At first glance, Jacob Wilsonâs extension in West Sacramento doesnât look like it should matter much outside the Athleticsâ fanbase.
Oct 27, 2025; Los Angeles, California, USA; Toronto Blue Jays second baseman Bo Bichette (11) and first baseman Vladimir Guerrero Jr. (27) are introduced before game three of the 2025 MLB World Series against the Los Angeles Dodgers at Dodger Stadium. Mandatory Credit: Jayne Kamin-Oncea-Imagn Images | Jayne Kamin-Oncea-Imagn Images
A young shortstop, a reasonable seven-year deal, another small-market team locking up cost certainty early. Clean. Sensible. Almost boring.
And yet, for the Toronto Blue Jays, that contract landed with a strange weight â not loudly, not dramatically, but with the kind of quiet force that makes old decisions feel suddenly unfinished.
Wilson, just 23, has barely completed his first full Major League season. His numbers were strong but not explosive: solid contact, elite bat-to-ball skills, steady defense, the profile of a player still very much in the âprojectionâ phase.
Still, the Athletics didnât hesitate. They moved early, bought out arbitration, accepted short-term risk, and bet that time itself would make the deal look smaller with every passing year.
That confidence â more than the dollar amount â is whatâs hard to ignore.
Because Toronto once had a shortstop in a very similar moment. Younger than Wilson is now, more accomplished than Wilson currently is, and openly positioned as part of a long-term core.
Bo Bichette wasnât a hypothetical. He was already producing at an All-Star level, already leading the league in hits, already central to the Blue Jaysâ competitive identity.
Yet Toronto chose the safer route. Arbitration. Flexibility. Optionality.
At the time, it didnât feel reckless. It felt responsible.
But baseball has a way of reframing responsibility after the fact.
Wilsonâs deal will carry him through his prime and still leave him another shot at free agency before decline years set in.
Itâs the kind of structure that protects the team while still respecting the playerâs future leverage. Toronto could have offered something similar to Bichette â more money, more term, a clear statement of intent â without needing to âwinâ free agency or reset the market.
They didnât. And nothing technically went wrong.
There was no standoff. No public fallout. No front-office scandal. Bichette didnât leave under hostile circumstances.
He left because the market finally opened, and when it did, the gap between commitment and opportunity became impossible to ignore.
The Mets didnât just pay him more. They paid him now, with flexibility, opt-outs, and a clear acknowledgment of his status.
Toronto, by comparison, had already framed him as an asset to be managed rather than a cornerstone to be anchored.
That distinction matters â especially to elite players.
What makes the Athleticsâ approach feel unsettling is that it strips away excuses. This wasnât a big-market flex. It wasnât reckless spending. It was a front office deciding that uncertainty was the bigger risk than commitment.
For years, the Blue Jays talked about a âcompetitive window,â about timing peaks correctly, about avoiding long-term mistakes.
In doing so, they may have underestimated how quickly certainty itself becomes valuable â to players, to fans, and to the identity of a franchise.
Now, looking back, the question isnât whether Toronto could have matched New Yorkâs offer. They couldnât have. The question is whether the decision not to act earlier quietly set that outcome in motion.
The Athletics are betting that stability creates value before numbers explode. Toronto bet that patience would preserve leverage.
Only one of those bets kept its shortstop.
And the uncomfortable part isnât that the Blue Jays were wrong â itâs that nothing they did was obviously right, either.
Because sometimes, the moment you realize a door has closed isnât when it slams shut.
Itâs when you watch another team walk through a different one and wonder why it suddenly feels so familiar.
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