On The Record: A London Major For Life

On The Record with Jeffrey Reed
August 15, 2026
I’m A London Major For Life – But I’m Shut Out By The Ballclub

Every time I watch the end of the movie, A League Of Their Own, I cry. Members of the All-American Professional Girls Baseball League, now well into their senior years, are playing ball at Doubleday Field, at the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. In the background, Madonna sings, This Used To Be My Playground, and I lose it. Every time. That is what baseball has meant to me during my entire life. And that’s how much I miss playing the game.

At the centre of my baseball passion is the London Majors Baseball Club (est. 1925). From 1970 until 2001, I played no fewer than 18 roles with the Majors, who were part of the 1919-established semi-professional Intercounty Baseball League (IBL). The Majors are now a member of the professional Canadian Baseball League – that’s a topic for another column. But for 33 years, I spent a great deal of my summers focused on baseball at Labatt Park – the world’s oldest, continuous baseball grounds.

In fact, baseball and yours truly – a working scribe now for 47 years and counting – have been inseparable. From the mid-1980s to the early-2000s, before most of my sports writing focused on golf, I was one of Canada’s most prolific baseball journalists. Kevin Glew of Cooperstown In Canada offered this much appreciated testimony after attending one of my speaking engagements: “Jeffrey Reed is one of the most knowledgeable, engaging and inspiring speakers I’ve ever had the pleasure to listen to. His story is one of determination, a man who overcame physical limitations to not only play semi-pro baseball, but also become a golf pro. He has also conquered the very difficult freelance writing field. Jeffrey has become one of the most respected and reliable sports authors in North America. If you get a chance to see Jeffrey speak, don’t miss it!” Thank you, Kevin.

Jeffrey Reed, London Majors 2000. Photo: LondonOntarioSports.com.

Back in the day, I would often walk around downtown London, and people would point and say, “Hey, you’re the baseball guy!” I even walked into a bar once, and had a half dozen young ballplayers walk up to me and say, “Hey, you’re Arden Eddie!” They had mistaken me for the long-time owner of the Majors who also holds numerous IBL records to this day. But you get my drift: people recognized me as an ambassador of local baseball, and as the biggest proponent of the Majors ballclub.

When you think about it, no one even comes close to me when discussing roles with the Majors. At an April luncheon, I was holding court with Majors legends Alex McKay, Barry Boughner and Dave Byers, all members of the 1975 IBL Champion London Majors, and all-time great pitcher Jon Owen, and even they were shocked to learn about my long-time dedication of the ballclub. Alex paid me a big compliment when he recounted how well I handled play-by-play of the Majors during the early- to mid-1990s for Rogers TV, but he wasn’t aware of all of the hats I had worn at Labatt Park.

That’s a good segue as I recount my career as a London Major.

Bat Boy

I was not a London Majors bat boy, but at age 8 I had the opportunity to be a bat boy for one game with the 1970 London Avcos, the Majors’ moniker from 1970-73. That year, I was bat boy for the Eager Beaver Baseball Association (EBBA) McMahen Park Pee Wee Orioles, who captured the league championship. EBBA, which included my father, Ken, and my uncles, Don Jury and Bob Reed, arranged through the Avcos to allow me to work alongside the regular bat boy for one afternoon game at Labatt Park. All I remember about that day is how it was suffocatingly hot, all the dust around the infield and dugout blowing in my face and how nervous I was being around the ballplayers whom I idolized at the time. My father took me to Majors game for as long as I could remember, and to me, they were the New York Yankees. So, in addition to being a fan sitting in the grandstand, I started my Majors career as bat boy for one game. Arden Eddie was an outfielder with that team, and he was one of my boyhood baseball heroes. Thirty-one years later, he would manage the Majors while I coached third base and pitched in relief. That was one of the highlights of my baseball career. Amazing.

Ball Chaser

As a semi-pro ballclub with a budget smaller than Eddie Gaedel’s strike zone, the Majors would pay kids – yours truly included – to chase down foul balls and return them to the bench so that they could be put back in play. This was exactly the opposite approach taken by Major League Baseball, which only uses pristine pills. A ball is hit into the right field bleachers? Run after it and wrestle a fan for it, if you had to. A ball is fouled onto the parking lot behind the third base dugout? Go get it and bring it back to the bench. I don’t ever recall having to use any Hulk Hogan moves on fans not willing to hand over the baseballs, but there were some who refused to do so. I was just happy to be at the ballpark and receiving a free Coke and hot dog for my efforts. Competition amongst the ball chasers was cutthroat, but I was one of the fastest runners and usually got to the foul balls first. It was a game within a game, and a great time to be a kid during the early-1970s.

Scoreboard Operator

There were 35,205 fans at Fenway Park for Game 6 of the 1975 World Series – a series that propelled baseball’s popularity into the stratosphere – yet millions of baseball fans claimed to have been in Fenway that night. That same myth applies when people claim to have worked the old wooden scoreboard at Labatt Park. Long before the state-of-the-art electric scoreboard was installed for the Class AA Eastern League London Tigers, the Majors used a wooden scoreboard with numbers that were changed by scoreboard operators – including me. In fact, Ted Giannoulas, the Famous Chicken, worked the scoreboard at Labatt Park, as did former London sports broadcaster Chris Mayberry, one of my mentors during my first year in broadcasting in 1980 at 1410 CKSL Radio. To get to the scoreboard, you would climb a ladder, and then closely watch the game to keep score. There was a certain status attached to that job – you felt important. You were part of the game. And the Cokes and hot dogs flowed freely – more so than if you chased down foul balls. I also was paid 25 cents for my effort. In 1975, during the Majors’ IBL championship season, I was named MVP of the EBBA Pee Wee Orioles. When I wasn’t pitching on local sandlots, I was watching my Majors heroes, including pitcher and former big-leaguer Mike Kilkenny, play at Labatt Park while I worked the scoreboard. I wore No. 17 for most of my career; Kilkenny wore No. 17 for the Majors (as did legendary hurler Tommy White, a member of the 1948 World Sandlot Champion London Majors). When I lockered in the Roy McKay clubhouse in 2000 and ’01, I chose the locker which had White’s retired uni on the wall above my stall. That meant a lot to me and, being superstitious, I chose that locker for good luck.

Broadcast, Print & New Media Reporter, and Photographer

Jeffrey Reed interviewing former Kitchener Panthers slugger Sean Reilly at Labatt Park in 2016. Photo: RJ Rose.

From 1980 until present, I have been reporting on the London Majors for newspapers, magazines, websites – including this one – as well as radio and TV. In fact, when I was a pre-teen, I brought my cassette recorder to Labatt Park, sat alone in the bleachers and called play-by-play of the Majors for an audience of one. That’s how I got my start as a broadcast journalist. I’ve also taken thousands of photos of IBL action at Labatt Park – you can view many of them at this website’s Facebook page, link here .

Some of the places where you may have seen and heard my stories on London Majors Baseball include: The London Free Press; Business London Magazine; London Business Magazine; Business Times; London Magazine; London CityLife Magazine; SCENE Magazine; London Sports Times; IBL media guides and team programs; Business Monday; newspapers in Sarnia, St. Thomas, Kitchener, Toronto, Guelph, Brantford, Stratford and Waterloo; 1410 CKSL Radio; 1290 CJBK Radio; 980 CFPL Radio; Rogers TV London; MacLean Hunter TV London; CTV Kitchener; CIXX-FM London; CFRL Radio London; The Interrobang, Fanshawe College; and scores of sports websites, most notably LondonOntarioSports.com. This body of work earned me the nickname, ‘The Baseball Guy.’ When LondonOntarioSports.com launched in late-2015, I decided to return to Labatt Park for the 2016 IBL season and cover the Majors just as an MLB team would be covered. Great idea. Family and friends loved it. Readers loved it. The fans went nuts for it. The Majors? Not so much. More on this later. But it goes without saying, no one has covered the Majors as closely as I have during a career in journalism. I am also very proud of that fact.

PA Announcer & Scorekeeper

I took a turn at both of these roles in the Labatt Park press box – and let me tell you, no media member over the past four decades has spent more time in that press box than yours truly. If Labatt Park has been my second home, then the press box at the ‘ole ballyard was my sanctuary – a place where I watched all of the action on the field, enjoyed banter with fellow scribes and broadcasters and, yes, loved the ballpark fare (great hot dogs). Old Tiger Stadium always had the best spread for media, but a dog smothered in mustard at Wilson and Riverside on a hot summer night was always enjoyable. I worked more as a PA announcer than I did scorekeeper. On that note, what is up with PA announcers at Labatt Park that sound more like WWE carnies than ballpark announcers? I always went old-school like legendary Yankees announcer Bob Sheppard. In 2016, Majors PA announcer Eric Collins’ act behind the microphone would have made a Monster Truck announcer blush. Totally over the top. I never liked keeping the official scorebook, FYI. When I kept score while reporting on games for print and broadcast, my scorebook resembled a road map from hell – I understood it, but no one else could.

Author, EBBA 40 Years of Baseball, London Majors Alumni Director & Intercounty Baseball League Media Relations Director Founder/Operator

Jeffrey Reed presents copies of his 1994-published book, EBBA 40 Years of Baseball, to the London Public Library.

In 1994, EBBA published my first book, EBBA 40 Years of Baseball – it has had two printing runs of 10,000 books. It’s also the very first book ever published about local baseball history – I am immensely proud of that. Imagine the look on my face when I discovered that former New York Yankee, Pittsburgh Pirate and London Majors owner and player Frank Colman did not found EBBA, as the league had said up until my book publishing, but a relatively unknown Londoner named Gordon Berryhill did. And, Berryhill was a good friend of both Babe Ruth and Ty Cobb. You can’t make this magic up any better. Colman, though, was the founding president and instrumental in establishing the Eager Beaver Baseball Association, London’s original minor sports association and one of Canada’s oldest Little League organizations. In any event, a large part of this book involves the London Majors, and that caught the eye of Arden Eddie and the IBL, who were about to banish aluminum bats, used from 1977 as a cost saving measure. The league needed a media relations office and someone to operate it, and they recruited me for the job. After meeting with Eddie, Stratford Hillers legendary player and manager Dennis Schooley and IBL commissioner John Coppes, the deal was done: I would found the IBL’s first media relations office and operate out of my London office. FYI you can read my in-depth story on the wooden bat versus aluminum bat era here.

Now, let me tell you, because the Internet was not a thing yet, I had to rely on faxing game reports every night – one at a time, until at least 1 a.m. during the entire season. Sometimes my night would end at 2 a.m. That was the easy part. Getting the teams to call me with game reports was the tough part. On more than one occasion, I had to contact a neighbourhood pub in Hamilton to get their reports from team owner Brian Hanson so I could write both a summary and a box score. Brian turned out to be a great friend, but he was not the most reliable source after a game. Sourcing info from Eddie was no picnic, either. Ironically, the Majors owner would bitch non-stop during the season about lack of media coverage. On that note, wonder why the current London Majors are now media darlings? Because they have spent money on advertising. And, because there is a team effort amongst the Majors, Tourism London and other partners to promote Labatt Park as a family-friendly venue. It’s the place to be and to be seen in London during the summer months. It’s why the Majors have always been contenders: players want to play at Labatt Park. Don’t think for a minute that the Majors’ recent success had more to do with the ballpark than the team scouting good players.

For the record, Eddie still owes me and others money for travel during the 2000 season when we did not have use of a team bus. Of course, we’ll never see a dime of that gas money. We laugh about it now, but back then we knew that we had a great story to tell local fans via the media, yet no one cared. I would tell people in 2000 and ’01 that I was a London Majors coach and pitcher, and quite often they would ask, “London still has a team? I didn’t know that.” Our crowds numbered around 150 back then – but I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll continue with the IBL media office.

Ian Anderson wields an aluminum bat at Labatt Park in 1992. That’s long-time umpire and London Sports Hall of Fame inductee Jim Cressman umpiring. Photo: Jeffrey Reed/LondonOntarioSports.com.

Sadly, since I left that job before the 1998 season (the workload was tremendous and the league would not meet my salary expectations), the IBL – now Canadian Baseball League – media relations office has been less than stellar. Same with the Majors’ media relations. No meat and potatoes. All fluff. Blame a large part of that on social media, and some of it on the people selected for the job. Sure, I’m now a grumpy, aging sports writer. But a fact’s a fact. Consider that during my reign as media relations director 1994-97, after spending much time forming that office, that I wrote nightly standings, highlight packages, box scores, line scores and provided quotes. I also used my home business telephone line as the Intercounty Baseball Line, recording a nightly recap of league action. Media and others would call from all over Ontario to hear the nightly report. I wrote an end-of-season highlight package for all of the teams; player profiles (I kept biographies of each and every player, coach and club staff and ownership personnel on file); analyzed stats; and more. And I did that with very little support from long-time IBL stats guy Herb Morrel. I get it: Herb felt like I was stepping on his toes. But he never gave me a chance. Pulling info from Herb was like trying to collect gas money from Eddie.

I have to say, when I came on board with the IBL, long-time Toronto Maple Leafs owner Jack Dominico gave me a hard time. “We do our own thing here, Reed. We don’t need you.” But by the second week on the job, Jack was on the phone with me, constantly, thanking me for a job well done and praising me for my work and work ethic. To this day, I treasure his words. Thank you, Jack. We miss you.

Now, you will read a lot of bitching and complaining in this column, but don’t for a minute think that the vast majority of my association with the London Majors was anything but amazing. It was. But this column isn’t a fluff piece, like the Majors’ social media feeds.

Also, let’s not forget that in 1994 Eddie named me London Majors alumni director – I was the first, and the first to gather members of championship teams at Labatt Park for a gameday reunion. More on that later.

Team Photographer, Media Relations Director, Historian

When I left the IBL post, Eddie embraced the idea of me doing the same job for just for the London Majors. I jumped at the opportunity – no more travelling across Southwestern Ontario, and I got to hang out again at my second home, Labatt Park. During the 1998 and ’99 seasons, I continued to write stories and take photos for the Majors yearbook, and I worked closely with my local media colleagues to promote the ballclub and the league. I was happy to greatly increase local media coverage, but still, it was not enough for Eddie. Yet although he and his family poured their blood, sweat and tears into the ballclub, it still wasn’t enough: no money was spent on marketing. In fact, I didn’t get a dime for any of the work I did those two seasons. This is a good time to state – with an oft-used corny explanation – that I did it for the love of the game. The London Majors will always be the most important team in my life. Period. I’ve poured my own blood, sweat and tears into the organization. That’s why I worked pro bono. I worked tirelessly as the team historian, too. So, later on, when the ballclub shut me out – and I won’t lie, it hurt – I was extremely displeased when the late Barry Wells stepped into my shoes and made a name for himself by, for a large part, using my stories and research resulting from two decades of work. I’m glad Barry did what he did – we all win as Majors fans. But I don’t like how I was kicked to the curb.

3B Coach & Pitcher

Jeffrey Reed ready to hit infield with the London Majors at Labatt Park on Opening Day 2000.

Nearing age 40 and probably experiencing a mid-life crisis, I got the crazy notion in 1999 that I could play semi-pro ball with the Majors. I would have to do it as an out-of-shape ballplayer who hadn’t thrown nor hit a ball since age 25. And I would have to do it with a myriad of physical disabilities. Still, I had been around the IBL enough to know that I had the skills to compete as a pitcher, and as an outfielder – after all, I had a front-row seat for years. However, my disabilities wouldn’t allow me to perform as well in the infield. If you have ever played baseball with a bad back, then you know what I’m talking about. I could also hit, too – that would never be a problem. But first, I needed a wakeup call.

Let me say first, though, that this was not a Walter Mitty dream. As a Little League and junior ballplayer, I was one of the best in Southwestern Ontario and had even caught the eye of some Big 10 schools, before I tore my right trapezius muscle pitching (a coach put me on the mound for three games in one week – that coupled with my disabilities led to the tear that hampers me to this day). I was consistently outpitching future London Majors players including East London Lions Park standout Steve Bushby. At my first junior tryout at Labatt Park, I was involved in a drill throwing from the left field corner of the fence bordering the Thames River, to the right field corner. We were asked to throw the ball on one hop. I threw a bullet with no bounce, which drew a lot of attention – but angered the coach who yelled, “One bounce!” I always thought that was funny.

Still, I was almost 40, living with severe disabilities, which I’ll get into, and was out of shape. Allow me, if you will, to list my disabilities: club feet; underdeveloped left leg; protruding pelvis; spina bifida occulta; scoliosis; misaligned jaw; severe neck arthritis; and Chiari Malformation (look it up – it’s not pretty). And that’s not counting all of my sports injuries! I spoke recently with one of my mentors, Daniel “Rudy” Ruettiger, who asked me, “How did you do it?” He couldn’t believe, once again, that I had played semi-pro ball, which I’ll get into shortly. My answer? Have a dream. Work harder than anyone else. Work with mentors. Learn from your mistakes. Never give up. Ever. Rudy – who said there should be a documentary made about my Majors journey – completely understood. Too bad the London Majors of today do not. More on that in a bit.

Little-known fact: I was about to try out with the Brantford Red Sox. But long-time London sports legend and London Major Norm Aldridge convinced me to try out for the Majors. I told Norm that at age 25, I had answered an ad that Eddie had run in The London Free Press looking for new players, and that at age 25 I was “too old” to be an IBL rookie, Eddie said at the time. Plus, the Majors team was very strong in 1999 – and Eddie showed no interest in having me try out. But I did – and I failed miserably. I was out of shape. After a turn hitting BP, Aldridge took me aside and said, “Big guy, you’re nowhere near ready!” I believed him and thanked him for being so honest. Norm, to his credit, never treated me any differently after that failed tryout, while many others did.

In 2000, this time in much better shape, I again tried out for the Majors. To my surprise, the ballclub had finally seen something in me – including my knowledge of the game and coaching abilities – and named me 3B coach. My dream had come true: I was a London Major in uniform! In 2001, this time in incredible shape after a winter of hard training, and with my pitching arm suddenly come alive, I was signed to a player’s contract. Now, I won’t get into much of that season – you can read about it here in my biography – but I knew and some of my teammates told me that I should have pitched a lot that summer. But Eddie, manager in 2001, did not let me pitch until the last game of the regular season, at Hamilton’s Bernie Arbour Memorial Stadium.

Again, I encourage you to read my story about playing semi-pro ball as a disabled athlete – it’s all here. But I will offer you a few until-now untold nuggets from that season.

I won’t go all Jim Bouton on you now (for you kids who don’t know who Jim Bouton was, he was a former big leaguer who wrote, Ball Four, a baseball book which blew the cover off of MLB. He told it like it was – from the locker rooms to the boardrooms). I met Jim and talked about his book during his stop in London in 1981 and we both knew we embraced truthful, behind-the-scenes baseball. We were brothers from another mother and it was a pleasure talkin’ baseball with the man.

Jeffrey Reed coaching third base at Labatt Park in 2000.

I will, however, tell you a few stories which lend themselves to defining how difficult it was moving from the press box to the dugout. The players who gave me the most shit were the most accomplished players, surprisingly – including former pros (New York Yankees, Toronto Blue Jays farmhands) and some of the former U.S. College players. Again, I get it: they were pissed off that a nearly 40-year-old dude was, in their minds, showing them up. No one worked harder than me – I was at Labatt Park at 2 p.m. latest for an 8 p.m. game, stretching, running, throwing BP and hitting fungoes to the early arrivers, grabbing a snack, then again throwing BP and hitting fungoes before hitting infield and coaching 3B. I led by example and I was living my dream. But a lot of my teammates didn’t see it like that: they were pissed off that their dreams had ended, and they didn’t like the fact someone was outworking them. I feel sorry for them, because they could have fed off of my energy. We were teammates, after all. Instead, they gave me an incredibly tough time.

I have to mention Majors 3B Dan Mendham, who was my teammate in 2000. It was an absolute pleasure coaching Dan. He was the team leader, worked hard and was a Major through and through. He supported me more than any other teammate, and even came to my defense when others were giving me shit. I will always respect him and thank him for that. When someone like Mendham says you do a good job, well, that is all that matters.

A few notes: Many of my younger Majors teammates had assumed that I had played for and coached with the club for many years – they knew not that I had not played ball since age 25, 14 years earlier. Read my note earlier re: being confused with Arden Eddie in a bar. The London Majors and I were synonymous. Of course, they didn’t know about my disabilities (I told no one – they would not have signed me to a contract). And also, there was no way I would had been able to work so hard and perform so well as a coach if I had not been a star baseball player earlier in life.

Again, you’ll want to read more about my time with the Majors in this story here.

After the 2001 season, and my mound appearance – a scoreless 8th inning with a strikeout looking to end my career – I knew it was time to retire. The Kitchener Panthers asked me to manage their ballclub, but I declined. After all, I am a London Major. Will be for life – despite what happened in 2004, and again in 2016. It’s time, then, to blow the lid off of that cover now.

2004

Arden Eddie finally sold the ballclub – to former Majors outfielder (and a terrible ballplayer, for the record) Roop Chanderdat and his long-time friend, Scott Dart. A London Major for life, I contacted the club about working in some capacity. After meeting with Dart, I knew two things right away: first, my unparalleled support of the ballclub up until now meant shit; and second, oddly enough, was that I represented the old guard – the Arden Eddie era. This was a new day for the Majors, and I was seen as a dinosaur. But instead of shooing me away, the club gave me a bullshit title: advance scout. Now, anyone who knows a thing or two about the IBL knows that there are no advance scouts. I was a great league, but a bare-bones league at that. Obviously, the club underestimated my knowledge of the game, so I played along, gave manager Ron LeClair a scouting report one time, and was ignored. That title was the Majors way of showing me, there was a new sheriff in town and that they would show me who’s boss. It was childish. And when you think about it, what a waste of time at their end to go through all the trouble of creating a non-existent title for me. In the end, I took it as a compliment that they would go through all of that trouble, just to make a point. I obviously held some clout. In the end, it was about jealousy. Nothing more.

The other role the club handed to me was alumni director – again. Eddie had all but shut it down before. He was a very complex man and had a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. Now, I was again in charge of contacting alumni to gather at a Majors game. That part of the day was successful. But here’s what else went down that day. Dart, again wanting to show me who was boss, asked me to go to a store to buy more hot dogs – he said they were about to run out. I got a lot of attention at Labatt Park, and I know Dart and Chanderdat did not like that. Here I was, a dedicated London Major for life, and now I’m a hot dog errand boy? That was the end of my association with the new owners. Or so I thought …

2016

Jeffrey Reed talking baseball with former London Majors teammate now co-owner/GM/manager Roop Chanderdat. Photo: Brown’s Photos.

In late-2015, LondonOntarioSports.com launched, and I was looking for a summer project. So, I decided to give the Majors another chance – and to cover the team with an MLB experience. Chanderdat was thrilled, it appeared, to have me back in the fold – but this time I was a reporter, not a club member. I covered the Majors like no one ever had – hanging around the batting cage, digging up the latest dirt, learning about injuries, just talking baseball. I’ve covered MLB during my career, so this was old hat for me. The other teams around the league were extremely appreciative of my reporting. They all thanked me. The Majors were happy, too – that is until a brawl in Kitchener which saw Majors third base coach Casey Pulham getting punched and knocked in front of the Panthers bench. I did my job: I reported on the incident without bias. That’s when the Majors turned on me – big-time.

The next game, in Kitchener, I found the only vacant seat available – on the Panthers’ side of the diamond. The tiny press box was full. Now, even though my reporting was factual and unbiased, and because I sat on the Panthers’ side of the field – which should not have mattered one bit – I was London Majors public enemy number one. Even Panthers slugger Sean Reilly said to me, “They (the Majors) hate you! Why do they hate you so much?” Post-game more than one player walked up right in my grille with language not suited even for this column. One player – Brett Sabourin – even walked into me, on purpose. He didn’t injure me, but it was still intentional and inappropriate. He said, “We have nothing to say to you.” But that wasn’t true. Others did speak with me, yet very reluctantly. It was as if they knew they weren’t supposed to and would catch hell for it. I felt very badly for them.

When I spoke with league commissioner John Kastner about my concerns, he brushed them aside and said, “That’s the relationship players and reporters have.” No way. Not in the IBL, which begs for coverage. And certainly not anywhere where a reporter feels threatened by physical contact.

But I did attend the next game in London. Chanderdat and a few of the players chirped at me. Chanderdat seemed to be pissed off because of where I sat in Kitchener. Really? Sabourin said, for whatever reason, “I now have no respect for you whatsoever.” I said back, “There, you see? I never had any respect for you, other than as a ballplayer.”

In my opinion, the only reason the team turned on me was because that is the way team management wanted it. And, I couldn’t micromanaged. A few of the players were kind enough to allow me to interview them, so they obviously weren’t fully buying into the micromanaging. But now, without support from the league, and without a press corp present at Majors games (it was yours truly, no one else), plus the fact I am a freelancer, I had no ‘big brother’ watching my back. I was all alone out there, and I felt unsafe. It was time to leave.

If I had been reporting for a daily newspaper or any other mainstream media outlet, there would have been hell to pay. But as a freelancer, my complaints fell on deaf ears, even when I mentioned it to another sportswriter. That writer could have cared less. And that was not right, either. I did speak to some of my trusted colleagues, though, and they were appalled – but helpless in the matter.

The only thing about how all of that went down that still baffles me is, how the club would turn its back on an alumnus – the most involved alumnus of all-time – and yet still tell everyone within earshot how much they value their alumni. Double standard.

Unfortunately, the club has blackballed me, and it even extends to its alumni group – those in charge, without any good reason, have also shut me out and have ignored my offerings, which would be invaluable to the fans. An alumni insider and friend told me that they’re jealous of my resources and don’t want anyone taking the spotlight away from those in charge. Hell, even the Majors so-called PR guy and photographer, Matt Hiscox (he’s a very good photographer, but no PR professional), has disrespected me for no good reason whatsoever. That one caught me by surprise. Obviously, he was also micromanaged. Even when I told him I would chat to pass along some insight, he declined in a very rude manner. This is all a shame, but you can see where there’s smoke, there’s fire: someone within the ballclub sees me as a threat, which is ridiculous. I write about this because it’s time. It’s unacceptable. And it’s a fact.

A few years ago, I even contacted the club to express interest in writing a London Majors history book. Again, I was ignored. And when the IBL assembled their 100th anniversary history book, again, I was shut out. I can only guess who micromanaged that move. The book could have been so much better, in particular the Majors section. But they did use a few of my photos – without permission. And the IBL listed the wrong dates of my media relations director years. So be it.

The point I am making is this: jealousy is a complete waste of time. So is prolonged anger. In 2016, despite the fact the club did me dirty in 2004, I went back and gave of my time as a reporter. But we see how that turned out. And if the club were to apologize and start from scratch, I would make the effort to get involved. But let’s be honest: with current ownership, that will never happen.

Junior golfer Bryce Burridge won the 11th annual Jeffrey Reed Courage Award in 2026.

In the end, the London Majors and I will always be inseparable. I’ve continued to write Majors and IBL stories over the years. I recently uploaded hundreds of my Majors photos at this website’s Facebook page here. I am also a much sought-after public speaker, talking about my impossible feat of pitching for the London Majors as a disabled athlete. Over the years, I have had present-day London Majors in the audience who have shaken my hand and thanked me for inspiring them. That means a lot. I’ve supported Tourism London with my Labatt Park photos for their display at Labatt Park tours. In fact, a week does not go by without someone speaking with me about my impossible journey with the Majors. You see, true passion cannot be micromanaged. I will not be silenced.

Since 2016, the Jeffrey Reed Courage Award has presented 11 local athletes with a commemorative plaque for beating the odds – just like I did with the Majors – while demonstrating courage on and off the playing field. Along with partner publication LondonOntarioGolf.com, LondonOntarioSports.com has donated $170,000 in local charitable giving. And each time I speak at a charity event, I tell the audience about my days with the London Majors. You can read about the Jeffrey Reed Courage Award here.

I wish to again thank the Hamilton Cardinals Baseball Club, who, in 2016, invited me to throw out the ceremonial first pitch on Opening Day at Bernie Arbour Memorial Stadium – where I pitched my scoreless inning. Class act. You can read more about that here. It was a sweet moment during what would prove to be a bittersweet season reporting on the team.

Jeffrey Reed’s ceremonial first pitch 2016 at Bernie Arbour Memorial Stadium. Photo: Hamilton Cardinals/Glen Cuthbert.

In the movie, Moneyball, a scout tells a young Billy Beane, “Some of us are told at 18, some of us are told at 40, but we’re all told,” when defining why baseball is a game for our younger selves, and that the dream will all end one day. I am extremely blessed that I was able to play until age 39, and that I made the decision to retire. No one told me to leave – except for my disabilities. I knew after the Majors’ 2001 season that there was nothing left in the tank.

The day of my last Majors game, in late-August 2001, I stood alone, in centre field at Labatt Park, and looked around the ballpark that had been my second home since I could walk. I did my running and stretching, alone, at 2 p.m. before an 8 p.m. playoff game. I didn’t know for sure that our season would end on this day, but I knew. I could feel it. And it was. And yes, standing alone in centre field, I cried, knowing that I would never return in uniform. But I achieved the impossible, and I was proud of it.

And whenever I watch, A League Of Their Own, I stop and think about my 33 years living much of my life from late-April through early-September at the corner of Wilson and Riverside, at the world’s oldest, continuous baseball grounds.

We never know when we’re going to be told – age 18 or age 40 – but I do know that when I leave this earth, I’ll be wearing my Majors uniform No. 10 with my fungo bat tucked alongside me in a wooden box, and my baseball glove on my left hand. That’s exactly how I want to be told.

–30–

On The Record is published every Saturday at LondonOntarioSports.com. Jeffrey Reed is Southwestern Ontario’s senior sports journalist, with roots dating back to 1980. A nine-time writing award winner and three-time author, Reed penned, EBBA 40 Years of Baseball (1994) and, The Canadian Seniors’ Golf Association, Celebrating 100 Years of Seniors Golf 1918-2018 (2018). Reach him at jeff@londonontariosports.com.

FLOWERS & BRICKS

Flowers

“Jeffrey, thanks for sharing all of those baseball stories, especially the earlier days. I played Eager Beaver baseball and I was a regular at the ballpark and have all sorts of memories from the London Majors. Sounds like they really put you through the ringer later on, how unfortunate for everyone involved … Keep up the good work!” – Edward Johnston, London

Thanks for your note, Edward. The club’s less-than-stellar attitude towards the end of our relationship was certainly unprofessional, to say the least. But overall, I have great memories from my long association with the Majors. – JR

Bricks

“You recently published a story on the Majors, and their staff, claiming to be a “Major for Life” … You sound incredibly bitter and you should keep that to yourself. Us volunteers give countless hours to support the team we love. None of us need to read that garbage. Not that it’s viewed by many anyway. And to be honest, those of us who actually work for the team, had a good laugh about it at Labatt Park – a place that doesn’t exactly welcome you anymore. Sincerely, the Majors in game host, or a “WWE Carnie” if you will.” – Sara Rubino, London

Thanks for your note, Sara. No bitterness, here. You apparently don’t understand the nature of this column – it stems from my first-hand experience and is, of course, relying on facts, not opinion. Also, as an important alumnus and a journalist, I am always welcomed at Labatt Park. It’s a public venue, too. Perhaps you should have thicker skin – and not appear so angry over a tiny portion of my overall column that, in fact, you misunderstood and had nothing to do with your role. Thanks for reading, though. – JR