After Dual Surgeries, Blue Jays Take a Chance on Pitcher Spencer Miles in the Rule 5 Draft

Sometimes baseball rewards certainty. Most of the time, it rewards courage. The Toronto Blue Jays showed a little of the latter when they took a chance on pitcher Spencer Miles in the Rule 5 Draft — a move that didn’t scream safety, didn’t promise instant payoff, and didn’t come wrapped in guarantees. What it did offer was belief. Belief in recovery. Belief in upside. Belief that a player’s story isn’t finished just because it took a detour through pain.

Miles arrived with baggage that can’t be ignored. Two surgeries. Long months of rehab. Silence where innings used to be. For many teams, that kind of résumé is a red flag — the sort of thing that sends a name sliding down draft boards until it disappears altogether. But the Blue Jays didn’t look away. They leaned in.

The Rule 5 Draft has always been baseball’s quiet gamble. It’s where teams reveal what they truly value, not in press conferences but in actions. You don’t take a player in this draft unless you’re willing to commit — to roster space, to patience, to the uncomfortable truth that development isn’t linear. By selecting Miles, Toronto made it clear they’re willing to live with uncertainty if the potential on the other side is worth it.

And with Miles, the potential still hums beneath the surface.

Before the surgeries, he was known as a pitcher with life on his fastball and a feel for movement that didn’t come from brute force. He wasn’t overpowering; he was thoughtful. The kind of arm that learns hitters, that adjusts, that competes. Those qualities don’t vanish on an operating table. If anything, they sharpen during recovery, when the game slows down and understanding deepens.

Of course, recovery isn’t poetic. It’s tedious. Lonely. Painful in ways box scores can’t measure. Miles spent more time listening to doctors than crowds, more time watching than throwing. For a pitcher, that kind of waiting can feel like losing your voice. And yet, those who stayed close say he never stopped believing he’d pitch again. That belief matters more than radar readings.

For Toronto, this move fits a broader philosophy. The Blue Jays have quietly become a team willing to invest in arms others hesitate on. They understand that pitching depth isn’t built only through pristine health histories. It’s built through opportunity — through finding value where fear has thinned the competition. Taking Miles in the Rule 5 Draft isn’t reckless. It’s intentional.

Still, the challenge ahead is real. Rule 5 players must stay on the active roster, and Miles will have to prove he belongs at the highest level while still learning how his body responds after surgery. There will be cautious outings. Short leashes. Long conversations with trainers. Some days will feel triumphant; others will feel like setbacks disguised as lessons.

But that’s the point. Baseball isn’t about erasing risk. It’s about managing it with purpose.

Inside the clubhouse, moves like this send a message. They tell players that the organization sees more than today’s stat line. They tell pitchers grinding through rehab that their work is noticed. They tell everyone that the Blue Jays are willing to bet on character, resilience, and unfinished stories.

As spring approaches, Miles will take the mound again, perhaps with a little hesitation at first, perhaps with nerves that only someone who’s lost time truly understands. Each pitch will be a quiet argument against doubt. Each inning, a reminder that healing doesn’t mean forgetting — it means adapting.

No one knows how this story ends. Maybe Miles becomes a reliable piece. Maybe he flashes brilliance in short bursts. Maybe the road is longer than anyone hopes. But what’s already clear is this: Toronto chose faith over fear.

In a sport obsessed with certainty, that choice still matters.

And sometimes, the bravest picks aren’t the safest ones — they’re the ones that give a player a reason to believe again.