Most Von Player

Von Hayes, 1990 Donruss

MC: Von Hayes, you’ve just won MVP of … something! What do you have to say for yourself?!

Von Hayes: Uh …

MC: Thank you! Let’s take a quick look at Von Hayes’ MVP season. Frank … FRANK! Turn on the projector!

Projector turns on … features a four-minute segment of Von Hayes in the on-deck circle taking a few swings, then crouching down, then scratching his groin. Footage cuts off, spliced with scenes from Frank’s second wedding.

MC: Wonderful. I don’t think there’s a dry eye in the house right now.

Crowd begins to chant: Speech! Speech! Speech!

MC: Get on up here, Von!

Crowd cheers.

Von Hayes: Thank you. I hadn’t planned on saying anything, but … (pulls out piece of paper, puts on glasses). When Donruss called me to tell me I had been named MVP, I was happy, but surprised. Almost as surprised as I was when they took my picture for the card. (Crowd unsure if this is self-deprecating humor, as Hayes’ tone suggests anger. There is nervous laughter.) I guess I’m still not actually sure what I’m being named MVP of. Is it the Phillies? (Turns to his left for confirmation; MC shrugs his shoulders.) Okay, well, uh, anyway … When I had my elbow operated on in ’88, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to return to the game I love, because you need elbows to play baseball. When I was at my lowest—resting my elbow and watching soap operas with my grandmother—my grandmother would say to me, “Von, honey, you can do this! Don’t give up. Now fetch me my afghan and some scotch, will ya’?” She died. Like, that day, I think. And although she wasn’t alive to witness my valiant comeback from elbow surgery to hit 26 home runs last year and win the Donruss baseball card company’s MVP of life, I know she was with me, in my heart or something like that. This one’s for you, Yam-Yam! (Hayes searches for trophy to hold up into the air emotionally, but cannot locate one.) Where’s the trophy?

MC: It’s in the mail. Von Hayes, everyone! And let’s give a round of applause to Yam-Yam! Ha, ha … just goes to show you can call your grandmother anything these days. Whatever happened to “grandma?” Am I right? Seriously. Okay, our next award tonight is going to the best relief pitcher on the Padres for the month of June. We’re calling this one the “Cy Young Award.” Frank … FRANK! Get me the envelope …

Pack Searching Techniques: Topps Kids & 1986 Topps Leaders

You ever notice how bored the guys are in those pack-searching videos on YouTube? You'd think they'd be a bit more enthusiastic about finding big hits, but they always act like opening hot packs is a chore. Why is that?

The Change Up

Guillermo Hernandez, 1989 Score

Guillermo Hernandez. Wait … a … second! Southpaw Tigers pitcher with big glasses and a full ‘stache? This guy is reminiscent of Willie Hernandez, southpaw Tigers pitcher with big glasses and a full ‘stache! And hey—what ever happened to Willie? WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!




Yes, Guillermo is the former Willie Hernandez, once the toast of the Tigers bullpen.

Movie idea: Two long lost identical twin brothers. One is poor, and a playboy, and goes by the book. The other is rich, has kids, and doesn’t play by the rules, and … pitches for the Detroit Tigers? Sure. Whatever. They have to switch bodies because … Guillermo needs American citizenship or something, so they make a wish, or have a dream, or something happens that is magical. We’ll call it: “Trading Places!” No, “Freaky Friday!” No, wait, “Brothers in Arms!” No, better, “Twins!” No, wait, “Twins Switch Bodies!” No, “Body Double Part II!” No, wait, I got it: “The Change Up!” Because of the pitch! Hilarity ensues but each man eventually realizes not to take his own life for granted! How has nobody thought of this??!! I am going to explode!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He simply preferred to be called by his given name in 1988.

New movie idea. Guy pitches for the Tigers. Everyone is calling him “Willie.” Guy doesn’t care, keeps pitching. One day, guy is like, “Crap. My name is Guillermo. Better issue a press release.” The end. Oscar!

Is it safe to assume that this “Guillermo,” whoever he is, is no longer “the toast of the Tigers bullpen?” That would be sad, because every kid who plays baseball dreams of growing up one day to become the toast of the Tigers bullpen. To have attained that (as Willie) and then lose it (as Guillermo) would be devastating, I imagine.

The name change appeared to help Guillermo’s fortunes.

? (Addition to original movie idea: Fortune cookie is involved.)

Throwing his tantalizing screwball with gusto, he gave the Tigers quality relief.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Mid-July game, Tigers up 3-1 on Angels, with two runners on and two outs in the seventh inning. Hernandez pitching, laboring. Matt Nokes visits the mound.

Nokes: (Removes mask.) Listen—don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here. You’re not Willie. That guy threw changeups and didn’t play by the rules. You guys switched bodies or something.

Hernandez: How did you know?

Nokes: I realized it last week, after you went by the book by ordering exactly what was on the menu at dinner. Didn’t want to say anything.

Hernandez: Thanks. But now look at this mess we’re in!

Nokes: Alright, listen—I’m gonna get us out of this. You may be “Guillermo,” but you’re still a Hernandez, right? I say we change our fortunes (flashback to fortune cookie).

Hernandez: Talk to me.

Nokes: Got anything tantalizing you can throw?

Hernandez: Well, I got a tantalizing screwball …

Nokes: Screwball? What is this, 1938? Sheesh, well, it’ll have to do. Here’s the thing though—can you throw it with gusto?

Hernandez: I can try.

Umpire comes out to mound to break it up … Nokes goes back to plate, gives Hernandez the sign for tantalizing screwball, which is a thumbs up … Hernandez strikes out batter on three pitches … Montage ensues of Hernandez striking out many batters from different teams for the remainder of season, signifying quality relief. Matt Nokes pumps his fist.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Only four years earlier, Guillermo

You mean “Willie.” Continue.

Was the best in the business when he was 32-for-33 in save situations and won both the Cy Young and MVP Awards.

Willie Hernandez won the Cy Young and MVP Award and was the toast of the Tigers bullpen. Then he switched bodies with Guillermo, who changed his fortunes for the better by providing quality, although not necessarily toast-worthy, relief. This movie is confusing. But remember, this is Hollywood, and we must suspend our disbelief sometimes. And in this body-switching dramedy, we are asked to suspend our disbelief, mostly, by acknowledging that a relief pitcher wins the MVP.

Drama King

Ed Whitson, 1989 Donruss “Diamond Kings”

To whom much is given, much is expected, and there are many responsibilities for a Diamond King. For example, wearing a crown underneath your hat, posing for extravagant caricatures, signing autographs with an old-timey feather pen, kissing babies, playing baseball (occasionally), reminding people of other smelly baseball teams, and making brief cameos on local cable car commercials, to name a few. Let it be known, however, that the Diamond King is never asked, under any circumstances, to thrive or even exist within the pressure cooker of New York. Should a Diamond King ever conquer New York—has never happened; minimum requirements are 12 World Series titles, eight Cy Youngs and/or MVPs (preferably “and”), and a “clutchness” rating, as defined by the NY Council of Ethnocentric Standards, of 96.5 or higher—he would, as legend has it, cease to become a Diamond King, and would instead become: The Person Who Caused the World to Explode.




Once Ed Whitson escaped the tenseness of New York City and made it back to the serenity of San Diego, the right-hander rediscovered his pitching touch.

In 1985, the Yankees spent over $4 million—a lot at the time—for a 30-year old pitcher coming off a career year who had already pitched for four major league teams and who looked like a home water cooler salesman and who was Ed Whitson. (Not even taking into account Diamond King years—Diamond King portraits typically added 100 drug-infused years—Ed Whitson seemed old for his age.) It was a bad decision, even without retrospect as a handy guide. Whitson responded by pitching terribly, which, according to Wikipedia, resulted in death threats from moronic Yankee fans who take baseball way too seriously and who are morons. Whitson also responded—and this one’s pretty much on him—by getting into a fistfight with his manager at a hotel bar. All in all, a solid effort.

Nevertheless, Whitson was sent back to San Diego, land of serenity and, as implied here, indifference to all things, where he rediscovered his pitching touch. Whitson initially rediscovered his pitching touch by finishing ’86 with a 1-7 record and 1.612 WHIP. He did even more rediscovering the following year by giving up 36 home runs (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). Then in 1988, he pitched pretty well. This = Diamond King!

(Although, it should be mentioned—and this is obviously something the Diamond King seers took into account—Whitson pitched very well in ’89 and ’90.)

By being a streaky pitcher for whom the Yankees overpaid, Ed Whitson became the poster boy for the now popular and jump-to-conclusions-board-type mantra of the “player who cannot succeed in New York.” Every player who has since failed to be totally awesome as a Yankee has done so not because they were old or not that great in the first place, but because they caved to the immense pressure and scrutiny of the city. Even players who have been totally awesome but failed to capture the imagination of Yankee fans have often fallen victim to the label. Thankfully, there are more serene cities like San Diego, where talent is allowed to breath.

Last year, despite the presence of newly-arrived Bruce Hurst, Whitson led the Padres staff wins with 16 and ERA with 2.66.

Last year, despite being on a pitching staff with other pitchers, Ed Whitson pitched well. And this is really what a Diamond King is all about—even in a generally pressure-free city, there is still the immense stress of having supportive teammates who are also trying to play baseball well. Can you handle it? That’s what separates the Diamond Kings from regular kings; regular kings from good players. Ed Whitson could handle it. And that, I believe, is his legacy.

Punk Portraits in Penultimacy...

I was pretty excited when the Topps Allen & Ginter set came out this year. I do not collect too many "new" cards (with the exception of cards from my beloved San Diego Padres.) A&G has been one of my favorite releases for the past few years. The abundance of bizarre insert sets is one of my favorite things about Allen & Ginter.

This year's release has a truly great one. The Portraits in Penultimacy insert set cards come about one in every 12 packs. They aren't terribly rare, and are fairly cheap on the secondary market. I was giving some serious thought towards collecting the 10-card set... Until I saw the checklist...

I copied this from the awesome Baseballcardpedia:

Portraits in Penultimacy

PP1 Antonio Meucci
PP2 Mike Gellner
PP3 Dr. Watson
PP4 Igor
PP5 The Hare
PP6 Tonto
PP7 Antonio Salieri
PP8 Sancho Panza
PP9 Thomas E. Dewey
PP10 Toto

Topps sure missed the boat on this one. While I absolutely LOVE the addition of Mike Gellner, I can't believe they left out a classic baseball card tie-in:

PunkRockPaint's PP11 - Johnny Oates



Ol' Reliable

Dave Palmer, 1989 Score

Here is Dave Palmer, not to be confused with—as people often do, even after viewing his baseball card; weird, I know—the famous American keyboardist, or the famous American science fiction author, or the famous American and Emmy-nominated director of Blue Clues, was a baseball player. Way to have a common, American name, Dave Palmer! Ha, ha! Boom, roasted.

More:



David, who throws an excellent curve and cut fastball, was a reliable starter for the Phillies in 1988.

What made Dave Palmer so reliable was not his 4.47 ERA, or the fact that you never really knew what you were going to get from him each time he toed the rubber, or his two disabled list stints that year. No. What made Dave Palmer so darn reliable was an inaccurate use, in this particular instance, of the word reliable.

But another thing that made Dave Palmer reliable was his innate ability to be relied on during the clutch. Take, for instance … oh, I don’t know—an early August game against the Cardinals where the Phillies are clutchly playing for the pride of not being like, the worst baseball team. If you’re the Phillies, who are you going to ask to pitch that day, with the weight of the city, and a nation, on your shoulders? Bruce Ruffin? Don Carman? Pfftt. Please.

In one early August game, he even briefly lifted them out of the cellar with a one-hit, 2-0 victory over the Cardinals.

Screamed Dave Palmer during an emotional pre-game locker room speech: Get on my back today, men! For today, this early August afternoon, or evening, or whatever, I am going to carry us out of the cellar! For we will NOT, not on MY watch, be a last place team today! I mean sure, maybe tomorrow we’ll be in last place. Who’s pitching tomorrow? Rawley? So yeah—probably tomorrow. But not today! Hitters! (points at hitters; Von Hayes is completely naked, eating a burrito) Give me one run today! One. That’s all I need! I mean, two runs would be ideal, just in case, ya’ know. But that’s it! Now let’s get out there, and be the fifth place team that I know we can be for at least a little while! Follow me! (Dave Palmer runs out of locker room and onto the field screaming; rest of team remains in locker room; a single tear runs down Von Hayes’ cheek; he finishes his burrito and gets dressed; they win the game; they finish the season in last place, 35 ½ games out of first.)

David was on the disabled list two times in ’88, giving him an unenviable record of being on the DL nine times in eight seasons.

Only 13-percent of reliability is “being there.” The other 87-percent is some combination of “cut fastball?” and “beard.” Therefore, it can be said: Reliability, thou name art Dave Palmer. And that goes for the other Dave Palmers, too. Blues Clues is pretty freakin’ reliable, and the keyboardist is, traditionally, the most reliable member of any rock band.

The Ryan Express, Passing Birthdaytown; Next Stop: Walkville

Nolan Ryan, 1989 Baseball Cards magazine

Allow me to begin with a tangent. My in-laws were in town last year during the ALCS. FOX kept showing Nolan Ryan, now President of the Texas Rangers, in the stands, which prompted my father-in-law to ask us if we remembered when Nolan Ryan appeared years ago in a series of “panties commercials.” Now, a few things every now and then are lost in translation with my father-in-law, but he seemed quite convinced that Nolan Ryan had, at one time, appeared in “panties commercials.” The conversation that took place as a result of this caused us to miss most of the game, and ultimately resulted in me joyously Googling “Nolan Ryan panties,” which did not return any results (except this), and which did very little in the way of convincing my father-in-law that he was mistaken.

Anyhoo, other than being a questionable endorser of panties, what else was Nolan Ryan famous for?



Nolan Ryan is a living legend who in many respects just gets better with age.

I am trying to figure what respects other than “pitching”—although one could argue he inspired awe in that he pitched as well as he did as a younger man; not necessarily better ... nitpicking alert!—Nolan Ryan got better at with age. Driving? Joke-telling? Romancing? Horseback riding? Probably all of them, let us assume.

Never a big winner,

I kind of get what they’re trying to say here—that Nolan Ryan was never renown for posting big win totals each year. However: a) he posted back-to-back 20-win seasons in ’73 and ’74 (19 in ’72), b) finished his career with 324 wins, c) he probably didn’t win a bunch of games each year because he played for some bad teams, walked a crapload of guys, and didn’t hit enough home runs during the games he pitched because WINS ARE A STUPID STATISTIC FOR A PITCHER SO WHY EVEN MENTION IT??!!!

Sorry. Had to get that out of my system. Where were we? Oh yeah, Nolan Ryan was a loser. What else?

Ryan is still one of the game’s very best strikeout pitchers, even though he passed his 42nd birthday in January.

Did he pass his birthday in that he was like, “Forty-two? That is stupid. PASS! I am 43-years old now. For my present I am going to strike you out. Where’s my cake?”

Ryan credits a rigorous off-season conditioning program for his success, which he hopes to bring to the Rangers in a big way in 1989.

Nolan Ryan, arrives at Rangers camp in spring of ’89, gets to clubhouse, looks in his gym bag: Crap! I forgot my rigorous off-season conditioning program! I had hoped to bring that here in a big way. Oh well. At least I didn’t forget my panties.

Ryan has eight strikeout titles to his credit, eight walk titles,

Walk titles? Is that a thing? I thought walks were bad for a pitcher. Like, really bad. You get a title for that? Like a trophy? A belt, maybe? Nolan Ryan walked 204 guys in 1977, so I imagine a parade was involved? This is all news to me.

As portrayed in the accompanying cartoon, Nolan Ryan frequently pitched—or, “hurled,” as many people prefer to say—with a gun in the holster, which probably accounted for much of his success.

P.s.: Get well, Mr. Ryan!
P.p.s.: I Googled "Nolan Ryan" to get the above link, and discovered that "The Baseball Card Blog" appears on Page 1 of that search. Page 1! Right below a link to "Nolan Ryan's Beef." So like, we did it! Or something!