swinging like he's got something to prove tonight and maybe, just maybe, that's different

This coffee's gonna be cold before we score again, just like my heart's been since '93.

I've seen this movie before and it didn't end in '94, so we're probably getting walked off by Ronald Acuña while I contemplate whether Vladdy's highlights package counts as a championship.

Down two in the seventh against Atlanta's bullpen with our bats looking as lost as a Canadian in Georgia, this ballclub's got all the momentum of a Zamboni on asphalt.

Guerrero's swinging at everything and we're down five in the seventh, so unless the Braves suddenly forget how to play baseball, we're driving home empty tonight.

The Braves are already measuring the champagne while we're down four with nine outs left, and my coffee's gone cold faster than our championship window.

Braves lineup's too deep and Acuña's too hungry for Toronto's pitching to survive nine innings at home.

We didn't survive 1995 through 2020 to lose to Toronto in the second inning, and besides, Acuña's due.

We've got nine innings to watch this bullpen implode in creative new ways, but Acuña's due and I've learned to suffer through worse than this.

Listen, we're up two runs at home with our young core firing and the Blue Jays are about to find out what happens when you walk into a division that's been our personal property since 1991.

Listen, we've built this team right, we've got the farm system humming, Acuña's a generational talent, and up two runs in the fifth at home is exactly where we want to be—this game is over, Toronto's just playing out the string.

These Toronto boys are about to learn that Truist Park in the 7th inning is where playoff dreams go to die.

We didn't wait 26 years for a ring just to blow a 5-run lead to the Blue Jays in the 7th inning, so somebody's getting saves and Acuña's gonna smile in the dugout.

I've seen this movie before—1991 through 2000—so forgive me if I'm not unclenching until the last out, but four runs is the kind of lead that used to haunt my nightmares and now it just feels like breathing room.