Friday, April 17, 2026

The City of Two Tales

What the Maple Leafs and Blue Jays can teach us about loyalty and building a positive workplace culture

By Izzy Huygen, Representative

I was born in Ontario into a family where loyalty wasn’t taught, it was inherited.

My mom and dad, my brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, grandma, grandpa, pake and beppe (vive le Friesland!): we are all Leafs fans. No exceptions.

And when the season turns warm, we become Blue Jays fans just as fiercely. It's not a choice. It's simply who we are.

People still ask me, “Why are you a Leafs fan?”

The answer is simple: my family bleeds blue.

I’ve lived in Alberta now for about half my life, but that hasn’t changed a thing, and my kids are all proudly Leafs fans.

A couple of years ago, when the Leafs stumbled out of the gate to start the season, someone asked me, “So … are you still a Leafs fan?”

I said, “Do you still love your bad kid?”

Of course I am!

Loyalty doesn’t disappear when things get hard. If anything, that’s when it proves itself.

The Leafs haven’t won a Stanley Cup in my lifetime, but that doesn’t erase what they mean to me. I’m still riding the high of Wendel Clark dropping the gloves with Marty McSorley in the spring of 1993, a moment burned into the memory of every true Leafs fan. Captain Crunch himself, the Saskatchewan farm boy, carrying the team, and an entire nation of fans on his back.

In our house, it went beyond watching games. Our Australian Blue (and white) Shepherd was named Wendel. Our two budgies, one blue and one white, were named Wendel and Clark. That probably tells you everything you need to know.

And let’s be honest: the Leafs’ history isn’t empty. They hold the second-most Stanley Cups in NHL history. Sure, they’ve been around a long time, but even so, their success still outpaces many teams that have never lifted the Cup at all. Yet year after year, when things go sideways, the noise is relentless against the Leafs.

“Blow it up,” they say.

What gets me isn’t just the losing, it’s the reaction. No team takes heat quite like the Leafs, and much of it comes from their own backyard. The media is unforgiving. The fan base can be, too. At times, it feels less like support and more like scrutiny.

Take Mitch Marner—a hometown kid, a 100-point player, one of the best in the game. The team pushes deep, loses a hard-fought Game 7 to the eventual Stanley Cup champions, and somehow he becomes the scapegoat. The criticism turns personal. Ugly. Even cruel. And he leaves for a bag of pucks to go play in obscurity and safety.

That’s the part I can’t stand.

If you don’t believe in the team, that’s fine: but don’t tear it down from the inside. Loyalty shouldn’t come with conditions.

But Toronto is a city of two tales.

Because just down the street, there’s a completely different story unfolding.

The Blue Jays.

A team built not just on talent, but on joy. On energy. On a culture that people want to be part of.

You can see it in the way they play, the way they celebrate, the way the city rallies around them. Led by the ever-smiling, ever-dangerous Vladimir Guerrero Jr., the Jays have become something more than a team—they’ve become a feeling.

And that feeling is contagious.

Players notice it. Veterans choose to stay because of it (welcome back Max and Bieber)!

Stories emerge—not just about contracts or stats—but about atmosphere. About how much fun the game can still be, even in its hardest moments.

That kind of culture doesn’t happen by accident. It’s built. Protected. Chosen.

And it makes all the difference.

Because culture shapes everything. Whether it’s a professional sports team, a beer-league squad, or a workplace.

People want to belong to something that lifts them up, not tears them down. More often than not, they’ll choose a place where they feel valued over one that simply pays more.

That’s not just true in sports. It’s true everywhere.

It’s true in the work we do, too. Culture matters. Working together matters. Being part of something that functions well, that supports its people—that matters.

In the end, that’s what separates the two tales of this city.

One is driven by pressure, expectation, and criticism that never seems to rest.

The other is fueled by belief, energy, and a shared sense of joy.

Same city. Two very different stories.

And maybe the lesson is simple:

Be the kind of team people want to stay for.

Be the kind of culture people want to be part of.

Just ask Marner.

Be a Vlad.

The City of Two Tales

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