If you tried to buy a Blue Jays World Series ticket this week, you already know: the seats disappeared in minutes. I didn’t even try. Resale prices skyrocketed into the thousands—some listed for over $10,000. Some people I know (and read about) were justifiably angry that they lined up early online, only to get kicked off ticket sites — while those intent on buying for the purposes of reselling at double and triple the rates, were able to buy some. News outlets called it a frenzy as fans scrambled to belong to history, to be there when hope finally returned to Canadian baseball.
It’s tempting to dismiss this as economics or hype. But from a psychotherapeutic lens, something deeper is unfolding. The stadium represents more than a game; it’s a sanctuary for shared emotion, a temporary escape from isolation. When access is restricted by profit, it touches an ancient wound: the fear of being left out. Many of us have been there.
At the risk of sounding cynical, I think it’s fair to say we live in a time when “belonging” often feels transactional. Social media monetizes connection; even our joy is resold at markup. The Blue Jays ticket surge is a perfect metaphor for late-capitalist longing—where connection is desired collectively but consumed individually.
For many of us, watching others post photos from inside the stadium evokes a quiet ache. That ache isn’t just about baseball—it’s about the parts of us that crave inclusion, significance, and hope. In some ways, it echoes themes I see daily when people come to me for therapy for anxiety, depression, grief and loss, trauma: Why do I feel left behind or left out? Why can’t I be part of something good? Why is it so hard?
Historically, sports have offered nations moments of cohesion. After 1992 and 1993, the Jays became a symbol of Canadian pride—a reminder that, for a brief time, the underdog could win. Years later, the Raptors’ 2019 championship reignited that same feeling—millions across the country united in the streets, waving flags and chanting “We the North.” In 2025, that narrative returns amid housing crises, burnout, political polarization, and global unrest. Hope feels scarce. So when our team wins, we feel seen again. And in a time where so many of us feel invisible or alienated, that matters.
Yet hyper-capitalism has, in many ways, rewritten that story. Most of us are so immersed in it that we hardly notice how deeply it shapes what we value—or how we connect. Belonging has become something we buy into rather than something we build. Access now carries a price tag, and we’ve been taught to see that as natural, even inevitable. The shared joy that once filled living rooms has splintered into digital spaces where who gets to belong often depends on who can afford the ticket, the subscription, or even the time.
In my past careers in academia — studying culture, politics, and media, I might have called this emotional capitalism — the quiet belief that our worth depends on how productive, successful, or desirable we appear. I see its effects in therapy every day: people feeling guilty for resting, apologetic for needing care, or uncertain whether they’ve “earned” love or ease. It’s the same pattern playing out on a personal scale, where even our emotions start to feel commodified. I mean how badly do we want those tickets? What are we willing to pay for them?!
From a psychological standpoint, these patterns tie into attachment and scarcity mindsets. When life feels uncertain, humans grasp for symbols of stability. The Jays’ success perhaps becomes a proxy for hope itself — a reminder that something good can happen. And boy do we need that these days. But when the price of hope feels exclusionary, despair and resentment can surface.
So how do we reclaim belonging in a world where connection is commodified?
Well with therapy, and mindfulness, we might start by noticing the longing itself — naming the pain without judgment. We create small, accessible rituals of community and connection: gathering to watch the game with friends, texting encouragement, or simply letting ourselves feel pride without needing proximity.
We also explore how scarcity narratives show up in our lives. Do we believe joy is limited? That we have to fight for space in our own story? Healing begins when we see that belonging is not something we buy. Instead, it’s something we build.
Next Steps
If moments like these stir feelings of loneliness, disconnection, or sadness, you’re not alone. Therapy can help you understand those deeper patterns and reconnect with meaning that isn’t dependent on external validation. I offer in-person counselling and therapy to individuals, couples and families to people in the greater Toronto and Hamilton area and I offer online therapy across Ontario. I treat anxiety, depression, grief, trauma, and relationship challenges. Visit ontariotherapist.com to learn more about how we can work together toward authentic connection and inner grounding. I offer free, 15 minute consultations.
And tonight, in Game One of the 2025 World Series between the Toronto Blue Jays and the LA Dodgers, if you’re watching (for the first time or as an avid fan), try expanding yourself a little by trying something new — invite friends or family to watch the game (even online), go out and join others, pick up or make some food that you reminds you of the ballpark.
#LetsGoBlueJays!
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