David Wells on the mound, Todd Stottlemyre's sliding technique, Cecil Fielder running in full stride, Ricky Henderson leading off for the '93 Jays, Tony Bautista's batting stance.

Those were all quite "artful" in their own way.

Fernandez making the jump and throw from deep in the hole

Fernandez would never do something as unartisitic as a jump throw.  He would be glide into left field and do his underhand flip throw without planting.

Without being facetious I'd like to mention Jose Cruz Jr. in this context.  He had effortless speed, a cannon (not Barfield strong, but strong), and his swing was textbook at times. It was like watching Griffey Jr play, but without the results.

Still, in terms of raw talent I would argue that few Blue Jays could ever match what Cruz brought to the table. If you put Molitor's brain or Halladay's work ethic in his body he'd have been a first ballot HOF.

• Devon White's ability to instantly calculate not only where a fly ball was going to land but exactly how much effort he would need to expend to get there. He would always arrive just before the ball did. No muss, no fuss.
• Jesse Barfield's arm. There was always that wonderful moment, on a fly ball or single to right, when Barfield had collected the ball and was about to throw: in that moment, everyone in the ballpark, except possibly the runner trying to advance an extra base, knew that Barfield was about to throw a strike and that the runner was toast.
• Roy Halladay's pitching brain at work, especially with two strikes. Should he throw the pitch that bends in, the pitch that bends out, the pitch that bends down, or just blow a fastball by the batter? Decisions, decisions...
• Tom Henke's sidearm pitch, which he would throw to right-handers on a two-strike count. The batter would inevitably stare at the pitch, slack-jawed, as it came in for strike three. In later years, he phased this out, as he would go to the forkball instead.
• Jose Bautista at the plate - if you were watching on TV while doing something else, it was usually a good idea to stop doing that other thing and focus on Bautista's at bat. It was fun to watch opposing pitchers try to slip a fastball by him. Nope - that's not gonna work. Bat!
• Ernie Whitt's home run swing. Every atom of his being was directed towards doing one thing: attempting to blast the ball over the right field fence. He would sometimes drop to one knee on the follow through. Artistically, it was ugly: but it was a celebration of the role of effort and determination in baseball.
• Here's an unusual one: Junior Felix running out a ground ball (when he first came up). Felix is probably my least favourite Jay ever, for a variety of reasons, but he was the fastest player I ever saw in a Toronto uniform. A ground ball to third or short was inevitably a base hit.
• George Bell, for a whole bunch of things - flicking his bat while waiting at the plate, knowing full well that he could hit anything the pitcher threw at him. Plus, the high drama of a base hit to left - is he going to overthrow the cutoff man, make a great throw, commit an error, or make a great fielding play? All of these things were possible at any given moment.
• Fastballing closers: the three fastest I remember were Henke, B.J. Ryan and Billy Koch (though Ryan was more deceptively fast, thanks to his arm action). There's something about watching serious gas with two outs in the ninth and the crowd on their feet that is immensely entertaining.
• Duane Ward was also fast, but it was that curve ball that he threw: it started in a different time zone from where it ended. I don't know if anybody ever successfully hit that thing once he mastered it.
  

Everything Dave Till said--especially about Ernie Whitt who I recall telling Jerry after one game when his formula worked perfectly for a bottom-nine win, that being on the spot like that was what he lived for.

Also the Reed Johnson 'tripod--adjusting gloves, right leg planted, left leg back out of the box, bat propped on cup  Speaking of cups: Dave Steib absent-mindedly bouncing the ball off his cup as the batter stood in. And finally George Bell (pretty much my favorite,) horizontal in the air with the effort of his throw. And George falling to his knees in shallow left in the '85 season clincher.

For Artistic, I loved Jimmy Key on the mound.  Jimmy doesn't get enough love.

No swing sweeter than John Olerud's.  Imagine if he didn't have that head injury?  He could have been a pitcher too!

For artistic merit, putting up the SkyDome in 2 1/2 minutes merits some attention:

I loved watching Molitor, especially in 1993. How did the Jays land him? I can't remember

What I remember was that Molitor, like many others, wanted to win, and decided the Brewers weren't serious about it, and weren't serious enough (financially) to keep him. I recall a report suggesting that the huge FA contract the Brewers had overpaid to Teddy Higuera (who pitched just over 120 innings for the team in the 4 years after the contract) rankled.

I also remember reading an article on Molitor in one of those pre-season magazines leading into the 1994 season. It was one of those pieces describing how good he was and under-appreciated until getting the chance to display his talents in the playoffs.

Specifically, it talked about Beeston & Glllick flying to Milwaukee to entice him, meeting over dinner. The writer claimed they were highly impressed by his throughness in trying to determine if the Jays would be the right fit. How serious they were about winning again, what kind of manager Cito was, etc.

One line stuck with me. Noting that Molitor played 3B for the first time in a few years in the WS, the writer said that Molitor told them he couldn't play third anymore. "He said he couldn't... not that he wouldn't".

If the subject is artistic merit, could memory possibly store a sequence of events more delightful than the image of Pat Borders stuffing a giant wad of chaw in his cheek, like a squirrel storing up for winter, followed by the inevitable mud-coloured expectoration?  Thine eyes have seen the glory.