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Every once in a while, John Gibbons will go online and scroll through the worst manager meltdowns in history.

Seeing what his predecessors got up to – Hal McRae throwing his office phone at reporters, Tommy Lasorda's vicious public rants, Billy Martin's on-field freakouts – titillates and shocks the Blue Jays field boss.

"The stuff coming out of their mouths? You'd never get away with that today," Gibbons said Monday, before dropping to a stage whisper. "The vulgarity."

He's a particular admirer of Lee Elia's warm 1983 embrace of his own fans at Wrigley Field: "The [expletive]s don't even work. That's why they're out at the [expletive] game … Eighty-five per cent of the [expletive] world is working. The other 15 come out here."

It goes on like that at great length. About a tenth of the total verbiage is some variation of the F-word.

"That is a classic," Gibbons said giddily.

Off the field, Gibbons is so easygoing, he might be mistaken for asleep. As a general rule, he does not swear – an extreme oddity among pros of his vintage.

I've seen him in exactly one negative interaction with a reporter on the Toronto baseball beat. By the usual standard, it wasn't much. Gibbons was so rattled by his own behaviour, he went to find the guy and apologized.

So while it is possible he is not the most laid-back guy in baseball, he is close.

Which is what makes watching him regularly go bananas so much fun.

On Sunday against Boston, Gibbons was ejected after arguing a foul call. It had been nearly a week since he was last thrown out.

Gibbons has been expelled this year for arguing checked swings, brushback pitches and ejections (which is very meta). For the most part, chirping about balls and strikes gets him in trouble.

His eight ejections lead the major leagues by a good margin.

It also ties him for most in single-season club history with Bobby Cox (1984) and himself (2005).

"Really?" Gibbons said, doing a decent impression of someone who's surprised. "That's not good."

Considering that he's done it during the replay era – when you're often arguing with a TV screen rather than a human – is kind of amazing.

We're at the point where watching Gibbons "burst" from the top of the dugout steps and begin slow-rolling into combat has become a delightful Jays tradition.

So what is his ejection strategy?

"First off, it's never planned. There's never any fake motives," Gibbons said. "It's genuine frustration – I churn inside a little more than people think. When you do this every day, the frustrations build up. Important games, important situations, sometimes you just snap."

Whenever Gibbons snaps, the man sitting beside him is bench coach DeMarlo Hale. Here's the calming presence, the voice of reason who …

"I understand why he does it," Hale said. "Sometimes you see a replay up on the board and you say, 'He's safe.' And they come out from under that [expletive] headset and say, 'He's out.' And you say, 'Are you [expletive] me? What camera angle do you have?' So it happens."

You begin to think it's a miracle the Jays end any game with a single coach on the bench.

Once verbal battle has been joined, Gibbons has his code.

Rule 1: "I never call anybody names. I make a point of that. I may get a little carried away in how I've described the play they've called."

Rule 2: "I can honestly say I've never directed an insult at the individual. That's not fair. I'm better than that." Gibbons pauses for a second. "I'm pretty sure that's accurate. A couple of things might've slipped a time or two."

Rule 3: "I fight for my guys because they fight for me."

Gibbons has no overarching justification for why he does it. He just does.

(Hale later sums up the only beneficial effect of a manager ejection on an irritated team: "It's better that the manager go than any of the players. Because they play.")

There is rarely any display of wild emotion during a Gibbons ejection. He doesn't kick dirt or throw bases. He doesn't scream or carry on. Asked for his most memorable tossing, Gibbons goes into great detail about a bang-bang play at first overruled by the second-base umpire. This was a couple of years ago.

"How could he do that?" Gibbons said, still outraged. "It doesn't make any sense!"

Did you swear that time?

"No," Gibbons said, bashful again. "But I threw my hat. That's an automatic."

What does he do once he's been tossed?

"Generally, when you get ejected, things aren't going too good. So I say, 'To hell with it. Let someone else give it a try.'"

"He doesn't say anything to me," Hale said of taking charge in those instances. "He doesn't need to. I know what he wants me to do."

Gibbons goes back to his office and "maybe drink a beer, a little glass of wine, watch the game on TV. Pretty simple."

Earlier this year, he was suspended three games for coming onto the field during a brawl in Texas. He spent the first of those nights off watching from the team president's box. Comfy chairs. Multiple TVs. NBA playoffs on one of them.

"It was actually kinda cool … [pause] … We got pummelled … [another pause] … I couldn't get blamed for that one."

In the midst of the enforced layoff, Toronto third baseman Josh Donaldson assured the boss that he was trying to get into contact with MLB disciplinarian Joe Torre – in the hopes of getting Gibbons's suspension extended.

"I told him, 'I tried that, too. It didn't work.'"

We're standing on the field during batting practice. Gibbons is half-bent over laughing. People are starting to stare. It's hard to tell if he's more tickled by Donaldson's joke or his own. It's also impossible to imagine this guy angry at anybody about anything.

Of course, they aren't playing baseball yet.