Wouldn’t it be cool if you could call up a major league manager whenever you had a big decision to make? Or if you could hire one out for the day and he would show up in his uniform, with spikes, and just follow you around everywhere, offering advice and constantly giving you weird hand signals?
I think that would rock. If it were really something you could do, I would want Earl Weaver to follow me around. And if Earl weren’t available, I’d want Al Lopez.Imagine it, you’re behind a lady at the corner store and she’s paying in nickels and pennies and you go to Lopez for the sign and he flashes you ‘steal’. Then, if the guy behind the counter chases you out, Al could distract him with an argument or by kicking dirt on the guy’s shoes.
They could be called Decisions for Hire, or something like that, and could be available as legal representation, or to take the heat for you when you fuck up. I personally think it would be great to be able to screw up dinner and then have Joe Torre hold a press conference and deflect the fault away from me.
Getting a personal manager would be just like being a child again. Don’t want to go to work? Get Zim to call in sick for you. Need to practice spitting? I just saw LaRussa amble by; I’m sure he’s free. Couldn’t secure a clown for your kid’s birthday party? There’s nothing like an afternoon with Frank Robinson. Don’t know where your motivation’s gone? There’s a whole stable of inspiring pep talkers just a phone call away.
Besides, if they don’t give good advice, or if you have an especially bad day, you can always fire them. And if that’s your thing, just ask for ‘The Fire Sale’, Jim Lemon and Billy Martin—two for the price of one!
What is life’s greatest puzzle? Of course it’s one of those things that depends on who you ask. A teenage boy may tell you it’s removing a bra with one hand. Wesley Snipes may tell you it’s figuring out who found out he wasn’t paying taxes. But if you wanted to make a general list—and who doesn’t like making lists?—I would bet that the construction of the pyramids, the hanging gardens of Babylon and the Celtics’ lack of draft-day prowess in 1993 when they took Eric Montross over Eddie Jones would be on there. If the list was more extensive, you could even find a place for Warren Brusstar’s sloppy chest hair shave on his card from '78, the unexplained flameouts of Kevin Maas, Troy Neel and/or the incredibly brief flash that was Vaughn Eshelman. But I would guess that figuring out an average Topps checklist for an entire decade would probably not make the list, though it is definitely deserving (it’s a lot harder than it looks). 
haircut (look at his headshot and squint, you’ll see what I mean about those tufts skirting out from under his cap). I know, I know, I’m an idiot. Hey, do you think that maybe he moved to the wilds of Puerto Rico after retiring and let his hair grow out, then groomed it out to look more like two well-proportioned bear ears off his head, let the hair grow over his real ears and down past his shoulders and even beyond, down past his elbows, grew his fingernails real, real long and plastered his hair to look like fur, then filed down his incisors, gained a lot of weight and lived off the land? Maybe, if he had kids, they could sell tickets to drunk spring-breakers to watch him kill a fish with his hands and teeth while he waded through a brook. And then, after a late lunch of raw fish, Guillermo could try to teach the guava spider and the coqui frog to intimidate the other animals with a good brushback pitch. 
File Under: Muppet
of a drunken, on-air rant. Or better yet, this card should be kept on file at every network news department, just in case McCarver ever gets busted for something, like if he were in town for a Dodger game and got caught on a security camera committing petty shoplifting on Rodeo Drive. If that ever were to happen and someone printed t-shirts coming to his support, I may be forced to buy one (but only as long as the graphic artist agrees to use the headshot from this hideous card).
Hair, Glorious Hair!
Canseco’s latest jump to pitcher wasn’t the first time he made a dumb move on the mound. He's made others, like the one captured here, from 1993. Also, Pete Vuckovich grips his bat like a little girl. Or perhaps, like a bendy toy (you know, one of those rubber toys with the really long arms and legs). It’s like Red Schoendienst told him it would be really good for him to get in the groove by sleeping with his bat the night before and all his muscles were still asleep when they took this photo. How much you want to bet that the respective Score and Donruss photographers got some kind of slap on the back from their bosses while their bosses grinned with their top teeth exposed and shook their heads in disbelief? I think there’s a pretty good chance.
was never made. Wills was one of the very few players that Topps didn’t sign to a contract, because they didn’t think he’d make it to the majors. How messed up is that? Today they give nearly every draft pick a card. But not that Maury Wills; I just don’t think he’ll make it to the majors.
Last week, as I lazily moved from one destination to the next around Northern Vermont, I got to thinking: did Topps create Mickey Mantle, or did The Mick create Topps? (In the public consciousness, I mean). And if the former is true, couldn’t it also be said that Topps either created to help to mold the popularity (and possibly career) swings of every other baseball player since 1951? These questions got me (in a roundabout way) to the idea of the Topps checklist, the meritocracy theory behind each set’s checklist, and whether or not it would be possible—based on a few studious hours with an old Beckett and Microsoft Excel—for me to create a checklist for an ‘average’ Topps set.
Spahn and Koufax are interesting, because if you study the checklists from the Topps Sixties, it seems as though Koufax was Spahn’s heir to the Pitcher Hero Number—not Bob Gibson, who was just as deserving. Spahn and Koufax both had three years as a Hero Number, with Koufax ending his career as #100 in the 1966 set (Spahn ended his as #205, a 3rd Tier, in 1965). I gave Koufax #200 because it seems like Topps was positioning him to be the next full-set hero (to take over for the bad-kneed Mantle). Instead, Koufax retired and Topps elevated Gibson and Frank Robinson to take The Mick’s place. Spahn I gave #450.
Other Things to keep in mind:
If anyone has an idea for what the design of this average Topps 1960s set would look like, send it to me by email and I’ll post the best three. I’d like to see fronts and backs, as well as League Leaders and All-Star card designs. 