Halloween at Comiskey, circa 1977

If you haven’t read Bill Veeck’s fantastic memoir Veeck—As in Wreck, I recommend it highly. Before I read it a few years ago, I knew vaguely of Eddie Gaedel, of the night of a thousand exploding disco albums and Veeck's legacy in Middle West baseball. But after reading it, you learn to appreciate the man not so much for his stunts, but for his ability to get fans in the ballpark to see the White Sox. Perhaps one of his better-known inventions was the Chicago White Sox uniform of the late 1970s, definitely one-of-a-kind (though a more accurate description is ‘hideous’). And while it’s not one of the game’s brightest moments, it’s an historical checkpoint I keep coming back to. More specifically: the wide lapels (and not so much the garish (and short-lived) shorts). Today, the game is used to the v-neck, button-down jersey, and yet it was founded on a wide-lapeled shirt a player had to lace up in the front. So while you almost half-expect Goose Gossage to pull a large peace medallion from between the lapels of his leisure-suit-cum-White-Sox-uniform, you also have to respect the homage (if however slight and unintentional) that Seventies fashion wrought.

And as a sidebar, the best part of this card is not the guys sitting cross-legged on the ground like they’re at summer camp, or even the special guest star pennant for a dazed and confused Bob Lemon, but the second trainer in from the left, third row back. This jersey was ugly, no doubt about it. But it was especially no good if you weren’t wearing an undershirt. This guy looks like he should work at a gas station.

Appreciation: 2006 Topps Heritage #50 Scott Rolen

To the reader who commented on the post about Topps’ 1972 In Action subset and the card companies’ recent betrayal of the traditional headshot/closeup for the greener pastures of action shots, this card’s for you. Not only would I not trade this awkward closeup of Rolen for an action shot, but I want to find out just what exactly was going on when this photo was taken.

My guess is one of three things:
1) The Topps photographer told a really bad joke
2) This is Scott Rolen’s Serious Face
3) Tony La Russa just told him he thought they should see other people and Scott Spiezio walked into the room in a towel at the exact same time (how awkward)

Quick Note: 1988 Topps #14 Sparky Anderson

It’s a toss up: either Sparky’s putting the shift on for a pull hitter or he’s lifting Luke’s X-wing out of the swamp on Dagobah. Also, it’s obvious that he’s holding a cane in his other hand and boiling a pot of soup over a can of sterno on the dugout steps, right?

Appreciation: 1988 Topps Jay Baller

1988 was an especially good year if you happen to like awkward headshots and closeups. More than a handful of guys got traded at the end of 1987 and were rewarded with lousy airbrush jobs. And then there's the case of Jay Baller, who pulled a Warren Brusstar on the unsuspecting Topps photographer, unleashing a lensful of splotchy chest hair, dotted with perhaps the earliest white-guy bling known to man. What is that a pendant of, exactly, a Lincoln-Mercury symbol? Was he bragging about his new Town Car paid for with Tribune money? I can't figure it out. Luckily, I won't have to--this is going to my friend Steve for his birthday as a magnet.

If you, too, want a baseball card magnet, let me know by email.

Appreciation: Rite Aid Team MVPs

I remember when I got this set. I was just a little kid and I don’t think I’d ever been to a Rite Aid in my life (and before I moved to New York City, the only place I’d ever heard mention of the drugstore chain was on these cards). I can’t rightly say that today I’m a better man after shopping at a Rite Aid, but I don’t think it’s entirely unfair to say that if I had to name a Team MVP of my local Rite Aid, it would definitely be Alan Trammell.

He has probably never been to my local Rite Aid, nor will he ever. In fact, the only reason he’s the MVP is because he doesn’t work there. And if somehow the heavens aligned tomorrow and he was hired as its manager, he would be the best damned Rite Aid manager you ever did see (and yes, I’m talking about the same Alan Trammell who led the 2003 Detroit Tigers to 119 losses), because as it is right now I hate going there: their prices are too high, the stuff I want never goes on sale and the cashier lines are too long and the cashiers are too slow—wait a minute… I’m thinking of Duane Reade.

I take it all back. Alan Trammell wouldn’t last one day at Rite Aid (but at Duane Reade he’d fit right in).

Appreciation: Tiny Little Fleer Cards

I never once understood the appeal of tiny little Fleer cards. Was it that they were small? I remember in 1991 (and 1992, I think) Topps put out a set called Topps Micro that was simply the regular set shrunk down to a ½ or ¼ of the regular card size. When you get cards down that small you can’t do very much with them: the text on the back, including the stats, was too small to read, the photos were smaller, and the cards had an overall cheap feeling. And seeing as how Topps Micro came only as a complete set, it made collecting them kind of a moot point.

And although some of the bad things about Topps Micro carried over into tiny little Fleer cards, tiny little Fleer cards did have some things going for them. For one thing, they were glossy, almost like a poor man’s Tiffany set. Also: different photos were used from the regular yearly set. Third, I believe only good players (by Fleer’s definition of ‘good’) were given tiny little Fleer cards. Topps Micro reprinted every card from the regular set, and who wants that? Unless we’re talking about the 1975 Topps Mini set, nobody—that’s who. So here’s to you, tiny little Fleer cards: you’re not worth much of anything, except maybe the time of day (but only briefly).

Appreciation: Moises Alou

I got to thinking yesterday about who Joe Rudi’s 1990s equivalent was, and I’ve narrowed it down to either Bernie Williams or this man, Moises Alou. Sure, their statistical careers were nothing at all alike—though all three were on World Series-winning teams—but that’s not the point. The point is that Williams and Alou, for all that they did for the game and all they excelled at it at their respective heights, the both of them will end up like Rudi: vaguely remembered by the majority and held in revere by those select, diehard few. Theirs is a future cursed by the Beckett label of ‘Semistar,’ just another card in the fifteen-for-a-dollar box.

That’s not to say their relative anonymity is bad. I for one have had a soft spot for Moises Alou ever since I learned the ‘Jesus is the Answer/What was the Question?’ joke. I also have a profound respect for Bernie Williams and his prowess with the Latin guitar. This coming from a lifelong Red Sox fan. And I’ve already gone into detail about my newfound adoration of all things Joe Rudi. So what better way to continue this appreciation than with a little dumpster diving? If I know an Alou or Williams or Rudi will be down there to greet me, all the better. If only Rudi had played in the Nineties. Think of all the worthless crap cards Fleer would’ve made of him.

Depreciation: The Completely Unneeded Rookie Card Emblem

I always thought it was relatively easy to spot a rookie card. Take Will Clark’s 1987 Topps card. It’s obvious it’s his rookie because it looks like they told him to go take a few grounders during Spring Training as Roger Craig quietly loaded the Giants onto the team bus and they hightailed it outta there. Clark looks pissed cause Craig and Leonard and the rest of the team sprung a good one on him. But there were other ways you could tell as well. For instance, Clark was a fresh face in 1987, and if you were poor and couldn’t afford the 1986 Topps Traded set (like me), then you knew just by looking at the photo and the name that he was a new, hot-shit rookie, like Dan Plesac, Mike Greenwell, Barry Larkin and all the rest of the unmarked rookies from that glorious set.

So excuse me if I’m a little taken aback when I saw the ‘Rookie Card’ emblem on Justin Verlander’s 2006 Topps card. Have things got so bad in cards today that the companies need to tell collectors that a card’s a player’s rookie? Wouldn’t collectors know that already? If we’re going to start labeling rookie cards, how about card companies start guessing when a player’s going to retire and put a ‘Last Card’ emblem on theirs?

Think about it: Topps needs another scandal to bookend the Alex Gordon card. How about a card of Julio Franco that pre-empts his retirement announcement? And then, when it doesn’t happen, Franco’s famed ‘Last Card’ can sell on eBay for hundreds, Keith Olbermann can pontificate on the necessity of owning it in order to ‘complete the set’ and I can sell my 1983 Donruss rookie of the guy for a hundred thousand percent of its book value and buy an unopened 1986 Topps Traded set.

Depreciation: 2005 Cracker Jack #50Vladimir Guerrero

Vlad looks like he’s cruisin’ for a bruisin’. Either that or Jody came back a changed man after shooting Flag. Seriously, who green-lit this card? Guerrero looks deranged, and that low brick wall isn’t helping matters any. Did he just climb out of a public fountain? Or let loose on a steeplechase? Why isn’t he holding a bat, a glove, a ball or any base-ball-playing equipment? This is one of the most unflattering photos I’ve ever seen on a card, and this is how Topps wants to commemorate the reigning AL MVP? By making him look like he just staggered out of Shaun of the Dead?

I swear, sometimes I feel like Topps just doesn’t care; like they’re on deadline and they’ll be goddamned if they have to look over any more photos of Vlad smiling, kissing babies and hitting home runs. It’s pathetic.

Dammitt, Topps! Don’t you get it? Another shit niche set like this and you’ll have run the hobby down a long, dark alley; out of which it’ll have a hard time finding its way. You gotta run a tight ship; no more of these head-scratching bullshit photos of guys looking like they climbed out of dumpsters. I know, I know, I’m being harsh, but it’s for your own goddamned good. Now now, stop crying…buck up! C’mon, let’s go make fun of Donruss for a while. That’s the spirit!

A Late Entry

A while back I encouraged every- and anyone to send in their take on an 'average' 1960s Topps design to go with my checklist for the 'average' set. You may remember that our friend Dave from Vermont sent in a design a few weeks back; it was posted with the final, downloadable pdf checklist.

This morning I received another design, this one from something (or someone) known as The Triborough Organisation. Note the heavy influence of 1968, the dropped out player name a la 1967 and the team name color scheme similar to 1960, 1965 and 1966. Its photo-to-border ratio suggests late decade design, as for some reason I associate bigger pictures with post-1965 design (and yes, I'm lumping 1968 into the 'bigger picture' category, though it had the most non-photographic front-of-card elements since '65). Anyway, for your viewing pleasure.

Appreciation: Joe Rudi

There have been quite a few major leaguers throughout history whose facial characteristics were Muppet-esque. Ken Phelps and his Inspector Gadget-like disguise mustache perhaps the most recent example. But if we dig a little deeper back we come across Joe Rudi, who definitely moonlighted as a backup saxophonist in the Electric Mayhem.

I don't know why I'm suddenly all about collecting Rudi's cards, but here we are. I think it has something to do with him being one of those great players who either nobody knows about or cares about today. It's an unjust fate, is what it is. Can you imagine if this guy was on the Red Sox in the Seventies? I think they would've been back in the Series at least once more.

I just picked up his 1975 card, and I have to hand it to Topps. Even though Joe was on the A's the year before, it still looks like his hat was airbrushed with the A's logo. Maybe they were just getting some practice in.

Appreciation: Fun Tigers Masks

This is the first post we've done in a long while that doesn't have really anything to do with baseball cards. It does, however, have to do with downloading and printing out and wearing your very own paper Tigers masks. Halloween's just around the corner, and nothing says 'good costume' than showing up with a mock Boston brahmin accent, a pillowcase full of candy, decked out in penny loafers, cableknit and tweed as George Plimpton. What? Not that kind of paper Tiger? Well, then I guess I'd recommend going as Father Time Jim Leyland.

Download Fun Tigers Masks Here!

Appreciation: 1996 Upper Deck #287 Heathcliff Slocumb

There are a couple of things to appreciate about this card. First, the 1996 Upper Deck base card design. It rocks: a nice, crisp copper leaf complementing full, richly colored photos (seriously one of the best Upper Deck sets in terms of photo quality from the Nineties), a simple back with another large photo and a clean team logo; just a real nice-looking card design (the Tribute cards were especially classy as well).

Second, the card is of one of baseball’s greatest enigmas of the 1990s: Heathcliff Slocumb. When he was born, his mother and father actually looked at one another and said, “We will call him ‘Heathcliff’.” Because what else goes with Slocumb? Jim? Paul? Sammy? LaDanian? Anyway, he has a great name, one Bill James has rightly labeled Dickensian.

And like all great stories of luck that befalls those who least expect it, the Red Sox were able to pull off perhaps the trade of the decade when they unloaded our fair Slocumb (after his career year of 31 saves, a number he'd never match) to the Mariners for Derek Lowe and Jason Varitek.

Appreciation: Smilin’ Tom Glavine

When was the last time you saw Tom Glavine smile? For me, it was on his 1988 Topps card, coincidentally his rookie, using a photo of him where he can’t be more than 17 years old. It’s almost like it was taken on his birthday and he got to dress up as a major leaguer and get his photo taken in front of a Sears Photo Studio back-lit backdrop.

Also, upon further examination, Glavine has horrible, yellowy chain-smoker’s teeth (not to mention his smile looks more like he’s about to say something rather than a face he’s making on purpose). I guess that that’s the real reason he stopped smiling for the camera way back at the beginning: nobody wants to hero-worship a guy who puts his rotting teeth on prominent display. It’s much easier to worship a toothless stoic.

Appreciation: 1984 OPC #149 Dave Beard

While Topps was busy screwing up team names, airbrushing the hell out of caps and uniforms and generally messing around, its Canadian counterpart was all about practicality. When a player was traded right before the cards went to press and the company didn’t have enough time to get in a new photo, it printed a card with a quick little explanation on the front, like Beard’s card here, along the lines of “Now with Mariners”. Simple, to the point. No embarrassing airbrush involved.

And really, this format should’ve been used for every guy who had a change during the year, like with Johnny Damon when he signed with New York: “Now without beard” or a photo of Paul lo Duca on the field at Shea with a little blurb that says “Now with Strippers”. This could’ve been a lot of fun, and hopefully we can convince Topps to roll it out as a bonus in the 2007 set (along with the return of merit-based numbering).

Appreciation: 1989 Topps #74 Nick Leyva

I’ve talked about cards where various items of a player’s wardrobe on a card have been airbrushed, from Rollie Fingers’ Padres cap to Dave Kingman’s hair, but this is the first time I’ve ever come across an airbrushed card of a manager. And it’s a severely airbrushed card at that. I’ve been examining this card for a long time now (maybe a couple of days), and it really looks as though his entire face is a painting. For instance, look at his neck and his nose: the shadows are too smooth, too well-groomed, like they were created from an artist’s palette.

Has anyone ever come across an airbrushed card of a manager? It doesn’t seem right. There is just too much time for a photographer to get a shot of a manager—I don’t care how new the manager is or how camera-shy he may be. Also, I think it’s funny that the Topps artistic brass chose to paint Leyva looking up (the quintessential optimistic pose), when really they should’ve painted him staring glumly at his feet. I mean, c’mon, these are the Phillies we’re talking about.

Appreciation: Topps Kids

This is one of my all-time favorite Topps sets. Ever. This is right up there with 1954, 1965, 1971 and 1986, and it’s certainly within the top 5 on my Best Set of the Early 1990s list. Plain and simple it’s the cartoons, and the idea that the cartoon artwork isn’t affiliated with Warner Brothers. I always found the Upper Deck Comic Ball cards unnerving, like an extension of Cool World starring Jim Abbott and Reggie Jackson. Yikes.

No, it’s the simple shapes, like the candy-colored hypnotist’s wheel behind Kirby Puckett, or the ice collecting atop Chili Davis’ bat (get it? Chili? Cause his name is Chili!), or the little batsmen on Kal Daniels’ shoulders, like modern-day Kellar devils. Or Ellis Burks’ comically-enlarged biceps (ah, gotta love those days before the world knew what BALCO meant). Or even just the simple Pop Art explosion announcing Alan Trammell to the world—the design was just DIY enough to make you forget that the company releasing it was also responsible for Stadium Club.

But the front of the card was just the half of it. The back was one of the first Topps sets to go full four-color. Unlike the spectacularly sleek Stadium Club that debuted the year before Topps Kids (1991), the four color gave TK the right amount of Sunday-comics flavor without overwhelming the seriousness of the statistics, the players, and the values the cards are trying to teach (for example, on one card the ‘Fun Box’ describes the various incarnations of an ‘insert’. By the very admission of its existence, Topps is training kids to be on the lookout for these special cards, to seek them out, oh and not to worry too much when the price of packs goes through the roof because the inserts become worth much too much for anyone’s enjoyment, but I digress).

Topps Kids had no inserts, the base set was a manageable 132 cards and packs cost 35¢. And you got a stick of gum. I don’t remember if the gum came in its own wrapper (like new Heritage) or was just recycled from old 1983 Michigan test wax. It doesn’t matter. This was a helluva set that apparently nobody cared enough about to keep it going after one issue.

Appreciation: My First Cards

My collecting started when my older sister bought me a box of 1986 Topps as a Christmas present. As I noted in my Best Set of the 1980s Countdown a few months back, 1986 Topps is by far my favorite set, most likely because it was my first set. The large lettering, the square design, the cheap red dye back, all elements make me yearn for footie pyjamas and the raw emotion of crying myself to sleep after watching Buckner let the little roller scoot between his legs…

Anyway, these two cards were in my first pack. I also got a Carney Lansford and a bunch of others, but they’ve sifted themselves into the outer reaches of my collection. Perhaps someday they’ll pop up again.

What was your first card?

Appreciation: Pascual Perez

Lately I’ve been rethinking my whole card-collecting strategy I employed as a kid. I bought packs, built hand-collated sets, bought factory sets and bought older cards in lousy condition. All in all I put together a pretty decent collection. I still buy cards here and there, but I’m definitely not as serious as I used to be. I’m only realizing now what I missed all these years: I wasted a ton of money. Wait, I already knew that. What I mean is, I wasted a ton of money buying cards that were not of Pascual Perez. If only I had limited my card collection to cards of Pascual Perez (and maybe his brother Melido), then I would have the perfect collection.

Why do I like Perez so much? It isn’t for his various Patty & Selma haircuts over the years. It isn’t for his magnificently airbrushed Expos uniform on his 1988 Topps card. It isn’t for his 1-13 record on the 1985 Braves (although all these things help). No, Pascual Perez is the man because of his single, sometimes-gleaming-sometimes-dull gold tooth. At least I think it’s gold. Pascual is not a handsome man by any means, and you might even be able to call him ugly and get away with it, but that gold tooth elevates his common, everyday bad looks and gives it a certain wallflower-at-the-dance, punch-your-lights-out-in-a-fight-over-a-girl kind of charm.

(Speaking of, it they ever made a Broadway version of Back to the Future, I could totally see Pascual Perez in the Crispin Glover/George McFly role. Couldn’t you? Melido Perez would be Marty, Ken Kaiser could play Biff, Tony LaRussa would be Doc Brown and Lea Thompson could reprise as Lorraine (I bet she’s not doing anything). And then, when the show’s a monster hit, we could get Ramon and Pedro Martinez to do the roles of George and Marty in the touring company, with Lou Piniella as Doc. Man, I should be writing these down…)

Appreciation: 1972 Topps In Action

Despite it’s best intentions, this subset featured some of the most boring action shots ever taken. This one of Barton is classic Topps for all the wrong reasons: there’s more action on the sidelines than there is on the field.

Throughout the 1960s, Topps routinely published sets without any regular-card action shots—all headshots, or bat-on-shoulder shots, posed on one knee, or pitchers thrusting the ball at the camera from the sidelines in an attempt to simulate action. They saved the action shots for the special World Series subsets, so at the most that would be 7 action cards out of roughly 598 cards per year (on average). And even then, one of the WS cards inevitably would be called ‘The Champs Celebrate’ showing a panicked Bobby Richardson or Hank Bauer in the crosshairs of a police spotlight during a flophouse raid. Even the years where there were two shots per card (1960 and 1963), the cards featured one big posed headshot and one smaller batting or pitching pose; never an actual, in-the-field-during-an-actual-play action shot.

1970 was no different. All of the cards were posed, but their compositions started creeping towards the actual field of play, or the dugout, or other places where other players might wander into the background of the shot. Because of this, the aesthetic changed. Gone was the posed player in a vacuum. Instead, though the player may still have been posed, he existed in a ‘real’ setting. I put the word ‘real’ in quotation marks because all of it was posed, in that none of the shots were taken during actual games. It may not seem like much of a transition, or even may seem more like a cop out on Topps’ part, but really it was a very big step towards using actual action shots, taken during actual live game play.

Topps debuted the action shot regular card with a big splash in 1971: Thurman Munson’s horizontal #5. At a play at the plate, an Oakland A (it looks like Joe Rudi) kicks up a cloud of dust as he tries to slide around Munson’s tag. Not counting special subsets, Topps used action shots on 52 regular player cards in 1971, good for a total set percentage of 6.91%. Not bad for just starting out.

So then you’d think that because 1971 was such an awesome set (one of the best of the decade), the number of regular player action shots would increase exponentially in 1972, right? Wrong. If we count the In Action as a subset, which it was, that leaves only one true action shot in the whole set, and it’s of Norm Cash arguing balls and strikes with an unseen umpire. The IA subset had 72 cards in it, but there’s no way to consider those regular player cards, as they feature no stats on the back. No, the regular player action card wouldn’t really start up until the 1973 set, when the cinematic, landscape-oriented card was brought back. You’d think that Topps would’ve also used this orientation in some of '72's In Action shots, as the border harks back to the old moviehouse marquees of the 1930s, which definitely would’ve given the action a cinematic flair on the level the company achieved in '71 with the letterboxing black borders.

But they didn’t.

Appreciation 1969 Topps #520 Bob Veale

I have to admit, up until a few days ago I couldn’t tell you who Veale was. But just one look at his card from the ’69 set made me realize that he’s my new favorite player and perhaps my favorite Pittsburgh-related sports hero ever (narrowly beating out the fish that saved it and most of the non-numbers-running Crawfords). Why Bob Veale?

It’s very simple. Actually, the real answer is many-layered, but I will try to keep it as quick as I can. It’s not anything to do with his statistics, though his 2.06 ERA while posting a losing record (as a starting pitcher) in 1968 is amazing. It’s because, if there ever were a world where the nerd got the girl (without the help of a predominantly emo-influenced mainstream culture), Bob Veale would be that nerd. He was 6’6”. He was left-handed. He had a ridiculously bland crew-cut fade to hide what looks like premature balding. He wore thick hornrims… And yet here he is in his lettermen’s sweater, cocksure and set with his place in the world. Are you kidding? How can he not instantly become your favorite player? All he needs is some middle-Seventies Chuck Muncie facial hair and he could star in a bizarro-world version of the James Coburn franchise In Like Flint.

If someone had come to me to ask for money to help fund a film such as that, I definitely would’ve. No question.

Bob Veale as a suave, ladykiller-spy?

Where do I send the check?

Appreciation: Fleer Star Stickers

Did you know anybody who ever peeled their Star Stickers off and put them on their school binders or folders or Trapper Keepers? Me neither. Actually, I didn’t know anybody else who had even heard of Star Stickers. It’s just as well; they faded out of my collecting habit as fast as they faded in.

Everybody knows the real action was in Panini and Topps stickers, for a variety of reasons: they were smaller, they cost less than packs of cards, and how can you forget the album that all the stickers went in? You can’t, because for the most part, the album was the crux of the operation. Not so with Fleer. Star Stickers were stickers and cards. The card back provided the number of the sticker within the checklist, so woe to they who peeled theirs off.

Also, it seems like Fleer tore through every drawer in the office to find the lousiest photos of the year for the Star Sticker sets. I don’t really think 1981 Fleer had bad photos (it was 1982 that was crap), but the 1981 Star Sticker set is highlighted by really shitty photography.

One last point about these sets: Fleer wanted to make sure you understood what they meant by the word ‘Star’ in ‘Star Stickers’. Star meant not only were all the players guys like George Brett, Lou Whitaker and Bob Grich, but the cards themselves were bedazzled with stars! Ingenious! Somebody got an unjust promotion for that one.

Here’s a fun exercise: Using the active major league roster, if Upper Deck were to resurrect the Fleer Star Sticker line today, who would they include? And here’s the real kicker question: Who would they not include? Remember, the set would be limited to between 126 and 132 cards. Something tells me Scott Linebrink wouldn’t make the cut. I don’t care how many holds he has.

Appreciation: 1974 Topps #649T Fernando Gonzalez

Something tells me that Fernando wasn’t very happy about getting traded from the Pirates to the Royals. Who could blame him? This card is fun, because unlike the other Traded cards in the 1974 set, it really looks like the Topps photographer was the one who broke the news to the player that he better pack his bags. And Gonzalez is just so goddamn emotive in his facial expression. Is he sad? Angry? Overjoyed? Constipated? I honestly don’t know.

Maybe he had just lost an argument with Al Oliver where the loser was to be traded. That would make me angry too. Also, one last thing. Why in the hell would Topps go to the trouble of coloring in Fernando’s collar blue if it was obvious that he was in sunny spring training in Florida with the rest of the Pittsburgh Pirates? Why not just use an action shot of him with the rest of the Pirate infield, only make him look like he’s wearing the Kansas City uniform? I mean really, how dumb did they think we were?

Appreciation: 1995 Upper Deck #96 Jim Thome

I’ve always liked Thome. I mean, really, how can you not? He’s like a late-Nineties version of Matt Williams (another favorite). And I’ve really never liked Upper Deck. They had a string of four good years (1992 to 1995), and have otherwise been marred by ridiculous hi-jinks photos, pitchers batting and guys sitting around doing everything except playing baseball. That’s why I’m torn about this card.

1995 was the last year I really collected cards (until I went for the 2003 Topps Heritage set), so this is the last Thome card I was going to get for pretty much a decade. Okay, so then in a predictably stupid move, UD has him crouched on the top step of the dugout. Sure, he’s jovial, but c’mon, at least put him out in the field. In 1994-95, Thome was still relatively athletic. The next time I saw a card of him, I think he was beached on the Phillies bench. Anyways, Upper Deck wasted a great opportunity for a killer action shot. Also, and here’s the real stumper: whom is he pictured with on the back? And why do the two of them look so, so, related? And where are they, exactly? For a moment I thought it was Yankee Stadium, simply because it’s the last place the Indians and Rangers could be squaring off, though it would fit into the bizarro baseball card world where every card must feature at least one photo taken there.

Appreciation: Dover Reprints

There a number of things that I know I’ll never have enough disposable income to afford. Right near the top of the list are old baseball cards. Now, I’m a big fan of buying older cards in lousy condition and then loving them as if they were mint, but if I was going to buy a 1934 Goudey card of even someone so minor as Babe Herman, I’d want it in pretty damn good condition. Call me a snob, I don’t care.

That said, there’s nothing better than forking over $6 or something for the book of Dover reprints, because not only do you get all of these famous cards in pretty good condition, you also get them with those ridiculous perforation bumps along the edges (usually a telltale sign if a card’s a Dover is if it’s got perforation bumps). For reprints, they’re great: unnaturally glossy front, white, readable backs, sharp colors (if sometimes a little off) and a nice variety of different sets completely out of my financial reach.

Dover reprints also bring up the fun, slightly philosophical idea of ‘fake’ cards. Card snobs could make a case that a reprint is a fake card, in that because it’s not the real, first original print, it’s not as good and doesn’t deserve a place amongst other cards. I don’t really agree with this argument, because I happen to like the idea of reprints, and Dover reprints are really pretty good.

Appreciation: 1991 Leaf #8: Dave Martinez

I just found another reason to like this card, a much more symbolic reason than the others I’d been thinking about. But first, the obvious. It’s fun when you go to a game and a guy on the other team makes an error, especially when it’s a game-defining or momentum-shifting play. Like the photo on this card. Martinez and the Expos are at Wrigley for a series with the Cubs (the telltale ivy gives it away), and unless there’s another Expos outfielder close by (either Larry Walker or Marquis Grissom), Martinez’ gaffe is going to go for extra bases. It’s a cool photo, don’t get me wrong, but how pissed would you be if you were Dave Martinez and you found out that the card they were using of you was of you making an error? And it’s right up at the front of the set, which means more people are going to probably see it, right? And it was a photo taken during a game back in Wrigley, where he played as a member of the Cubs from 1986 to 1988, when he was traded to the Expos. I’d say that would be kind of embarrassing for Mr. Martinez. And yet, wouldn’t you know it, also incredibly symbolic for the Leaf set for the year.

When you look at the buildup to 1991, 1989 belonged to the emergence of Upper Deck and with it the premium card. In 1990 Donruss/Leaf spun off Leaf, away from its traditional format as a Canadian version of Donruss to its own premium set. Card prices went through the roof, and would help lead the hobby on the path to destruction the following year. So like Upper Deck’s inevitable 1990 letdown, Leaf was hit with a letdown of its own in 1991. I have to admit that I’ve always kind of liked the design, with the photo album feel, but then again, it always has seemed a little cheap. Anyway, what better way to announce to the hobby that you’ve committed a creative error than with a picture of a guy committing an error on the field within the first nine cards of the set.

Appreciation: 1975 Topps #489 Cecil Cooper

To this day I find it amazing that Cooper couldn’t find a way to fit in Boston. Instead, the Red Sox ran him out of town to Milwaukee where he went on to lead the league in hitting and put up great numbers for a long and productive career. That said, this card is the penultimate card from 1975 Topps. If you could only own one card from this set, this would be the one I’d recommend. Here’s why.

Bad-trip pink team name coupled with the garish green and purple border, Cooper’s Are-They-Sideburns-Or-Is-That-A-Beard? facial hair, his classic, mid-1970s Red Sox jersey and his crisp, full signature across the front. My personal copy has a nice full-card vertical crease, not to mention poor centering and nubby corners (plus side-chipping, little scratches and splotches here and there, and one corner looks like someone tried to clean their fingernails with it). Needless to say, it’s a classic. Plus, it may be the only Topps card where his full name is written out.

Here’s to you, Cecil Celester Cooper. Way to go.

Appreciation: 1987 Kraft Home Plate Heroes

There are a number of great things about these cards, and foodie cards in general. Unlike the Dan-Dee and Red Heart cards that mimicked the 1954 Topps set, foodie cards throughout the ages, from the Post and Kelloggs cards of the Sixties and Seventies to the Kraft, Ralston/Purina, Drake’s Cakes and others of the Eighties and Nineties have all had to dream up their own designs.

These cards were found on the backs of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese boxes. And let me tell you, I made sure to eat a ton of macaroni and cheese while these were on there. And because they were on the backs of boxes, the cards had to fit the packaging. What I’m trying to say is that they were smaller than normal sized cards, more on the scale of 1951 Bowman, if a little fatter. This meant that once you found out you were never going to find the Darryl Strawberry panel you so desperately needed, the cards ended up in a shoebox with all your other cards, and when you were sorting and stacking, there would be funny gaps and spaces (because they were smaller).

Two other fun things about the Home Plate Heroes series: because they were issued on the packaging, you had to cut them out yourself (or have your Mom or Dad or older sibling do it for you). I kind of had a twitch as a kid and bad vision with no depth perception, as well as no coordination—my Wally Joyner card can attest to all of this. The other great thing about this set is that while the Player’s Union licensed it, Major League Baseball did not. So John Tudor and Kent Hrbek were on the Red Team, while Joyner, Brett and Gwynn were on the Bluish/Black Team. It’s a wonder any other team could compete against these two powerhouses.

Appreciation: Lousy Team Cards

I complain a lot about new cards, and one of the big things that really gets to me is that when you buy packs of new cards you don’t get very many and the packs themselves are really very expensive. That’s why it’s great then that you can still buy a box of 1981 Fleer for under $40 in some places. That’s much less than some cards put out this year, and the 1981 set’s 25 years old this year. So if we do a little math, $40 a box, with 36 packs, you’re paying $1.11 per pack, and if we say there’s 12 cards per pack, that’s just over 9 cents a card. Granted, commons from ’81 Fleer are worth about 5 cents each. Still, it beats paying $80 for a box where you’re lucky if you get 24 packs with—at most—8 cards per pack. Doing the math on that one (as an average) and you’re paying 42 cents per card. Yikes. Anyway, the cost of cards isn’t what I wanted to talk about, though it is an important, illustrative point.

I wanted to say that it stinks to buy a pack of Topps Heritage for something like $5, then be treated to 3 of the 8 cards ending up team cards. And true to the Topps mystique, I somehow express the same emotion felt by the little kids in the Fifties who opened up their nickel packs and got the Cubs team card: Goddamn lousy Cubs!

Appreciation: Matt Morris’ Beard

Back in the Eighties, it seemed like everybody and their brother had a beard (except for Pascual and Melido Perez, but more on them some other time). Today, I can name famously bearded ballplayers on one finger: Johnny Damon, and now even he’s been famously de-bearded. So that’s why it’s refreshing to see Matt Morris give the clean-shaven world the old f-you on his 2006 Topps Heritage card. What makes it even better is it’s his first card as a San Francisco Giant, so it’s almost like he signed the new contract over the winter, then grew a beard and started life fresh in a new city (I know he had a beard before he became a Giant, but go with me on this one). The only thing he’s missing in this photo is a pair of sunglasses.

Really, Morris is like the high school jock from the Midwest who moves to the bright lights of the West Coast, buys an old paperback copy of Naked Lunch and transforms himself overnight into a bohemian. The next thing you know he’s going to be seen hanging out upstairs at City Lights, eating hummus wraps on Columbus in North Beach and generally unnerving his teammates by inviting them to avant-garde Jean Genet festivals in the Castro, calling up Scott Rolen in the middle of the night and holding the phone to his hi-fi as the end of Caroline No plays on the turntable, and writing and performing confrontational slam poetry at cafes around the city.

What else does the future hold? Probably black turtlenecks, boot-cut blue jeans, lounging on throw pillows with the Coppolas, smoking clove cigarettes and turning on and dropping out. Because it certainly doesn’t involve playing competitive baseball games.

Appreciation: 1975 SSPC Toledo Mud Hens

It’s not every day that you get a card of a minor leaguer, and frankly, after spending a childhood of reading the SCD Standard Catalog every night before I went to bed, I knew that I’d never be able to afford the team-issued sets of the Rochester Red Wings with Cal Ripken and the Pawtucket Red Sox with Wade Boggs or even the Bellingham Mariners with Ken Griffey, Jr. or the Modesto A’s with Canseco and McGwire. So imagine my surprise at opening dollar grab bags at the local shows at the Watertown Mall and finding multiple cards of the Toledo Mud Hens, not just another minor league team, but one of the oldest in the country, one of the oldest in the history of organized baseball. Sure this one is of Larry Cox, and it’s not worth a penny, but it’s a minor league card! In a set that included major league cards! Do you know how cool that was to a little kid? I still think that’s awesome today.

On a related note, there’s a used clothing store in the Midwest called Ragstock where sometimes you can find used Japanese baseball uniforms. I would sort of half-expect to find one of these Toledo jerseys in there too. It wouldn’t be out of place. It’s cool in an ugly-is-hip retro kind of way.