The Baseball Card Blog

Dibs McNasty

2012-01-25T21:00:00.000-05:00

Rob Dibble, 1989 Donruss

Name’s Dibs, a.k.a. Nasty Boy, a.k.a. Dibs McNasty. I got a rocket launcher for a right arm and an attitude to match. That means my attitude is also a rocket launcher in that I WILL BLAST OFF ON YOU. You’ve been warned.

You’re not a woman, are you? Good. I don’t care for women around ballparks. They don’t pay attention to what’s going on, and what’s going is that I AM DOMINATING MEN WITH MY BASEBALL PITCHES. They’re in the stands, these women, all like, “Hair and nails, something something, that’s my husband over there, he’s number such and such, I forget, I don’t like math, Barbie dolls and tea parties, I shave my armpits, did you hear what woman said about other woman, menstrual cycles, flowers and children and what not,” and meanwhile I just struck out like 17 guys and NO ONE IS PAYING ATTENTION TO ME.

One time I threw a ball into the stands as hard as I could for no reason and it hit a woman, and I’m all like WHAT IS SHE EVEN DOING HERE? Wikipedia described the incident as “inadvertent,” as if the ball hitting someone was some random happenstance that occurred as a result of a ball being thrown directly into a condensed group of many people. I was making a point, and the point was that: I AM ROB DIBBLE. Point: RECEIVED.

I throw balls at dudes, too. I don’t care. I threw a ball into Doug Dascenzo’s back one time while he was running down the first base line. That is my own personal way of recording outs, because throwing the ball into the first baseman’s glove is for sissies. Also, nice name, Dascenzo! GO BACK TO POLAND. Man, I am so pumped right now. I want to throw a ball at somebody so badly. Do you have a ball? I want to throw it in your face! No, you don’t have a ball? LET’S FIGHT WITH OUR BODIES. One time I threw down with my “manager” Lou Pinella. He was in the locker room all like, “Baseball, blah, blah, blah, look at me yelling at full-grown adults!” and I was like I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR CRAP. So we fought and I won. That dude is such a hothead.

A lot of people don’t know this, but I broke my arm in that fight. Still pitched the next day. Struck out 12 guys on six pitches, world record. That’s why it really sticks in my craw when pretty boys like Strausburg stop pitching because they have boo-boos on their arm. They’d have to drag me off the mound with a complex pulley system operated by dinosaurs before I voluntarily left the game because my arm had an owie. YOU’LL TAKE THIS BALL FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS, PINELLA. The way I figure it, some boy in the stands came to the game with his dad for the first time just to see me pitch, and I’ll be gosh darned if I let that kid down. I want him to say, 20 years from now, “Daddy, remember that time we went that baseball game and that pitcher gave up 38 runs and then his arm exploded and we never heard from that pitcher again and the franchise had to move because they had invested so much in that pitcher? I LOVE YOU, DAD.”

DIBBLE, OUT.

Kip Cut

2012-01-18T21:00:00.001-05:00

One of my friends growing up had, on his basement wall, a framed uncut sheet of baseball cards. I don’t recall the set, or which players it contained, but I do remember seeing it for the first time and thinking, “What the … ?”

I’m sure I would have eventually deduced that baseball cards were produced and manufactured in the same fashion as say, 64 slices of American cheese, and that’s not to say I had ever really thought about the origins of the cards I so enjoyed. But I think my naïve little brain subconsciously believed these cards were created with the same individual care and attention-to-detail with which I tended to them. By whom, you ask? I don’t know … elves with microscopic tools and a graphic design degree with full access to major league ballplayers? Prolly. But again, I didn’t really think about it.

That somewhat jarring dose of reality and the youthful disappointment it evoked was almost immediately replaced with a feeling of OH MY GOD WHAT DOES YOUR DAD DO FOR A LIVING I NEED TO GET ONE OF THOSE NOW!!! It seemed impossible that a person—much less a person I knew—could possess such a magnificent, priceless item. I thought it was worth more than the house in which it was displayed. That my friend’s dad knew someone in the industry of producing baseball cards (or, had a lot of money to give an obese sheister at a card show) seemed more improbable than had I discovered he knew the President of the United States. I mean, geez—even the President couldn’t get his hands on a sheet of uncut baseball cards without having to compromise on trade sanctions or something. POLITICS.

The uncut nature of the sheet was the true allure, as my slowly maturing brain was beginning to realize the Collector’s Formula that proved the less utilitarian a thing was, the more valuable it must be: mint condition < in an opened pack < on uncut sheet < doesn’t even exist. That is why, I think, I proudly own an unopened Derek Jeter figurine that will be worth, in 80 years or so, not that much money. But at least I can say, from eternity, it was never soiled by human hands.

So yeah, I stood in awe of the uncut sheet. After that experience, every now and then, I would get a card that was less awe-inspiring, but that nevertheless reminded me of the uncut sheet, and the unreliability of human hands, even the human hands that operate machine hands.

Bob Kipper, 1990 Topps

No offense to Bob Kipper—he was done justice on other cards in which he played a hilarious top-hatted beekeeper—but it was a darn good thing for 11-year-old me that this absurd nightmare of a cut involved Bob Kipper instead of … (remembering there were zero good cards in this set) … someone else. This is the type of card I would look at every now and then and think to myself, “I can’t believe I collect these things. I should start a blog when the Internet is invented.”

Meanwhile, my buddy is sitting on a sectional in his finished basement, playing the latest video game system I don’t have, an uncut and untradeable sheet of baseball men resting on the nearby wall, priceless yet ignored, like true love often is.

Bob Kipper struck out a career-high 83 dudes in 1987. He pitched 39 innings for the Twins in ’92 before calling it quits. Some might say his career was cut short. Others might say his career was cut long. Kip himself was just relieved he was never decapitated.

The Steve Nicosia Story

2012-01-11T21:00:00.001-05:00

Steve Nicosia, 1985 Topps

“GET YOUR ELBOW UP!” is what my dad would be yelling right now if he were Steve Nicosia’s dad instead of my dad and if Steve Nicosia were playing Little League ball instead of Major League ball. If my dad was still my dad but Steve Nicosia was on my Little League team, my dad would be yelling, “Lookin’ good, Stevie boy! Hum-batta-batta, let’s go Stevie!”

Let’s find out what the back of this Steve Nicosia card has to say re: Steve Nicosia:

What club’s pitching staff posted 17 shutouts to lead the N.L. in 1984?

Steve Nicosia?

(Turns card upside down …)

San Diego Padres

I am disappointed. Let’s go to Steve Nicosia’s BR Bullpen page to find out more:

Nicosia was a pitcher early in high school. As a sophomore, he threw in one game.

Steve Nicosia was a pitcher in high school. One time, he pitched in a high school baseball game. This is the beginning of our trip down Steve Nicosia lane, and I have to admit, I am thinking of turning around.

He hit batters with his first two pitches, walked the next batter on four, then allowed a grand slam on the next.

Kind of like a {least favorite pitcher on your favorite team} start! ZINGER!

He later recalls "I could see I probably wasn't going to make the big leagues as a pitcher...I couldn't even make the second inning."

If I had that type of outing, I wouldn’t be thinking, “Aw shucks, guess I won’t be in the big leagues as a pitcher!” I’d be like, “Get me out of here I hate baseball I think I’m going to be an artist I feel like crying but everybody is looking at me I am going to transfer to a different high school.”

He transferred to North Miami Beach High School the next year, which had just opened across the street from where Steve was living. Nicosia volunteered to catch for the team, opening his path to pro baseball.

I mean, hey—it’s right across the street! How can you not transfer there? Especially since you can volunteer for the team instead of undertaking the burdensome endeavor of trying out, and thus gain community service hours.

Now, if I am creating “The Steve Nicosia Story” movie for the Disney Family Channel, I am loving this sort of interesting and self-deprecating anecdote regarding his early baseball life. The only thing that would make it better would be if it were followed-up by some sort of fish-out-of-water story once he makes it to the bigs.

Steve had never seen snow, having grown up in Florida, and he got excited when the temperature in Rocky Mount, NC fell to 25 degrees while the team was there. Teammate John Candelaria sprayed fire extinguisher foam over the swimming pool in the motel where they were staying and convinced Nicosia it was snow. Steve later recalled "If you've never seen snow before, a lot of things could be snow. It was white and it was yet [sic]...You ever try to make a snowball with fire extinguisher foam?"

I’m calling b.s. I’ll give you that he never saw snow before, fine. But c’mon. I’ve never seen Mars before, but if someone put a giant red ball in a motel swimming pool and told me it was Mars, I’d be like, “Go back to bed, Candelaria you idiot!” What, Nicosia never saw snow on TV, or didn’t possess the basic human knowledge that snow doesn’t fall in isolated 18’ X 36’ areas?

If you've never seen snow before, a lot of things could be snow.

Steve Nicosia: Hey, what is that thing on the ground? Snow?

Normal person: That is a bicycle.

Steve Nicosia: How did it get there then? Did it fall from the sky?

Normal person: Somebody put it there.

Steve Nicosia: A snowman, probably.

Normal person: No.

Steve Nicosia: What about that? Is that snow?

Normal person: That is a mailbox.

Steve Nicosia: Hey, what is that white substance falling from the sky? Toasters?

Normal person: That is snow.

Also, what a dumb prank. Is there an old story about athletes or rock stars that doesn’t make hotel/motel management appear nonexistent or as a bunch of bumbling morons? It almost makes me wish the motel experienced a fire shortly thereafter, and as everyone scrambled around trying to locate fire extinguishers, Candelaria was outside in his underwear like, “Dorf! Me was playing snow pranks!” and then he had to pay out-of-pocket to build a new motel. This story makes no sense. It’s getting me kind of angry, actually.

He broke two ribs in a home-plate collision with Mike Scioscia, knocking him out of action for a spell.

Scioscia + Nicosia X collision = Collioscia!

That is all.

The Jay Bell Twelve

2012-01-04T21:00:00.000-05:00

Jay Bell, 1998 Upper Deck SPx (?) series

Rule of thumb: When the player featured on your baseball card is less noticeable than your gimmicky logo, something has gone wrong.

Two things about this card: 1) It is so thick that when I went to scan it, the cover of the scanner did not close all the way and the ultraviolet gamma-scanner rays blinded me and I fell down and I when I came to, I was naked except for a top hat. 2) What in the freakin’ heck is that logo?

I have been staring at this for what feels like six hours. Here is what I know. It is gold. It is made to appear as though it has been screwed into the card, which makes me feel like a man. Its center reads SPx, which means: I don’t know what that means. It kind of sort of looks like the World Series trophy, except the sun is rising out of the top of it, and also out of the bottom of it. Two suns? That is one more than earth has. This card flies in the face of modern science. It is the Copernicus of baseball cards. According to the back of the card:

This is No. 2712 out of 9000. There are 30 teams in Major League Baseball, each with a 25-man roster. That is 750 dudes. They made 9000 of these puppies, which is 12 cards per player. I am one of the “Jay Bell Twelve.” I must seek out the remaining 11 owners of this card in a year’s time, and we will meet at a discreet location, preferably a cave with a giant wooden table, and we must do so before the sun rises in the east and sets upside down, in order to fulfill the prophecy. There, we will discuss all things Jay Bell-related over crumpets and whiskey, and then announce to whom each of us will bequeath our card, so that future generations may also meet and uphold the grand tradition of the Jay Bell SPx Upper Deck baseball card from 1998. Again, this is all I know.

Let’s find out more about Jay Bell from Wikipedia:

Originally a first-round pick of the Minnesota Twins in 1984, Bell made 129 errors over his first three minor-league seasons

I don’t want to go crazy with math here, but that is 43 errors per season—minor league seasons are only like 140 games, by the way—which means that every single time the ball was hit to Jay Bell, he booted it in hilarious fashion. There is no way a player like that stays in baseball, much less gets called up, unless:

General Manager: We’re calling up Jay Bell. He literally cannot catch a baseball, but I like his guts. Catching baseballs doesn’t win baseball games—guts do. They should call this game baseguts.

Manager: Agreed. We’ll hide him at shortstop.

Wikipedia goes on to acknowledge that Bell won the Gold Glove in ’93, so either the previous anecdote is a misprint or this is the greatest story of defensive improvement since that time a different player who I cannot recall really improved defensively.

As a player, Bell was well known for wearing eyeglasses on the field.

Ha, ha! NEEEEEERD!

In the 2001 World Series, Bell scored the series winning run in Game 7 on a Luis Gonzales bloop-single, then what would become an iconic image was Bell clapping his hands over his head and then running into Diamondback's third basemen Matt Williams' arms.

I don’t recall that.

In 1999, Jay Bell hit 38 home runs with 112 RBI after a year of 20/67 and before a year of 18/68, which seems totally legit to me. It’s as if he were playing in a world with two sunshines, which helped him see the ball better, as did his glasses.

Historical Deliciousness

2011-12-28T21:00:00.001-05:00

Ron Gant, 1990 Donruss Diamond Kings

I trust everyone has seen the film, “The Miraculous Redemption of Ron Gant,” starring Cuba Gooding Jr. as a baseball player who is good at playing baseball, and then not so good, and then good again. It is a gripping, moving film, especially the part where the horse dies, which pretty much came out of nowhere.

Let us revisit that story, based on actual events.

Ron Gant recorded a year of near miraculous redemption.

Go on …

He was a 1988 Rookie of the Year candidate—

In that he was rookie. It’s not as if these guys have to publicly declare their candidacies once they obtain the required signatures. You or I would be a Rookie of the Year candidate if we were inserted into the major leagues via some hilarious scenario in which our cheap and crazy uncle owned a baseball team.

he finished 4th in the voting.

This is a lukewarm introduction to this miracle. Other players who have finished fourth in Rookie of the Year voting include Kerry Ligtenberg, Aaron Miles, Chris Gomez, and Rich Loiselle. Even if those men experienced a similar redemption that I am assuming is forthcoming in this case, I am probably not seeing that movie. Actually, yes I am. Who am I kidding.

Then 1989 was a year of turmoil as he struggled at a new position—third base—and in late June was optioned to Class A Sumter where he was moved to centerfield.

This is so not rare that there is a common term for it described as a “sophomore slump.” So just to recap: “Pretty good rookie experiences sophomore slump” is the Cliff Notes of the first six lines of the back of this card, if you’d simply like to skip to the redemptive part, although it's probably too late for that now if you've already read all this. Sorry.

He regrouped and began his climb back to the Braves.

MONTAGE! There’s no easy way out … There’s no short-cut home!

And now he is Donruss’ National League Comeback Player of the Year,

First of all, that is a rather abrupt conclusion to this miraculous story. Where is the part where an old high school baseball coach gives Ron Gant a motivational speech and then discovers a hitch in his swing and then fixes it and then dies? And who does Donruss think it is dishing out its own rewards like that? This isn’t the USA Today/Coaches/ESPN college football rankings, where you get to choose who you want to listen to—MLB issues the awards and that’s it, Donruss! Get over yourself. Also, is this a Diamond King card or Comeback Player of the Year card? Finally, okay, I’ll bite: Why is Ron Gant Donruss’ National League Comeback Player of the Year?

because in 1990 he wrote delicious history.

Oh, okay. Because he wrote history that is pleasing to my sense of taste. Got it.

He hit 32 HR and had 33 SB; only the third Braves player to reach the 30-30 Club.

Yummy! But how is that history, much less delicious history, other than that it was recorded like all data is recorded all the time? Any other laurels?

Other laurels were 84 RBI, a league 4th best

RBI are stupid, but mentioning 84 RBI as a thing to be impressed by is just—how should I put this?—not very delicious. Eight-four RBI is Nick Swisher. And again with the fourth best? I prefer my Diamond Kings to be first best at everything, but that’s just me. I have high standards.

107 runs (again 4th best)

Ron Gant: The first best at being fourth best. Coincidentally, “The Miraculous Redemption of Ron Gant” opened fourth at the box office, just slightly behind “Snow Dogs II: Dogs at the Beach.” Cuba made a killing.

The Yountchise

2011-12-21T21:00:00.000-05:00

Robin Yount, 1991 Score, "The Franchise"

Robin Yount was past his prime during the prime of my card-collecting days, a karmic circumstance that would prove unfortunate for Yount, as he never gained the proper respect he deserved from me, future Random Internet Blogger Who Makes Fun of His Old Baseball Cards. I think a lot of it also had to do with the fact that I only rarely saw Yount play baseball—I recall none of it—due to the fact that, when I was nine, we didn’t have the not-yet-invented MLB Package (thanks a lot, dad!), and the Milwaukee Brewers were a team that largely existed only in theory. But today, as the famous baseball saying goes, the chickens are coming home to roost re: Robin Yount.

Throw out Robin’s 1990 statistics;

Throw them out. Throw his statistics, acquired through a 162-game season, into the garbage can. You know what’s weird that I just realized? You can’t actually throw statistics into a garbage can because statistics are intangible, but I have a strong feeling that this card will serve as a Robin Yount apologist by highlighting his intangibles.

Also: Not a great idea for the lede of a card declaring him “The Franchise” to implore us all to ignore Robin Yount’s actual baseball statistics.

Also: I think we'd ALL like to throw out our 1990 statistics, no?

his worth to the Brewers goes far beyond numbers.

How far beyond? For the ’82 Harvey’s Wallbangers, Yount won the AL MVP, led the league in hits (210), doubles (46), slugging (.578), OPS+ (166!), and total bases (367). What exceeded those numbers to carry the Brewers to the AL Pennant? The only thing I can possibly think of is some form of exceptionally quiet leadership.

He is the Brewers quiet leader,

Considering Yount’s awesome ability to play baseball and fine personal character attributes, I believe his most important quality was his general quietness. It’s tough to win when things are loud and people are talking and stuff. In that respect, I think a modern-day Robin Yount would get along splendidly with Nyjer Morgan, or at the very least, they would make for a great buddy cop movie called, “Bat-man & Robin,” or “Bat($h*t-crazy)-man & Robin,” or, “Yount Guns.”

Robin is a manager’s dream; he never complains, never wants to sit out.

Manager: Had a dream last night. Guy walks into the clubhouse, he’s got a mustache. Doesn’t say anything. Then he uses sign language to tell me he wants to play in every game. I can’t read sign language, but in the dream I could. Also, the clubhouse was actually my grandmother’s dining room, but it was still the clubhouse, too, ya’ know? Anyway, I’m like, wow, this guy doesn’t complain, but he wants to play everyday. I wonder if he would complain if I told him he couldn’t play everyday. And I was just about to do that, but when I looked, the guy had turned into this girl Robin I went to grammar school with, and who I hadn’t thought about in years. And then get this—this morning, I get a friend request on Facebook … from Robin! So weird. She’s divorced, but she’s doing well.

“Robin is what the team stands for,” said team president Bud Selig. “He’s perfect for the franchise.”

I wonder if Selig was stating that Robin Yount was perfect for the Milwaukee Brewers franchise (in that he was white with facial hair) or if he was acknowledging that Yount was a perfect fit for the Score baseball card company’s new series of cards, “The Franchise.” Probably the latter.

Now, if I had to guess three of Robin Yount’s non-baseball passions, I would probably say … professional auto racing, definitely … umm, motorcycle racing, also, because, why not, and then … lemme think here … lemonade?

Wikipedia?

Since retiring from baseball, Yount has increased his participation in two of his other passions, professional motorcycle and auto racing. In June 2008, Yount announced the creation of a new lemonade drink, Robinade. A portion of the proceeds of the sales goes to charity.

I am very much looking forward to being involved in a conversation in which someone displays an unusual affection for Robin Yount’s playing career, at which point I will say, “Looks like someone’s been drinking the Robinade!” and everyone will laugh and then carry me off on their shoulders.

1961 Fleer Baseball Greats: A Re-Interpretation

2011-12-15T10:22:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to complete the 1961 Fleer Baseball Greats set. It's not too challenging, though it's taken me at least five years through casual accumulation. And I'm still eight cards short. But as I look over the checklist, a few things come to mind. First, who are all these players? I know who Frank Chance is, and Roger Peckinpaugh; but General Crowder? Joe Kuhel? Joe Hauser? Where'd they find these guys? Also, with 154 slots, Fleer didn't seem to have room for Joe DiMaggio, which is a travesty.

With DiMaggio's omission in mind, this set raises a boatload of questions, starting with the obvious: If you had 154 cards to showcase some of the game's greatest, um, greats, who would you include? Would you go for the obvious all-stars? The crowd favorites? How about the overachieving utility men and one-hit wonders? And perhaps just as importantly, who wouldn't make the cut?

As an exercise, I tried my hand at updating this set's checklist for players who were either active when this set came out, were active after this set was made (including players currently active), and two glaring omissions from the original checklist. As the parameter for making the cut for the new set, the new Great and the old Great had to have something in common, either an award shared by the two, similar statistics (or career WAR), or some other shared feat. I did all of my research on Baseball-Reference.com. I chose not to include Negro Leagues stars; that's a different checklist exercise (perhaps the next one I'll undertake).

Here's what I found. Most of the players chosen by Fleer in 1961 as "baseball greats" from the first 75 years of the game were just that. But some of them were not; they were average players. And when you see who their post-war or modern-day counterparts are, it's sort of depressing (Ray Mueller, meet Pat Borders).

To liven up the exercise, I've made new custom card fronts for the updated checklist, and paired them with their original counterparts. I've also tried to use older photos of the players, as many of the photos used in the original set were either from the end of the players' careers or from old-timers days. Only a handful of cards feature photos from the players' hey days (and those are generally for the turn-of-the-century players).

I'm going to refrain from posting the paired checklists for the time being, but I'll share with you a few all-time greats that didn't fit: Mike Schmidt, Henry Aaron, Mike Piazza, Ed Mathews, Billy Williams, Reggie Jackson, Mariano Rivera, Ryne Sandberg, Jim Rice. The list goes on. But the truth of the matter is that there weren't spots for them in the updated checklist because they didn't pair up well enough with one of the original players. The original checklist had its flaws; I made sure that the updated checklist would be flawed in the same ways.

So let's get started. I'm going to skip the checklist on card number one for now. Card number two is Grover Cleveland "Pete" Alexander. I'm pairing him with Tom Seaver. Both are among the top five greatest pitchers of their respective eras.

Cereal Thrilla

2011-12-14T21:00:00.001-05:00

Will Clark, 1989 Topps Cap’n Crunch

The common misconception of Cap’n Crunch is that he only knows about seafaring and things that are crunchy. To those who abide by such thinking, I implore you—don’t put Cap’n Crunch in a box. Because the thing is, Cap’n Crunch knows a lot about other stuff, too, like wine, exotic (land) species, Greek architecture, indie music, and things of that ilk. He is also pretty dang familiar with our country’s national pastime. Truth be told, Cap’n Crunch is the George Will of cereal captains.

Speaking of Wills, how about Will Clark? Many people who enjoy baseball were unfamiliar with Will Clark until Cap’n Crunch featured him on a set of baseball cards in 1989. The Cap’n, Topps, and Clark himself, however, put forth a rather curious concerted collaborative effort to make Clark appear as less a baseball player than a pedophile.

Perhaps as an homage to Cap’n Crunch himself, Clark decided to grow a mustache that I have never before seen on any other of his baseball cards. This is indeed a rare occurrence of Will Clark facial hair, and has in itself raised the value of this card to a whopping .5 Euros. To boot, Topps stripped Clark of the San Francisco Giants symbol often seen on San Francisco Giants hats, so as to abide by Section IV, Rule 34.8 of the Major League Baseball Handbook, which explicitly states: “Any player featured on a breakfast cereal-sponsored piece of cardboard shall represent his current franchise in text only and not via graphic symbols, which may falsely infer that said player is affiliated with said team. Failure to meet this criteria will result in up to eight years in federal prison for all involved parties, cartoon and/or human.” It’s unknown whether Clark, in this particular shot, is on a ball field or in front of an old, rusted, windowless van offering free candy to passersby. All we really know is that he plays first base, or is at least trying to get there.

Belted Home Run with his first swing in pro ball for Fresno vs. Visalia, June 21, 1985.
Belted Home Run with his first swing as big leaguer, at Houston Astrodome, April 8, 1986.

That is interesting—the type of stuff back-of-cards were born to reveal. Equally interesting, although not mentioned here, is that Will’s middle name is “Nuschler,” which is like, “Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?” Ha, ha … Nuschler.

What else ya’ got, Wiki?

Playing for Mississippi State University, Clark was noted for his oft-imitated "sweet swing," said to be among the best in baseball … A teammate of Rafael Palmeiro, the two were known as "Thunder and Lightning"

I’m sorry, which one was “Lightening?” The balding, lefty, power-hitting Caucasian or the mustachioed, future-Viagra-spokesman, power-hitting Cuban? Either way, if the thought of those two hitting back-to-back in the same lineup doesn’t evoke comparisons of Gary Payton and Shawn Kemp, then I am not good at comparisons.

Clark and Palmeiro have been known to dislike each other and have had heat since their days at Mississippi St.

New comparison: 50 Cent vs. The Game. Everything came to a head when Clark dropped the single, “I Got Heat Witchu,” a not-so-subtle shot at his former teammate that included the line, “You say you play first/Homey you the worst/A bad throw you can’t dig/With your fake a$$ wig.

Unlike Palmeiro, Clark has never been linked to nor accused of steroid use.

“I Still Got Heat Withcu,” released 2005

Handled yourself well at that Congressional hearing/Shoulda brought you up on charges of trying to bite my swing/The Hall of Fame? Pfft, that’s a gas/Let’s go to the cages right now, I’ll Cap’n Crunch that a$$!

Hot Corners; Cutting Corners

2011-12-07T21:00:00.000-05:00

Wade Boggs / Carney Lansford, 1989 Fleer "Superstar Specials"

Fleer headquarters, 1988

Dave: Bill, check it out. Snapped a shot of Wade Boggs and Carney Lansford at the All-Star Game.

Bill: (Looks …) Okaaay. You want an award or somethin'?

Dave: Dude, let’s make a card out of it!

Bill: Sure. We’ll call it (looks again), “Two White Guys With Beard-Stache-Mullets Who Are The Exact Same Size And Play The Same Position And NOBODY CARES.”

Dave: First of all, that’s mean. Second of all, look how happy they are! Kids will want to buy this and share in the happiness. Plus, it’s got Boggs in it! I say we send it to production.

Bill: Fine. Whatever. Work with Dale. Dale! Get in here!

Dale: ‘Sup?

Bill: I need a writeup on Dave’s happy-joy-smiley card here. Call it, “HOT CORNER’S—HOT HITTERS” or something with “HOT” in it to draw attention away from the lack of baseball action displayed here. Boggs will write itself. For Lansford? Make some stuff up.

Dale: Done and done.

The two best third base hitters in the American League are Wade Boggs of the Boston Red Sox and

Don’t say it.

Carney Lansford of the Oakland A’s.

This is a 1989 baseball card, meaning it’s drawing its conclusions from the most recent season of 1988.

Carney Lansford, 1988: .327 OBP / .360 SLUG / .687 OPS
George Brett, 1988: .389 OBP / .509 SLUG / .898 OPS

Also,

Me: I’ll take “American League Third Basemen Who Were Better At Hitting Baseballs in 1988 Than Carney Lansford” for $200, Alex.

Alex: The answer: .353 / .551 / .905

Beep, beep, beep!

Me: Who is Gary Gaetti?

Alex: Correct!

Me: I’ll take “American League Third Basemen Who Were Better At Hitting Baseballs in 1988 Than Carney Lansford” for $400, Alex.

Alex: The answer: .384 / .452 / .836.

Beep, beep, beep!

Me: Who is Paul Molitor?

Alex: Correct!

In fact, they are the two best hot corner hitters in Major League Baseball.

This lede: Wrong statement. Scratch that—more wrong statement.

1988
Lansford: .327 / .360 / .687
B. Bonilla: .366 / .476 / .842
H. Johnson: .343 / .422 / .765
M. Schmidt: .337 / .405 / .742

One of the great coincidences is that they used to be teammates on the Boston Red Sox in 1982.

Indeed, one of the great coincidences of the modern American era is that Wade Boggs and Carney Lansford were once teammates, and then, coincidentally, they were not teammates anymore. Not mentioned here are the two incidences at work that collided in a case of karmic drama: 1) Wade Boggs was a better third baseman than Carney Lansford in 1982, and 2) the Red Sox were like, “Guess we don’t need Carney Lansford anymore, because of Wade Boggs.”

I’m still trying to figure out how Lansford made the ’88 All-Star Team. Although, a true coincidence as it relates to everything above is the fact that in ’89, Lansford turned things around to the tune of .398 / .405 / .803, and even finished in the top 20 of the MVP voting (and was still outperformed by Bonilla, Molitor, Johnson, et al).

But here’s my favorite:

{Lansford} has amassed 1,622 hits and has a very good shot at achieving the exclusive 3000 Hit Club before his big league career is ended.

That is just crazy talk. A very good shot? Lansford was 32-years old heading into the 1989 season and, as the card notes, coming off a 155-hit season. If he averaged 155 hits—thus displaying no regression or injury—for the next eight seasons, he still would have fallen more than 100 hits short of 3,000. As it were, Lansford reached the 2,000 hit plateau in his final season of 1992.

None of this is to disparage the career of Lansford, who was a very good player. I’m just trying to point out that this card isn’t as accurate or HOT as it claims to be. I have a full-time job, by the way.

Hard-Nosed Sheriff Zosky

2011-11-30T21:00:00.000-05:00

Eddie Zosky, 1991 Fleer Ultra

Eddie Zosky, “Zoskmeister” to close friends only, was a MAJOR factor in a baseball trade that rocked everyone’s world.

The blockbuster trade of the last off-season involved the Blue Jays trading their star shortstop Tony Fernandez.

Fernandez and Fred McGriff were sent to the Padres in exchange for Roberto Alomar and Joe Carter. Many pundits later noted that the Padres got totally zoskied in the deal, which means bad. The Blue Jays, as we will see, indirectly got zoskied in the deal, which means good.

Although former backup Manny Lee is slated to fill the opening, the loss of manpower will leave them short off the bench.

Well what the heck? Who are the Blue Jays going to turn to should this loss of shortstop manpower leave them short off the bench? What if Manny Lee is underwhelming? THEY SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT TWICE ABOUT TRADING FERNANDEZ WHO IS GOING TO SIT ON THE BENCH NOW??!!!

This may translate into some quality big league backup time for their 22-year-old, 1989 first-round pick, Eddie Zosky.

Toronto Sun, 1991, headline title: Zosky may move up to second on shortstop depth chart; Subtitle: Blue Jays trade other shortstop and crime canine for two baseball players; Lede: Sitting patiently in the background of yesterday’s blockbuster deal was Eddie Zosky, 22, ready to pounce on the shortstop position like a cat pounces on a couch or something. Manny Lee? That’s Eddie Zosky breathing down your neck. According to Lee, Zosky’s breath smells like cat food. End of article.

In time, Eddie’s great range and sure-fire gun will create problems for Lee maintaining his hold on the shortstop position.

I’m not sure what Manny Lee’s 1991 Fleer Ultra baseball card has to say, but implied here on Eddie Zosky’s 1991 Fleer Ultra baseball card is: Manny Lee is not so great at playing baseball. He has mediocre range at best and a not-so-sure-fire gun, a recipe for shortstop disaster.

Already armed with Major League defensive skills, Eddie is improving at the plate.

Here is the part whereby which we discover that Eddie Zosky is good defensively but can’t really hit but he’s improving!, evidenced by some lukewarm statistic like batting average. Because 22-year olds who can’t really hit that much often improve on their hitting as they move through the profession and the pitching gets better.

In 1990 at Double-A Knoxville, he hit a solid .271 with seven triples and 45 RBI’s.

RBI is already plural and not possessive. Other than that, I am sold! Zosky!

He is known as a hard-nosed competitor, and that kind of attitude has been lacking in the Blue Jays clubhouse for some time.

Wow, that is a major implication of the state of the Blue Jays clubhouse, courtesy of this random Eddie Zosky baseball card. In 1990, the Blue Jays, despite the relative softness of their collective nose, finished second in the AL East. With new Sheriff Zosky in town manning the bench, they coincidentally won the World Series in ’92 and ’93. Carter and Alomar helped somewhat too, I imagine.

Mullet: Hero of Cucamonga

2011-11-22T21:00:00.001-05:00

George Brett, 1987 Kraft Dinners

Today we continue our sporadic series of “Cards I cut out of boxed food products.”

Kraft Dinners presents …. Home Plate Heroes! So get this—on one hand, “Home Plate Heroes” works because we’re talking baseball, a sport in which one of the bases is home plate and, because the game is our National Pastime, a sport in which those who excel are considered heroes. But, on the other hand, “Home Plate Heroes” also works because Kraft Dinners can conceivably be served on a plate … at home … BY YOUR HERO, who in this case would be your mother (not pictured) for showing great bravery in serving you a boxed Kraft dinner product that contains processed cheese produced in a factory outside of Cleveland and which is 97-percent magnesium chloferate ensol byproduct, or, as translated by Kraft for the layperson, “Real, natural cheese!”

Home Plate Hero George Brett (pictured) is seen here heroically looking off into the distance while trying not to chew the tobacco in his mouth for the purposes of maintaining his hero status. As you can see, he plays for the blue team, described below the photo as the “Kansas City Royals,” whatever that means. It should henceforth be known that Kraft Dinners maintains no affiliation with Major League Baseball or its subsidiaries and is FDIC insured and the side effects of thinking otherwise include headache and diarrhea, in which case contact your physician and lawyer. Don’t be fooled by the apparent MLB symbol in the upper right-hand corner; that is only the symbol for the Major League Baseball Players Association, who apparently have their own symbol and who own the copyrights to this beauty right here so BACK OFF. Also, George Brett and/or Kraft have never represented Major League Baseball, properly exemplified by the following scenario:

Major League Baseball 1987 Gala of Heroes, Sponsored by Kraft

Guy dressed in Kraft costume that is a giant noodle dripping cheese: How ‘bout that George Brett, huh? Heckuva player …

Major League Baseball Players Association Executive Director Donald Fehr: Indeed. Heckuva guy, too. Loves cheese. A true home plate hero.

Guy dressed in Kraft costume that is a giant noodle dripping cheese: (stiffly turns to his left) How ‘bout that George Brett, huh? Heckuva player …

Major League Baseball Commissioner Peter Ueberroth: Never heard of him.

If you would like to know more about George Brett, for example, “What are some of his 1986 statistics?” and, “Screw it, just give me his major league totals already!” please reference the data below his handsomely stubbled glam shot. For more personal information, let’s check the back of the card …

Ha, ha! For reals? I never knew that!

According to Wikipedia, George Brett’s nickname is/was “Mullet,” which I have never, ever heard him referred to as in my life, but then again, whatever. I don’t believe his mullet even approached the magnificence of some others from that era, so I don’t know where that nickname comes from, and Wiki surprisingly offers no explanation. These days, George Brett is the perpetually tan co-owner of the Rancho Cucamonga Quakes, a team that, like their owner, wears hats. I trust all of this information has been helpful.

Zinged By Skeeter

2011-11-16T21:00:00.000-05:00

Skeeter Barnes, 1990 Topps

Quick question: How many Skeeter Barnes(es?) do you think there are in the world? NO CHEATING!

Did you say “one?” Yeah, I’m sure you did. Well, you are an idiot. There are two Skeeter Barnes in the world! At least two, I guess. If there are three Skeeter Barnes in the world, or even four, then I just … whatever. That is too many, in my opinion.

Anyway, one Skeeter Barnes was a baseball player and is featured above. The other Skeeter Barnes is a chain of beef and barbeque restaurants—I didn’t say they had to be people; burn!—based in Nebraska. Judging by their website, they are represented not by Skeeter Barnes the ex-ballplayer, but by an obese bald man with a very long mustache who proclaims in ALL CAPS that they have the best beef and bbq around. (Then, if you put the cursor on him, he eats the rib he is holding and exclaims, “HMM!” Sold!) Also, feel free to shop at the Skeeter Store for their array of sauces and t-shirts! Or, if you prefer, t-shirts and sauces.

Neither Skeeter Barnes the player’s Wikipedia page nor the “About Skeeter Barnes” page on the restaurant’s website express any relation between each other, and I find this to be astounding. At the risk of being redundant in using an example of a rather obscure professional athlete with a sort of silly name, this would be like a chain of seafood restaurants called Bimbo Coles that had nothing to do with the former NBA player. Really, I am dumbfounded. You? Not so much? Then I digress.

In 1983 Skeeter achieved one of his fondest dreams, making it to the major leagues with his hometown team.

That’s pretty cool, I guess. One of his other fondest dreams, however, was to be a firefighter who saves the President of the United States from a burning Oval Office, which he was never able to achieve, and which has haunted him throughout his life. Oh well!

Skeeter Barnes was a prolific minor league player who finally achieved regular big league playing time with the Tigers when he was 34 years old, and as a result, became a popular player often likened to Bull Durham’s Crash Davis. His lack of a direct affiliation with a barbeque restaurant that bears his own odd and by-contemporary-standards-kind-of-nasty-name notwithstanding, he was a great success as a professional baseball player.

His BR Bullpen page, rather oddly, concludes with a list of quotes that the reader is left to assume can be attributed to Barnes himself, although they are certainly not of the Socratic or even Yogi Berra variety. To list a few:

"Kick mule!"

?

"Yeah ya ain't."

These are just (non)words that don’t mean anything that seem like a response to something none of us are even aware of. This would be like attributing me with the famous quote, “Yesterday, I think.”

"Run like hell."

Was Skeeter Barnes the first/only person to ever say this? I anxiously await the Ken Burns’ documentary, “Run Like Hell,” about the time Skeeter Barnes told that guy to run like hell, and he did, and they won the game.

"Hit us a sac fly."

No wonder he later became a coach and manager:

“Strawberry! Hit a home run!”

“Sure thing, Skip.”

"Hit it over that New Grape sign."

Ditto!

"Yall putting me to sleep."

The nerve of not maintaining Skeeter Barnes’ attention! Better to fail and keep Skeeter Barnes alert than succeed and make Skeeter Barnes fall asleep! You know this.

"Is that Good's brother out there, No Good?"

Wow, that is terrible. Why wouldn’t Good’s brother also be good, since they are brothers and probably share many characteristics? I am confused.

"It's called cetch, not fetch."

It’s not called cetch either. Nevertheless … you’ve just been zinged by the Skeeter! DEAL WITH IT.

What Ben's Been Up To Lately

2011-11-14T20:03:00.001-05:00

Dear Gentle Reader,

Ben here. I haven't posted in a while and wanted to get you up to speed with what I've been up to.

Let's see ... I put the finishing touches on the 1956 Topps set. Last card: Yogi Berra. My Mantle has a nice, fat, and healthy crease down the middle. Next set to finish will be 1961 Fleer Baseball Greats. ... I've started a tumblr photo blog called "Old Basketball Cards" that is exactly what it sounds like: scans of old basketball cards from my collection. ... I'm also thinking of collecting the 1965 Topps set, and am about 140 cards in. ... I've been listening to a couple great bands lately, Noah And The Whale and White Denim. Definitely check them out when you can. ...

But the real reason I'm posting tonight is to share with you a custom card set I just finished for Boston Lyric Opera, the premier opera company in Boston, Massachusetts (as the name would suggest). Each season, they designate a group of youngish performers as "Emerging Artists." I was asked to create a card for each to celebrate this honor. Here's what I came up with.

I appropriated the trophy from a photo of Meredith Hansen in concert (see below).

This was a fun project. I'll share the backs I soon as I get them finished.

While I Have Been Away...

2011-11-12T19:12:00.001-05:00

I really should apologize for leaving you without my silly custom cards for so long... But I won't. I'll just show you one of the projects that I have been working on lately.

Completing my submission for the annual Halloween custom card making contest over at Thorzul Will Rule, took up a fair amount of time. It is now past Veterans Day, and he still hasn't announced a winner. I didn't receive an honorable mention, nor did I place third or second... So I'm thinking if he ever gets around to posting the winner, I stand a reasonable chance of finishing in the top spot. (He's a new dad, so I imagine he is just a little bit busy. Congrats on creating a new Brewers fan, from all of us at TBCB!)

It has been a while since I sent in my submission, and I really like seeing my work displayed for the public, so here is a little preview:

Front

Back

It was a minor news story back in '85. You might have missed it. Zombies took over the art department at Fleer on Halloween evening. Apparently, the zombies made some interesting changes to the baseball cards for 1986 that the living designers had been diligently preparing for the following spring. (Note: the "living" designers were only living until, of course, their brains were eaten.)

Word around the hobby campfire was that some of the Zombified cards made their way into wax packs in '86. I had not heard about them until shortly after the contest was announced. I was searching through a bargain bin at my local card shop looking for ideas, and I stumbled across the card shown above.

I decided at that moment I needed to find these so-called Zombified 1986 Fleer baseball cards to submit to the contest as my own work. It took several days of scavenging the internet, but I was able to purchase a complete pack of the Zombified cards on eBay for just under $90 (with FREE shipping from Romania!)

I'm not sure what the cards look like inside the sealed wax pack, but when they are revealed on Thorzul Will Rule, I will add a link here. WooHoo! I Won!

Talk Sports. Sell Fish. Work Hard.

2011-11-09T21:00:00.000-05:00

Dennis Lamp, 1989 Donruss

My name is Dennis Lamp. I used to play baseball for the Boston Red Sox. They filmed “Where the Wild Things Are” on my upper lip. It was a 17-week shoot. I didn’t charge ‘em nothing.

My name is Dennis Lamp. I talk sports. I sell fish. I work hard. Don’t believe me? Check it out. Yeah, I work at a fish counter these days, and I’m loving every minute of it. Ain’t trying to be some ex-ballplayer clinging to what wasn’t and showin’ his face at every autograph show this side of the Susquehanna. Get a real job, exie. I’m a working man. Ain’t in it for the glory. Try this one on for size:

Though Dennis Lamp fields the occasional autograph request, most shoppers seem to have no idea that the burly, outgoing man handling their halibut once came within three outs of pitching a no-hitter against the Milwaukee Brewers.

All true. ‘Cept for the burly part. Don’t know what that’s about—been staying in fine shape these days (pulls up sleeve, flexes bicep). Nevertheless, how many times you been handed a fresh piece of halibut and thought to yourself, “I wonder if that man—or woman I guess—who handed me this fresh halibut ever came without three outs of pitching a no hitter against the Milwaukee Brewers ... ” I mean, it’s a common fantasy, to wonder something like that. But in my particular case, yeah—it happened. That’s all the fame I need to get by. Now here’s your fish—get outta here and go have a nice meal with your family. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.

My name is Dennis Lamp. I was 1 win short of Luis Arroyo’s 61’ record for most consecutive wins by a reliever in ’84 w/ Blue Jays. A lot of people ask me about that one. Questions like, “What was the record?” and “What?” and “Where is my shrimp?” It was tough though, thinking about it now, coming just short of that completely random record that nobody knows about. Kept me up nights. Then I got into sabermetrics and was like, pfft. Wins on a reliever is like a nipples on a lizard. Does it happen? Sure. But it ain’t nothing to base a career on. I’ll hang my hat on my 1989 178 ERA+, thank you very much. Math. Learn it.

My name is Dennis Lamp. I was voted most handsome player in the major leagues 1977 – 1980 inclusive. That’s according to Wikipedia. Some people think that isn’t true, because sometimes people think it’s funny to add silly, out-of-place tidbits at the end of Wikipedia entries. Get a life, Wiki-nerds! Anyway, yeah, it happened. Got the trophy in storage—it’s just a 14-karat gold mustache on a stick, and the bottom plate reads, “Most Handsome Big Leaguer, 1977-1980 Inclusive.” It’s an every-three-years award, cumulative. That’s why you don’t go to the ballpark looking like a schlub, ya’ know? No big deal though. Don’t take a lot of pride in it. Just working with what I got.

My name is Dennis Lamp. And guess what? I saw “Anchorman,” too. The love you express is disingenuous, and I don’t appreciate it. Just wanted to get that off my chest.

Now who’s next?

The Purple Sky of Destiny

2011-11-02T22:00:00.001-04:00

Rondell White, 1992 Upper Deck, Top Prospect ‘92

It was a starry, purple evening, like out of a {person who writes about that stuff} novel, when Rondell White, Top Prospect of ’92, first contemplated his existence. “What is the meaning of life anyway? Why do I have two bats? What is an Expo? Is the moon really made of cheese?” But the most important question Rondell asked himself that night was this one: “What does the future hold for me, Rondell White? Will I ever hit 30 ding-dongs?”

“Ha, ha! Sloooow down, Rondell!” said the purple sky.

Comparisons are often tough to live up to,

Is that true? I honestly cannot think of a single occasion when a person—especially an athlete—failed to realize the expectations prematurely placed on him by others. Every human being I have ever known has simply morphed into the person with whom he or she was most often compared. That’s a fact of life. And it’s easy, no? I am going to send that statement to our research department, and I will get back to you.

but scouts say White reminds them of the Cubs’ Andre Dawson and the Pirates’ Barry Bonds.

Comparisons are often tough to live up, but here are two comparisons for Rondell White to live up to, the latter of which is one of the greatest players ever in history. Good luck, Rondell! Sincerely, Upper Deck.

In ’91, White worked on his one weakness, throwing, by moving from left field to center field

Mngr: Hey, Rondell, come here for a sec. Listen buddy, I’m gonna break it down for you, tough-love-manager-style. You got four tools. Fif? Ehhh, not so much. In layman’s terms—you can’t throw. But here’s what I’m gonna do for you. I’m gonna move you from left field, where it’s a little easier to throw, to center field, where traditionally you gotta be able to throw a bit farther. You’re only 19, so your arm’s got plenty of time to grow magically stronger and also longer, like a slingshot. Now listen—I know it seems like I’m exposing your one weakness rather than hiding it. But by doing this, I’m really just implying that you’re not trying hard enough to throw better. This is your future at stake here! Prove me wrong, Rondell. Prove me wrong. I mean, prove me right? Whatever. Now get out there.

How did it go?

And he lit up the South Atlantic League with one fantastic catch after another

Mgr: (Leaning back, feet on his desk, newspaper sits on the desk with headline about Rondell White's game-saving catch the previous night) Had a guy here a while back. Scouts told me he couldn’t hit. So what’d I do? Stuck him in the cleanup spot. What happened? Became the ace of our staff. Didn’t have to hit anymore. That pitcher’s name? Walter Johnson.

The story of Rondell White conquering his weakness of throwing by being able to catch the ball better so that he wouldn’t have to throw—except for runners tagging, but really, how often does that happen?—is one that should be passed down from generation to generation. The lesson: If you can’t do something well, do something else so that you don’t have to do the other thing so much.

He also improved his ability to hit the curve ball.

Rondell White improved on his one weakness, throwing, by learning to catch better. He also improved on his other weakness, hitting a curveball, which wasn’t so much a weakness, I guess, as it was, like … a thing with room for improvement?, by hitting more curveballs.

And so it was that Rondell White, with two bats, hit endless curveballs into the purple night sky, and lit up that sky with a flair for making fantastic catches. One year he even hit 28 ding-dongs, which is almost 30, and he married Jerry Manuel’s daughter, and showed up in the Mitchell Report. When he saw the name “Rondell White” in the report, he said, “Who’s that?” Because by then, there was no doubt—he was Andre Bonds.

Porky's 498

2011-10-26T22:00:00.000-04:00

Pokey Reese, 1999 Topps

Today’s lesson from the Topps School of English & Grammar comes courtesy of Pokey Reese:

The oxymoronically-named Pokey

Let us, for a second, first assume, as I think this statement is implying, that “pokey” is a common baseball term for a player who hits singles and bunts a lot or something, as in:

Scout: Guy’s got decent speed, no doubt, but he’s a little pokey out there.

Normal person: “Pokey?” How do you mean?

Scout: Ya’ know … he pokes the ball around. Like, he pokes at it, with his bat, and it doesn’t go very far, which is bad.

Normal person: I have never heard of such a thing.

Scout: Watch.

Player in question swings and misses, bat flies out of his hands and hits a popcorn vendor in the back.

Scout: Alright, he wasn’t pokey there, but you get what I’m saying.

Then, let us assume that Pokey Reese was not, in the traditional sense, very pokey at all! For example, instead of the “fact” that he hit 44 career home runs in eight years in the bigs, let us say that he hit 498 career home runs in only eight years in the bigs. Then, let us assume that “Reese” is French for “slugger,” in which case, yes—Pokey Slugger is indeed an oxymoron in the same way that jumbo shrimp is an oxymoron. Jumbo shrimp? Pfftt. That is crazy talk.

Wikipedia, anything to add?

Reese was nicknamed "Pokey" by his grandmother for his chubby infant complexion; she intended to call him "Porky", but Pokey stuck.

Grandma Reese: Look at that fat baby! I’m gonna call him “Pokey!”

Grandpa Reese: What in the heck does that mean, Louise? Pokey? He’s fat—not a baby who bunts all the time!

Grandma Reese: Oh, goodness! Did I say, “Pokey?” I meant to say, “Pokey!”

Grandpa Reese: Darn it, Louise!

Grandma Reese: I mean “Porky!”

Baby Reese: (From his crib) Po-key?

Grandpa Reese: Well, it’s too late now! We got ourselves an oxymoron!

This makes consecutive Porky-related posts, which ties the record for most consecutive themed posts (2), set back in February of this year when we explored hunted game. I mention this not to brag, but so that everyone knows how rare it is to witness so much Porky content in one place. What we're doing here ... it's kind of special.

Porky's 56

2011-10-19T22:00:00.000-04:00

Hal Reniff, 1967 Topps

I’m pretty sure this is my oldest baseball card. I don’t know where I got it, or why I have it, other than that it features a Yankee. Rest in peace, Hal Reniff. On with the show …

The chunky righthander

I love the straightforwardness of olden times (the 60s). Whereas a modern card may have described Hal Reniff as “sturdy,” or “nimble for his size,” and hid that phrasing somewhere near the end of the tidbit, literally the second word of Hal Reniff’s ’67 Topps card is “chunky.” Like, let’s get this out of the way, because we know everyone’s thinking it—dude is a chunkster. According to Wikipedia, Mr. Reniff also went by the subtle nickname, “Porky.” Also, according to BR Bullpen, he was the great nephew of Joe “Moon” Harris. So, it should be duly noted that this chunky Porky was from the Moon.

works in the Yankees’ ticket office during the winter months.

First, ! Second, Hal Reniff won a title with the Yanks in ’61, and would have (may still have; unsure) won another with them in ’62 were he not serving his country, and the team’s got him selling tickets in the offseason to supplement his income? Amazing. Third:

Hal Reniff: (Sitting at a desk, chewing tobacco, bored, watching kids outside playing in the snow; phone rings) Yeah, Porky here … Uh huh … Uh huh … That day we play, uh (flipping through schedule) Kansas City … Eh, they kinda suck, but ya’ know, still baseball and what not … Promotions? Pfft. Yeah it’s uh, “Bring your money to the ballpark and spend it day” … How many ya’ want? … Three? Let’s make it four, even number … Listen, I gotta eat, buddy … Alright then, looks like the price just went up five bucks a pop! … Oh yeah, well I’d like to see you come down here and try! … FINE, IT’S A DATE! (Slams down phone, takes shot of whiskey.)

Another great thing about old timey cards is that, say you are a person who does not understand words very well. How about then, instead, an easy-to-decipher cartoon?

As you can see, Hal Reniff topped Yankee pitchers with 56 appearances in '66. He did this by climbing over the bullpen fence, which featured actual bulls—dangerous, you say, especially for a man named Porky! Don't worry, they were friendly bulls—and sweating while holding up a sign announcing the number of that particular appearance. In this instance, it was a team high "56," a number that, up until that point, held no other significance within the organization.

Also, the righty has been unscored upon in 4 World Series games. Many of those potential runs were prevented when the catcher moved to second base to tag out the baserunner in the face while an indistinguishable blob existed somewhere in center field. Baseball!

The Store Run

2011-10-12T22:00:00.001-04:00

Jose Canseco, 1987 Drakes

Mom, here's what I need you to do. Go to the store like, now. Get something Drakes, okay? Drakes Cakes, Yodles, Donut Delites, those freakin' Fruit Pies with the cherry or apple real fruit filling ... real fruit. Pfft. Like Drakes is pulling apples off the vine at some Midwest farm and stuffing them into processed sugar pockets, am I right, mom? Ridiculous.

Ya' know what though? Get the Fruit Pies. I'm feeling them, the more we're talking about it. Alright, so you get the Fruit Pies. MAKE SURE they feature the "7th Annual Collector's Edition 'Big Hitters!'" It should say it on the front. If it doesn't say "Big Hitters," DON'T GET IT! Honestly, if you come home with Drakes Fruit Pies and there's no "Big Hitters" in there, I will throw a Fruit Pie at you. Really. I'm sorry, but I will. Also, listen -- how much money are you working with on this trip? One bill? Two? Cause here's the thing -- I'm looking for the Canseco. Dude's legit, mom. And I need to increase my odds. So get as many Fruit Pies as you can. If you need to, forget about the milk. Milk is gross anyway. I really don't understand how milk became a standard American beverage. It's white goo from a cow's utters. That's freakin' disgusting, mom. It's not your fault -- don't get me wrong. You're just doing your job, I know. I'm just sayin.'

Anyway, so here's what's gonna happen, ideally. You're gonna come home with some Fruit Pies. I'm gonna tear that shizz open. Bam -- there's Canseco. I'm a be like, "MOM, GET ME THE FREAKIN' SCISSORS!" Gonna cut that thing with the precision of a surgeon.

Then, I'm gonna add it to the collection. Dudes are gonna be mad jeals, know what I'm saying, mom? Word. Then, to celebrate, I'm gonna eat a Fruit Pie. Maybe two. I don't know. You're gonna be like, "Don't ruin your dinner!" I'm gonna be like, "Whatev, mom -- chill." You're gonna be like, "Wait until daddy gets home!" Then I'm gonna tighten up a bit. You got me, mom. You got me. For reals. You're the best, mom. I love you.

Mom, also -- get some Lunchables.

White Lies

2011-10-05T22:00:00.001-04:00

Joe Carter, 1988 Topps Big

It’s difficult to go wrong with the fabulous head shot outlined in white next to a game time action shot. The pensive 80s-ness of the Joe Carter blank stare next to a picture of him hustling to catch what seems to be a short pop-up to the right side of the infield, combined with the simple yet dynamic color-scaled racing stripe slash lightening bolt that features the man’s simple yet dynamic name is all, in a word, brilliant.

So yes, it’s difficult to go wrong here. But not impossible. One thing about the front of this card is that it lets the cat out of the bag—Joe Carter is black.

Back of the card, do you concur?

No, you do not. Jon Bois over at SB Nation did an unreal and fantastic job of highlighting the less-than-subtle racism and/or mind-boggling mindlessness of the Topps Big series of cards, in which the cartoons on the back featured only white players. It’s a hilarious read, and it reminded me that I had at least one of these cards of my own.

Topps’ refusal to recognize races other than Caucasian in their cartoons is so unbelievable, I feel like they owe everyone an apology, even 20 years later. This defies explanation. I am tempted to ask the question, “How did they get away with this?” although I am truly uncertain whether or not I even noticed this as a kid. It is possible that I did, and reacted by joking about it with my friends during various trading sessions. It is less possible that I noticed and was offended—I don’t recall being that socially conscious at 10, and besides, who was I going to tell about this, the police? It is also possible that I did not notice, which makes me feel ashamed and forces me to question how many instances of racism I let slide because of my own youthful naïveté. If a stupid baseball card is causing introspection of your very soul, something went terribly wrong.

But hey, that said, black, white … whatever! Cartoons are fun!

Wichita State? Pfft. Big deal. I am actually the Wichita State all-time leader in doubles, and I never even went there. And how vain is Joe Carter that his favorite book is the Wichita State record book, simply because it contains several of his own records? Ever hear of “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Joe? You’re not in it, but still. It's pretty good. Also, the first paragraph of the Wichita State record book begins, “Joe Carter, known as ‘the Amazin’ Caucasian,’ set several baseball-related records at this University.”

Oh, hey, also—Hank Aaron was white. Little known fact. Of all the African American baseball players to depict as white cartoons, I’m sure Hank Aaron, who experienced unimaginable racism that included death threats as he embarked on the hallowed home run record of a famous hard-drinking and carousing honky, would enjoy it the most. That Joe Carter’s favorite player wasn’t Jackie Robinson probably saved Topps several lawsuits and millions of dollars.

I also enjoy how Joe Carter, even after he’s made it to the bigs, tapes the photos of his favorite players to the inside of his locker as if he cut them out of Tiger Beat magazine. So not only is Joe Carter white, he is also an 11-year old girl.

Sigh. I am depressed. You? Good.

The Shining Dream Star Team Player Guy

2011-09-28T22:00:00.001-04:00

Let’s say you’re the Topps baseball card company. It’s 1989. You’re living large. You operate out of a 48-story, massive, completely out-of-place skyscraper in Topps, Iowa. It used to be called “Townville,” Iowa, and had a rich history, but you were like, “Screw it—it’s ‘Topps’ now.” You’re trading on Wall Street. You’re sending employees to Bora Bora for inspiration. One of your executive officers was recently featured on a controversial cover of Fortune 500 magazine, shirtless, his man breasts covered up by the hands of an otherwise unseen Janet Jackson.

Your stature has inspired indifference. You’re about to release another awful set of cards featuring mostly nobodies. You’re getting lazy. The excesses of your front office are not trickling down to the blue-collar employees, and you’re sending cameramen to spring training for three days and asking them to come back with sets. You’re displaying no knowledge or forecasting ability of rookie call-ups, and you don’t really care.

Everyone wants a piece of you, and you do, to your frequent dismay, have prior commitments and arrangements with the titans of other industry. Bazooka calls. They’re like, “Topps! What the eff? WHERE IS OUR SHINING STAR MARK GRACE CARD? It’s a crucial part of our ‘Starter Set!’” You’re like, “What does ‘Starter set’ even mean, bro? Is this set for kindergarteners?” Bazooka’s like, “’Starter set’ means nothing! They’re just words! YOU KNOW THIS! Get me that card or we’re pulling out!” You’re like, “That’s what she said.” They hang up. You’re like, “Whatever.”

Meanwhile, Kmart calls, line two. Kmart’s like, “Topps, what’s the freakin’ deal-e-o? WHERE IS OUR MARK GRACE DREAM TEAM GLOSSY CARD?” You’re like, “Sorry dude. Forgot.” Kmart’s like, “FORGOT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Get me that card by the end of the week or have fun dealing with Bradlees!”

You figure you better get on this. “Get me Phillips!” you scream into the intercom. A few minutes later Phillips walks in, shirt untucked, sucking his fingers after having just finished a Rueben. It is 8 o’clock in the morning. “Phillips,” you say, “I need you to get to Chicago today, and get me pics of Gracie for these stupid sets. Marge will set everything up for you. Don’t mess this up!” Phillips, still chewing, gives you a thumbs up, and turns around to walk out of your office. “Oh, Phillips,” you say, “one last thing. You disgust me.”

The following Monday, Phillips and a dude from production walk in. Phillips is like, “Got the shots, boss. I got one of him in his stance, and another one of him ... in his stance, but like, a little different.” Production shows you the cards.

You look a little closer. Hmmm. Same bat. Same blue undershirt. You check the background.

There’s a guy in a red hat.

There’s a guy in a red hat.

There’s a guy in a white hat sitting in front of lady wearing sunglasses.

There’s a guy in a white hat sitting in front of lady wearing sunglasses.

You look up at Phillips. “Lemme get this straight,” you say. “I sent you to Chicago for an entire weekend, and you come back with two pictures that are not only of the same exact thing, but that were taken literally like, two seconds apart? Do I have that right?”

Phillips shrugs his shoulders.

“Well,” you say, “ … nice work!” You slap Phillips on his butt. Then you’re like, “What did you do for the rest of the weekend, anyway?” Phillips is like, “I got pretty drunk on Saturday. Then Sunday I pretty much stayed in the hotel and watched movies. Oh, also, I crashed the rental car into a ‘historic’ (Phillips does air quotes) oak tree somewhere in Cedar Rapids.”

You’re like, “Talk to Marge.”

Happy Anniversary, Brady Bunch!

2011-09-26T17:39:00.000-04:00

This morning, while watching the History Channel, I noticed an interesting tidbit scroll across the bottom of the screen. On this day in 1969, The Brady Bunch debuted. I watched a lot of Brady Bunch growing up. Actually, I watched a lot of EVERYTHING on TV growing up. But, I can't think of a television family that I have spent more time with than the Bradys. In honor of their 42nd anniversary, I decided to give the Bradys a gift. Coincidentally, the proper, traditional gift for the 42nd anniversary is cardboard*:

1969 Topps - #665 Rookie Stars Brady Adults

*Since I couldn't find a list showing the traditional gift for the 42nd anniversary, I had to assume it was cardboard... That's what I'd want. Oh, and apologies for Mr. Brady's position. I couldn't resist.

Custom Card Gallery A-Go-Go

2011-09-22T19:30:00.002-04:00

I've started working on a custom-card project for my wife's organization and it got me thinking: there are a lot of writers and artists out there creating great custom card work on their individual blogs. The problem? The work is scattered all over the Internet.

There have been previous attempts at collecting custom work in one place, but there are so many great artists that a custom card hub has been hard to put together all at once.

So here's what I'm suggesting. I'm going to start a dedicated gallery page on this blog of custom card artwork. We here at The Baseball Card Blog will add a few pieces to it, and if you want to submit and add to it, we'll post your custom work. In a few months, we should start to have the makings of a comprehensive custom card museum gallery.

Interested in adding your work? Here's what you should send us:

1. Your card, sent as a jpg.

2. Your name and a URL, if you have one.

3. Any artist's description, limited to two sentences.

Send us your work!

Staying Power

2011-09-22T10:33:00.002-04:00

Last night I reached a pinnacle in my collecting: I completed the 2003 Topps Heritage baseball master set. It only took me eight years, which means, when I start thinking about it, that my passion for this set outlasted many of its subjects' desire or ability to compete at the major-league level.

(In fact, just a quick scan of the set yields roughly 130 players who aren't in the big leagues anymore, including two (Roberto Alomar and Rickey Henderson) who are in the Hall of Fame.)

My love of this set began back when it came out. I was living in Coolidge Corner, Brookline (just outside of Boston) and remember buying the equivalent of three full boxes from the New England Comics shop on Harvard Ave. Right there we're talking about easily $200, which is saying something, since I was making roughly $10 an hour at a bookstore job. I had pulled a Topps Teams Don Larsen autograph and traded it for about 100 cards I was still missing, including a few short prints and the Alex Rodriguez #250 (for those of you unfamiliar with the set, Topps included Rodriguez on two cards, #1 and #250, as an homage to the original 1954 set on which the Heritage design was based). Yes, I probably got the short end of the trade, but at the time, commons were going for 40 cents. I stockpiled the chrome and refractors inserts and sold them on eBay to pay for other short prints. I was on my way to finishing the set.

Then the 2004 Heritage set came out and my window of opportunity shrank considerably. It became harder and harder to find these cards. And for whatever reason (me being out of touch with other online resources, no physical card shop to visit, etc.), I put the set on the back-burner and turned my focus to other things, like starting this baseball card blog.

That's why completing this set is extra sweet. It was the reason that I got back into collecting, and the fact that my hunt for short-printed commons like Corey Koskie (retired 2006) and Fernando Tatis (retired 2010) took a quarter of my life (I'm 32) means that it took me just as long — eight years — to complete the set as I had stayed away from collecting back when I thought some distance between me and my nerdier side might make me appear cool (sadly, I was wrong).

So what does all this mean? That I have the collecting mind of a 24-year-old? That I should take the set out of pages and turn my focus to starting another set? In the last year, I've also completed the 1976 Topps master set (basic plus traded), and the 1978 and 1979 Topps sets. I'm also halfway done on the 1977 set, 50 cards from completing the 1961 Fleer Baseball Greats set, and five cards away from finishing 1956 Topps. I really want to start collecting a different set, and am leaning towards either 1965 or 1967 Topps baseball. But the problem is that I can't build any of these sets by opening packs. Collecting them means assembling them through eBay wins and Sportlots purchases (which is a heckuva lot cheaper than Beckett Marketplace, by the way). And right now that doesn't appeal to me.

But then again, neither does spending a fortune on a new box of cards of a set that doesn't have staying power. The fun thing about sets like 1965, 1967, or even 1986 Topps is that they have staying power.

By staying power I mean an iconic longevity that will guarantee it followers and a certain ubiquitousness throughout the hobby. It's a quality usually absent from many of today's gimmicky retro sets that try to replicate a classic; they may be popular one year, but they're relegated to the bargain bin the next—despite their perceived scarcity. And laugh all you want: 1986 Topps has been a bargain-bin resident since around 1993, but you can still find those cards everywhere (probably because Topps printed a billion of them), rendering it a cheap set chock full of Hall of Famers.

Admittedly, 2003 Topps Heritage doesn't have staying power. The fact that it took me this long to put together a small 488-card set speaks volumes about its decided lack of popularity, despite its hobby cornerstone original, 1954 Topps.

Dat King Cole

2011-09-21T22:00:00.000-04:00

Pinnacle sports cards was facing the problem of every sports card company at the time, which was: how the heck in the freakin’ heck can we adequately capture the utter dramatics of Major League Baseball player and career zero home run hitter Alex Cole?

Topps tried. FAIL. Avid card peeps was like, “Pfft.”

But Topps, the Yankees of sports cards, could afford to fail. Pinnacle, the Pinnacle of sports cards—as they so claimed—could not. Not with their multi-million dollar investment in advanced card-imprint technology, which left them little-to-no money for marketing purposes, even within the freewheeling financial structure of Clintonomics. Thankfully, Pinnacle became a word-of-mouth phenomenon and titan in the industry after doing what they set out to do—create the greatest Alex Cole baseball card ever.

Alex Cole, 1994 Pinnacle

Avid card peeps was like, “Bam! Whaaaaat? What just hit my face? Awesomeness, that’s what!” These were literally the things that avid card peeps were saying when they saw this card for the first time. Taking their cue from such linear stalwarts as “Master Blaster” and “Rifleman,” Pinnacle upped the ante and overproduced the living crap out of this card to the point it is actually hurtful, in the eyes, to look at. It hurts, however, so good.

“What about Alex Cole?” you may be asking. Alex Cole slid past second base into another dimension, never to be heard from again. We don’t know a lot about the this other dimension, but we do know that there, Alex Cole is king, and time is triple what it is here, and everybody wears Ray Bans and silver suits, and there are no clouds, only floating mathematical equations, and also there is a Johnny Rockets.

I bet you’d like to know more about pre-other-dimension-traveling Alex Cole, in which case:

.315 BA/RUNNERS SCORING POS.

There you go. Alex Cole hit .315 with runners in scoring position … for his career? Last year? I don’t know; doesn’t say. I hope you have enjoyed this ride down information lane.

More importantly:

Indeed, this card is part of Pinnacle’s famed “Museum Collection.” This card belongs in a museum. Also, it is. The name of this museum is, “The Alex Cole Museum of Weird, Hurtful to the Eyes, Alex Cole Baseball Cards,” which is in South Amboy, New Jersey. We actually went there on a class trip when I was a sophomore in high school. It was on this trip we learned that, in 1991, the Cleveland Indians, uncontrollably smitten with Alex Cole’s 40-stolen base and defensive speed, moved their outfield walls back, resulting in the squad hitting a total of 22 home runs at home. I thought that was hilarious, and one of the six dumbest things I had ever heard in my whole life. Then my buddy Tim got food poisoning from the Alex Cole cafeteria and almost passed out. Still, it was awesome, mostly because we got to take a charter bus instead of a school bus.