Dibs McNasty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.