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The booing doesn't eat away at Vernon Wells the way his own expectations do.
He is rational enough to understand that the fans' booing isn't personal.
"They don't hate me," he said, sitting on a clubhouse sofa at the Rogers Centre, with music blaring in the background. "They just hate what I'm doing.
"Listen, they expect me to do better, I expect myself to do better. I can't control any of the thoughts (of the fans). My goal is just to try to help us win, to try to do better. And believe me, I'm working hard at it.
"I understand the fans' frustration. My job is to try to help this team win. I haven't done a good enough job at that and so obviously fans are frustrated with that, frustrated with me. They pay good money to come to the games and they can do what they want, say what they want."
Ah, the money. It always comes back to that in these days of salary disclosure and limited finances. A contract too heavy for his talent level ate away at Bryan McCabe's career in Toronto, leading to booing, then to his departure. The contract changed McCabe and not in a good way.
Wells refuses to correlate the $126-million US deal he signed to stay in Toronto with his shrinking offensive numbers. The money hasn't really changed him: He never was full of himself, he isn't now. He never was entitled, he isn't now.
But he isn't hitting. Not like he used to. Not like he did before he signed on for seven more years. Before the deal, he was an almost 30-home runs, almost 100-RBI, defensive gem of an outfielder.
Now, the home runs have gone missing, the RBI are a measly seventh on a team without big RBI numbers and the Gold Gloves he once won now belong elsewhere.
All this from a player who's only 30 years old: These should be the best years of Wells' career, the athletic prime of his life. Cito Gaston doesn't see a player in decline, just a struggling player. "He can run, hit with power, he should hit 25-30 home runs a year with decent average, drive in some runs," the manager said.
On Tuesday night, after the Jays threw away a one-run lead in the top of the ninth inning against Cleveland, Wells came to bat in the bottom of the ninth and did little. That's when he heard the loud boos, maybe the loudest of the season. "It's gone on for a few weeks now," he said. "I wasn't upset about the booing. I was upset that I got a changeup and missed it. I looked at Cliff Lee and he knew I missed it. Like I said, I expect myself to do better. I understand their frustration."
Wells knows what is expected of himself, what he expects. He expects all-star. He expects leader. He expects face of the franchise. He expects team spokesman. The contract says he should be all of that, and so does past performance.
It's why he has spoken to family members about his struggles. It's why he has spoken to his hitting coaches, and he counts Gaston among them.
"It's a fine line," he said. "When you're constantly tinkering, you can't get consistent with anything. You can't be changing this and changing that. It's a matter of sticking with an approach. You always search for instant success but I think it's a matter of being patient and working through it.
"I went through a period early in the year when it was: 'Where are my hands? Where are my feet?' That kind of tinkering. You do that, you're dead."
Wells isn't tinkering now, just not hitting much either. That's the paradox. Until he starts hitting, he's going to hear it from the fans.
And what would Wells say to his critics? "Probably nothing they don't know," he said. "The same people who cheer you when you hit, boo you when you don't. It's not like they hate me.
"A lot of things get blown up when you're struggling. All of sudden, you're not a leader. All of a sudden, you're not this. I want to remember this (lousy) feeling forever. Because I never want to feel like this again."
STEVE.SIMMONS@SUNMEDIA.CA