TORONTO -- John Schneider has been a dozen different dudes since the Blue Jays drafted him 24 years ago.

He caught for the Auburn Doubledays, Charleston AlleyCats and Syracuse SkyChiefs, all of them long-forgotten Blue Jays affiliates. He’s managed at nearly every level, picked up a couple of rings along the way and, eventually, became the Blue Jays’ managerial version of a top prospect.

Schneider wore that “manager of the future” tag for years, and when you wear that tag, you end up tied to the people who stuck it on your chest. These were all the fun parts, though. The ascent is always joyful, detached from the realities and expectations of actually arriving. Everyone loves the backup quarterback until it’s their turn to start a game.

Now, entering his third full season as the Blue Jays’ manager, Schneider has tasted the highs that only the big leagues can give you, but he also knows how it feels to get your butt kicked while everyone watches. He’s lived through the great heartbreak of 2021, the infamous José Berríos move in the ‘23 Wild Card Series and a ‘24 season that never had a heartbeat.

Sitting on the squeaky steel bleachers next to an empty field in Dunedin, Fla., days before the Blue Jays flew north to try and wipe away all of those memories, Schneider didn’t sound like any of those men. He didn’t sound like the interim manager who was introduced midway through 2022, back when there weren’t any grays in his beard. He didn’t sound like the manager who spoke in Minneapolis that night in ‘23, either, shellshocked and choosing his words carefully.

Instead, Schneider sounded like his damn self. He sounded like a manager ready to let it rip.

“I felt like a broken record early on. It was all very corporate answer, corporate answer,” Schneider said. “Now, I feel like you and I and [other media] have a different relationship where I can talk a little more candidly.”

THE MANAGER OF THE FUTURE vs. THE PRESENT

It was right in that 2014-16 window, as the Blue Jays lit the country on fire again, that Schneider’s name started bubbling up. That version of Schneider had one speed and one speed only.

“That guy 10 years ago? Wow … he was very green and was very, very focused on the 'now' instead of the big picture,” Schneider said.

Back then, people around the organization tended to describe Schneider the same way. They loved him as a person, loved him as a manager … and if you stick around town for a few days, you might see some fireworks. If you think Schneider’s face gets red in the Major League dugout, you should have seen him in the Minors.

“Oh, man. There was one in New Hampshire,” Schneider said, already laughing. “Cavan Biggio hit a double down the right-field line and we had lost four games in a row with a really good team. I sent Harold Ramírez home from first and he was clearly safe, but got called out. He was the tying run. Game over. My skull cap [helmet] went down and I broke it in half. I almost chased the umpire into the tunnel of the dugout.”

Schneider has taken it down from a 10 to a nine these days, but that fire is still in there. He remembers his first MLB ejection, right down to the umpire and who was on the mound (it was Yimi García). Another personal favorite of his came in Philadelphia last year, when one umpire had to get in between Schneider and his crewmate after a missed call.

By 2017, Schneider was managing High-A Dunedin, which is where a new era of his life began. Vladimir Guerrero Jr. showed up, bringing the eyes of the baseball world. Bo Bichette landed there, too. Schneider has joked that it was like managing a boy band with Biggio there as “the chaperone." He tells stories of fans running after the team bus and staking out their hotels. The normal Minor League experience was over early.

Schneider has been by Vladdy’s and Bo’s sides for nearly a decade now. They’ve grown up together. This is a rare, special bond.

“If he has something to say, he comes to you. I like a person like that,” Guerrero said. “He comes straight to you. He has always been there for me, and he has always been there for everybody. He helps us to get better. When you have a guy like that, you have to appreciate him.”

Vladdy has always been the life of the party. Bichette has always been the serious one. It’s been Schneider’s job for years now -- climbing through every level together -- to keep these two on the right path.

“We have a long relationship,” Bichette said. “It’s the same for a coach and manager as it is for a player. You learn from ups and downs, learn from mistakes or successes. The biggest thing I’ve seen is him trusting us a little bit more. I definitely think he’s taken a step forward with our communication. It’s been really good.”

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

Veterans have echoed Bichette. They see a looser, more natural version of Schneider now, one who is leaning into his own strengths.

“From that time to now, I speak my mind a lot more to both players and the front office. Even you guys,” Schneider said. “I like to try to be as open as I can and be matter of fact, to let everyone know that I’m a [freaking] human being, too.”

As Schneider bounces between the past and present, it feels like he’s finally given himself permission to exhale, lower his shoulders and lean into this job in the ways he’s always wanted to. There’s an incredible sense of freedom that comes with this.

The big leagues were always the dream, first as a catcher and then, many years later, as the guy calling the shots.

“You always think you know what you’re getting into, then you get into it and you’re like, ‘Wow, this is different,’” Schneider said. “Just in talking to you guys, talking to players and other managers, all of that stuff, you just need time and reps to go through it. Early on, I felt like I was a definite extension of the front office or players. It’s not that I’m trying to pick one side or the other, but now I think … ‘Hey, you are in this position for a specific reason and you need to be you.’ It’s not that I wasn’t me, but … there was part of me that was trying to please everyone and that’s just impossible to do.”

Schneider, like Guerrero and Bichette, is in a contract year. The Blue Jays hold a team option for 2026, the same front office that extended both John Gibbons and Charlie Montoyo in Spring Training. Schneider wants to keep these things private for now, but he loves where he’s at, he says. He loves the people around him. This is where he wants to be.

It feels like everyone with a Blue Jays logo on their shirt is facing an uncertain future, but Schneider has all of the right people saying all of the right things.

“He’s got a chance to be great, a great Major League manager,” said club president Mark Shapiro. “He works hard, he’s smart, he’s thoughtful and he’s focused on getting better. He’s competitive as heck, as well. He’s taken his experiences -- the tough ones, good ones, everything -- and he continues to get better. That’s what people who are great at their jobs do.”

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION

Schneider does roughly 500 media sessions each season. Multiple veteran players who have come to Toronto from other organizations have commented on just how much Schneider has to answer for compared to managers in other markets. Every manager is the face of an organization at this point, but few managers in baseball are as constant and cooperative as Schneider.

He’s learned the media game, which starts with staying off social media. Instead, he’ll ask his wife, Jess, or a Blue Jays media relations person what the general narrative is, but it’s impossible to avoid it completely.

“You hear it in the stadium, when people will say, ‘Hey, you don’t know what the [expletive] you’re doing,’” Schneider said. “You’re human to it, but I’m much more at ease with it now. I understand that fans are passionate and they have opinions. If I’m the one talking every day, those are going to be directed at me. It is what it is, but man, I definitely handle it a lot better than I did two years ago.”

Sometimes, when John and Jess are out with their kids, Gunner and Grayson, one of the boys will look up and say, ‘Oh, hey dad!’ They’ll all look up to see Schneider’s face plastered across all 40 televisions in the restaurant. It’s an unsettling feeling that few people understand, but he’s learned to appreciate what this all really means. This is what Schneider dreamed of 24 years ago when he got the call in the 13th round.

“I forget sometimes, man … I view myself as this 45-year-old dude who loves his wife and loves his kids and enjoys drinking beer when he’s home. I’m just a dude,” Schneider said. “You forget that people view you otherwise because your job’s on TV. When we’re playing bad, it sucks. There’s a whole lot of Uber Eats. When it’s good, it’s really good.”

This is the year it all needs to come together for the Blue Jays. Schneider loves this roster. He wants to be bold with it. He wants to surprise people, maybe shut a few people up along the way.

Vladdy and Bo aren’t the same players they were when a young Schneider first walked into their clubhouse. They also aren’t the same players they were when he took over the big club. But he’s not the same manager, either.