Power Center

Kirby Puckett & Eric Davis, 1989 Fleer, SuperStar Specials

Here is a picture card of baseball players Kirby Puckett and Eric Davis crossing paths at the pre-game for the All-Star Game and pretending to sort of speak to one another for the sole purpose of this very picture card.

Hey, so uhhh, they take this pic yet?
Pfft.
Okay, how’s a … your family? You got a family?
Not kids, man. Ain’t tryin’ to hear that. Got like, aunts and stuff though.
Oh, word? They cool?
They cool, they cool.
CLICK.
Alright I’m out, peace.

The title of this card is POWER CENTER. That is because both of these fellas play center field and also they have power that is famously generated from their respectively strong/large abdomens (and, in Davis' case, wrists). POWER CENTER.



When it comes to playing the outfield, Kirby Puckett of the Minnesota Twins and Eric Davis of the Cincinnati Reds come front and center

How so? Like on a theatrical stage or as part of The Dairy Queen Trilogy? No, that can’t be it. How about:

When it comes to playing the outfield, Kirby Puckett of the Minnesota Twins and Eric Davis of the Cincinnati Reds come front and center … centerfold, that is, because of their hot bodies.

No?

When it comes to playing the outfield, Kirby Puckett of the Minnesota Twins and Eric Davis of the Cincinnati Reds come front and center … center on a basketball team that is, because that is also a sport that maybe they play sometimes.

Almost?

When it comes to playing the outfield, Kirby Puckett of the Minnesota Twins and Eric Davis of the Cincinnati Reds come front and center … circumcenter, that is, because they are both circumcised, prolly.

Getting warmer? Okay, hit me with the realness.

When it comes to playing the outfield, Kirby Puckett of the Minnesota Twins and Eric Davis of the Cincinnati Reds come front and center … center field, that is.

Mind = blown. I never saw that one coming, but it makes perfect sense. Give me more.

His 234 hits also topped the majors for the second consecutive season, and that was the best total for an AL right-handed hitter since Al Simmons had 253 in 1925—sixty-three years ago!

Thank you for doing the math there, card, because “1925” on its own held no weight for me. I don’t know if 1925 was yesterday or when dinosaurs lived. Also, the exclamation point was a pleasant, subtle touch, and really drove home the amazing fact that Kirby Puckett achieved the glorious feat of having twenty less hits than Al Simmons for the first time since zero players did that, or something.

It was the most for a right hand batter in either league since Joe Medwick had 237 for the Cardinals in 1937—fifty-one years ago!

Geez, and I thought 61 years ago was a long time ago; how about 51 years ago! Truly, the value of Kirby Puckett’s baseball ability is best described by the time that has elapsed since different plays did similar things in a different era when everything was different.

What about Davis?

He hit 26 home runs, and at one stretch during the season he had four before any of his teammates hit one.

Small sample size, flukey, neither here nor there, Kal Daniels was second-best for the season on the Reds with 18 home runs, so using his teammates as a measuring stick for Davis’ power is rather pointless, and this is stupid. But other than those things, that is the most amazing thing I have ever read, and it eventually led to this newspaper lede from 1988.

CINCINNATI – Paul O’Neill led the Reds in home runs yesterday with one, which is the most for a Reds batter since Eric Davis hit two on Wednesday—two days ago! One could say that, with regards to O’Neill, all is right … right field that is.

Six 1971 Topps Roy Fosters Agree

It's time for me to start blogging again. In a random sequence of events over the past few days, I got added to the media credential list for this summer's National Sports Collectors Convention in Baltimore. Guess I should stop lurking in the background like Andre 3000 on all those Janelle Monae records.

Let me start at the beginning. Since last I've blogged, I've finished a couple vintage sets (1956 Topps and 1961 Fleer Baseball Greats), I joined a trader group, I've been helping out at my local sports card shop by organizing their commons from the 1970s, and I've started a couple of Tumblr blogs (Old Basketball Cards is the relevant one here). I've also started collecting the 1965 and 1971 Topps baseball sets.

But my real new bright idea – and not entirely sure if "bright" is the correct word here – is to create a Toppslopedia: a comprehensive collection containing one card of each player ever featured on their own Topps card. When I started a few days ago, I thought it would be relatively easy. Ten hours of copying over checklists into Excel and two migraines later, I realize it's an insane, Ahab-esque undertaking, one that could completely consume the rest of my collecting days. I'm trying to convince myself that it's more akin to a traditional type collection and less like tracking down everyone in the phone book and taking their photo and getting their autograph.

Okay, the population for an undertaking like this would not be as big as the phone book; probably about 5,000 cards, maybe a little more. If there's interest out there, I'll post my checklist as a Google spreadsheet. So far I've only consolidated 1970 and 1971 Topps. I realize that I should have started with the 1951 sets, but well, here we are.

And now for the Fantastic Card of the Day...

1981 Donruss Sammy Stewart or An Open Letter to Nicolas Cage

Dear Mr. Cage,

I've been watching a lot of your movies lately. More than I care to admit. There was Bangkok Dangerous, Peggy Sue Got Married, The Sorcerer's Apprentice, Next, Ghost Rider, Straight to Video. I'm not even sure I made any of those titles up. Honestly, they all started to run together. That's not to say they weren't entertaining — uh, I mean, I'm talking about Nic Cage here, right? I'm pretty sure you could change your last name to "Entertaining" and everyone would still know who you are.

But back to your movies. For my money it doesn't get any better than Raising Arizona. I know you're probably disappointed I didn't say "Trespass" or one of your newer movies, but let's be serious for a moment. I know that you must get this a lot. Heck, you probably think this very thought every time you look in the mirror, but I gotta say it: When I see this card of Sammy Stewart, I immediately think of H.I. McDunnough's mugshot. I can't help myself. It's like a Pavlovian response or something.

Maybe it's the cocksure-ed-ness. Maybe it's the hair and mustache. I don't know. But I wouldn't be surprised in the least if Sammy had decided long ago to change his last name from Cage to make his reputation on his own. In fact, if you're looking for your next starring role, baseball movies are big now. Here it is: Nic Entertaining—see what I did there?—stars as strikeout dynamo Sammy Stewart in Mediocreball. It will be just like Moneyball, only about  the Baltimore Orioles' slide into a mediocrity they have yet to emerge from, nearly 30 years later, not about some scrappy team that makes the playoffs because of the derring-do of statistical eggheads.

We can embellish Stewart's role on the championship team from 1983, and I bet we could get Will Patton to play Rich Dauer. Maybe we could make you two roommates? For the film, but yeah, I'm sure you could do it in real life too if you need a place to stay. Holy crap, I just thought of something. What if you and Patton and the real Stewart and Dauer move into a place together? That's some Charlie Kaufman territory right there. And you've got experience in that department, so it would probably be totally easy for you. If you're not cool with that, that's okay. But as long as we get a big name for the Rich Dauer role, someone you are comfortable with ... it can even be Eva Mendes if you want. I mean, those were obviously the two most important players on the team and we'll need big names.

For the rest of the team I'm thinking Jack Black for Rick Dempsey, Cuba Gooding for Ken Singleton, Ryan Gosling as Cal Ripken, LeVar Burton as Al Bumbry, Billy Dee Williams as Eddie Murray, and Jamie Foxx as Dan Ford. Oh, and Jim Palmer as wait for it — Jim Palmer. I mean, have you seen that guy act?

El Pupo

Bernardo Brito, 1993 Pinnacle, Rookie Prospects

Let us check on the prospects of rookie prospect Bernardo Brito.



Talk about paying your dues!

I know, right! What are we talking about?

Bernardo spent 12 seasons in the minors before finally getting the call from Minnesota mid-September last season.

Oh, I see. I do wonder if Bernardo would have been required to pay off such extensive dues had he been able to hit the ol’ breaking ball. I do think, however, we—and by “we” I mean, you: Pinnacle—must distinguish between a rookie and a rookie prospect. Certainly, upon getting called up to the majors Brito qualified as a rookie, similar to when Randy Quaid’s brother played a 70-year old baseball rookie in that movie called … I forget the name. But was he a “prospect” in that scouts were licking their chops, and organizations were investing their future in him, and impressionable kids such as myself were stocking up on his baseball cards with the hopes that like the three years he had remaining in professional ball, if he could even stay in the bigs, might lead to the Hall of Fame and drive up our investment portfolio?

Considering that B.B. hailed from the D.R., where many a player has fibbed about his age upon reaching the land of milk and hardball, it could be that Bernardo had several factors working against his favor.

1981, Twins public tryouts

Calvin Griffith, Twins GM: Alright, son. How about you? What’s your name?

Brito: My name? Is uh, Bernard … o Burrito.

Griffith: Bernardo Burrito?

Brito: Um, no. Try, Bernardo Brito.

Griffith: What’s your middle name?

Brito: Ummm, Gerard …o.

Griffith: Your name is Bernardo Gerardo Brito?

Brito: Yes, I am Spanish.

Griffith: What position do you play?

Brito: I don’t care, the grass? Wherever. I will hit mucho home runs.

Griffith: How old are you?

Brito: I am, how you say, 16.

Griffith: Sixteen?

Brito:



Griffith: We’re gonna start you in Single A, see what you got.

According to this awesome Michael Rand RandBall page, Brito was known as El Pupo, Spanish for “the Pupo” (literally, as Rand points out). Also, he hit 299 career minor league home runs before taking his talents to the Pacific Rim. He eventually returned to America in order to fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming the designated hitter and then hitting coach for the Sioux Falls Canaries. The best part about the Canaries, besides their penchant for intimidating the opposition by singing lightly and pleasantly in their general direction, is that they issue baseball cards:



I forgot to mention that these canaries are giant canaries and they will celebrate victory on your field of baseball without remorse. The city of Sioux Falls is most famous for its corn and also its canaries.

The Multi-Tasking Shortstop

Alan Trammell, 1989 Fleer All Star Team

Hello, Alan Trammell, and congratulations on making the ’89FLEERALLSTARTEAM! I’m sure this has significantly lessened the blow of being omitted from ‘89’s AL All-Star team, which is like, whatever. Please enjoy this 3-karat cartoon gold-outlined medallion featuring your face. Wear it with pride wherever you go, except out in public.





Over the past eleven seasons, Detroit’s Alan Trammell has quietly emerged as one of the best all-around players in baseball.

Quietly emerging as something over an 11-year span seems like the most exciting thing I can possibly imagine. I hate when things emerge rapidly and loudly, like fireworks and Dwight Gooden.

Many teams are satisfied with shortstops who simply provide good defense.

Scout: Ronald, hear me out. Got a guy down in Tucson. Shortstop. Great defense. Also, raking it. Want me to put out some feelers?

G.M.: First of all, Dave, “put out some feelers?” Please don’t say that. You look like a guy who wants to put out feelers, you dirtbag. Secondly, you sure he's a shortstop? Shortstops can't hit.

Scout: Yes, I am quite certain of his whereabouts on the baseball field.

G.M.: Thirdly, no. I mean, we got what’s-his-face now playing great defense based on our rudimentary defensive statistics like “scrappiness.” Guy’s scrappiness ratio thingee is off the charts.

Scout: Okay, yeah, but Ronald—what I’m trying to say is that this guy plays great defense and hits really well. I’m not sure how scrappy he is, but he hit five run home runs yesterday.

G.M.: That is the opposite of scrappy. Listen, Dave—it’s the 80s. The game is changing. Gone are the days of 4-foot tall Italian immigrants playing shortstop and batting eighth and hitting like .213. Nowadays it’s all about 5-foot-11, third-generation Italians playing shortstop and hitting like .247 and maybe hitting a home run every now and then. We have that. If it ain’t broken …

Scout: We were 71-91 last year. How is that not broken?

G.M.: Sorry, satisfied. Why don’t you go talk to another team. What about the Bears?

Scout: That’s a football team.

G.M.: Tigers?

The Tigers are fortunate.

Scout: The Tigers already have Trammell.

G.M.: Oh yeah. They’re pretty fortunate.

Scout: How do you compromise being satisfied with not having a thing while simultaneously acknowledging another team’s good fortune at having that same thing?

G.M.: Tie caught in pencil sharpener …

What say you, Wikipedia?

Trammell and Whitaker also made a cameo appearance on the television show Magnum, P.I. starring Tom Selleck during the 1983 season.

They sure did.

Wait a minute! There’s no seats between first and third …

How does a private investigator say something like that out loud? I'm beginning to think Magnum P.I. and Alan Trammell weren't even real.

The Counterpart

Tom Nevers, 1992 Upper Deck Top Prospects

Posed-for baseball portraits always disappointed me growing up. I craved game action—the type of drama that can only be fully realized when captured in a still photograph and then mass-produced for profit on tiny pieces of cardboard. This Tom Nevers shot looks like it’s from Asheville Tourists picture day, and I, non-member of the Nevers family, wound up with a wallet size. I imagine the 6X10 glossy is framed and sits by itself atop the grand piano in the Nevers’ formal dining room.

Tom Nevers: Hi Nana! It’s me, Tommy!

Nana: I know.

Tom Nevers: How did you know?!

Nana: Because you called me “Nana.” And because of my caller i.d. It’s ’92 kid—get with the times.

Tom Nevers: Oh. Hey Nana, did you get my baseball pictures that mommy sent?

Nana: Yeah, I got ‘em. I thought there’d be more action. Why are you just kneeling there? And is the bat really necessary?

Tom Nevers: I don’t know. That’s how they asked us to do it. What does Pop Pop think?

Nana: Pop Pop’s at the Elks. He’ll be home on Wednesday. I’ll tell him you called. Listen Tommy, Love Connection is on. I’ll see you at Easter, okay?

Let’s find out more about baseball player Tom Nevers, for example, what sports he played other than baseball, as I am sick of talking about baseball already.



Nevers is the position-player counterpart to the Braves pitching ace Tom Glavine,

What is a position-player counterpart? Is that kind of like when two baseball players play the same sport (baseball) but one guy pitches the baseball and the other guy catches it and hits it and stuff? WHAT ARE THE ODDS?!

who was drafted in the second round by Atlanta and the fourth of the NHL draft by the L.A. Kings in ’84.

According to my calculations, the position-player counterpart of a pitcher who is drafted in the second round by the Braves and the fourth round by the Kings is … beep, beep, beep, click, click, clickity BEEP (smoke comes out of calculator) … a shortstop who is drafted in the first round by the Astros and the fifth round by the Penguins.

In ’90, Nevers was drafted by the Astros one round higher in baseball and one round lower in hockey (’89-Pittsburgh Penguins).

Sidebar: Remember that math teacher who would allow you to use a calculator during tests? I’d be like, “Yes! Don’t have to study!” Then the test would start and I’d be the only one with a standard calculator and everyone else would have the more advanced ones designed specifically for the type of math on the test, and I’d have to raise my hand and ask the teacher if I could use his. Then I’d get back to my seat and be like, “What do all these symbols mean?” and I’d press a random symbol and it would mess everything up and I’d raise my hand again and say, “Excuse me? This one is broken. I will have to reschedule.” Ha, ha, high school!

Like Glavine, however, he chose baseball

You’re kidding! And here I am, thinking this baseball card is a hockey card, and that baseball player Tom Glavine is a hockey player! Here, let me see if I can somehow condense this. Let’s take it from the top:

Nevers is the position-player counterpart to the Braves pitching ace Tom Glavine, who was drafted in the second round by Atlanta and the fourth of the NHL draft by the L.A. Kings in ’84. In ’90, Nevers was drafted by the Astros one round higher in baseball and one round lower in hockey (’89-Pittsburgh Penguins). Like Glavine, however, he chose baseball

Ahem:

“Tom Nevers used to play hockey, but now, obviously, he plays baseball.”

(With all the extra space on the back of the card, I would insert pictures of hockey pucks colliding with baseballs.)

which looks like a good career move.

According to Nevers’ BR Bullpen page: Nevers never made it to the big leagues,

My biggest fear, other than death, is that, by not making it to the major leagues, Tom Nevers ceased to be the position-player counterpart to Tom Glavine. I’d rather not entertain the thought, so let’s move on.

but he did play 13 years of minor-league baseball … In between minor league baseball seasons Nevers enrolled at the University of Minnesota where he played on the Gophers' Hockey Team.

Being a major league baseball player would be awesome, of course, but man—imagine making a career as a minor leaguer traveling the country and spending the offseasons playing college hockey? You could do a lot worse than being a Gopher Tourist.

You could do a lot worse. (Staring out the window of my windowless office ...)

Pete "Zombie" Daley

Pete Daley, 1959 Topps

In 1949, Pete Daley died.



(Or he "pied." For the purposes of this entire post, let's go with died.) Normally, death is a difficult thing to come back from, but through a rigorous rehab program and also because he was a zombie—he died when he was bitten by a zombie, did I mention that? I should have mentioned that—he resurfaced, quite literally, in the Haitian Winter League. What follows is a short account of Daley’s fascinating post-life journey …

1955, Haitian Winter League game, sixth inning. Earth rumbles near shortstop, Daley emerges from ground in zombie form, dusts himself off.

Haitian player: (In Haitian) What the ffff …

Umpire: (In Haitian) Time out!

Daley: Put me in coach, me ready to play, clap, clap-clap, today.

Don Zimmer: (Playing in Haitian Winter League in order to stay away from family) Hey, what gives, pal? We’re in the middle of a game over here!

Daley: Where is me? This not look like America.

Zimmer: This is Haiti, you monster-looking fool!

Daley: Pfft. Me hatey Haiti, zombie joke. Walks over to catcher, picks him up by throat, tosses him over outfield fence. Me catch now, not him. Single switch. PITCH BALL NOW.

Daley does not have a glove; every pitch hits him directly in the face. Inning ends. Daley stand ups, rips off arm of previous batter to use as bat, leads off next inning, lines first pitch down left field line, kills third baseman.



Daley: Turns to umpire. Kill man equals 10 home runs, zombie rules. We win. New stance. Big difference is me dead now, pull ball; used to be alive, strike out. Eats umpire’s brain.

But winter turned to spring in Haiti, and Pete Daley longed to return to his beloved Red Sox teammates. Also, he had eaten everyone in the Haitian Winter League and most games did not last through two innings without devolving into chaos. He decided to head back to Boston. He walked, due to his fear of airplanes. It took him three years.

Boston, April, 1958, batting practice

Daley: Walks into Fenway, naked, grunting.

Vic Wertz: Mother of … Pete, is that you? I thought you were dead!

Daley: Not dead. Undead.

Wertz: You look a little pale. And what happened to your penis?

Daley: Fell off in Tallahassee. What happened to your brain?

Wertz: Wh—

Daley: Eats Vic Wertz’s brain.

Pumpsie Green: Well I’ll be a son of gun. If it ain’t ol’ Pete Daley. Thought you kicked the bucket a decade ago. Can’t hold a good man down, I guess. Here, put on some clothes. Tosses him a uniform.

Daley: Puts on uniform, takes spikes, throws them, impales groundskeeper in back.

Green: Hey Skip, Daley’s back. Ain’t dead after all. Got a spot for ‘em?

Pinky Higgins, mngr: Never thought I’d see the day. Promised McCarthy at Daley’s funeral that if he ever came back as an undead, I’d make room for ‘em. But that’s one too many catchers. JOHNSON! Git over here …

Johnson: What’s up, skip? Looks at Daley. Holy sh*t, man. You hit the moonshine too hard last night or somethin’?

Higgins: Johnson, listen—I know you worked real hard this winter—

Daley: Less talk, more action. Eats Johnson’s brain.

Higgins: Well, that was easy. Sully, git over here and give ol’ Pete Daley a refresher course on catching, will ya’? He looks a little stiff on account of the deadness and what not.

Haywood Sullivan: Sure thing, skip. How ya’ doin’, Pete?

Daley: Pretty good. For a Monday.

Sully: You remember how to catch?

Daley: Like this? Squats down, defecates self, tips over.

Sully: Almost. Here, let me show you. First you need a glove. Here. Now bend down, using your legs, not your back, and hold your glove out to receive the pitch.

Daley: Eats glove.

Sully: Don’t eat the glove. Here. Try again.



Sully: Okay, that’s better. Just try and move that leg in a little so you’re in a full squat.



Sully:



Sully: Alright, whatever. Try not to stare blankly into nothingness or else the pitcher is going to feel weird.

Daley: Pitchers is stupid.

Sully: See, that’s the kind of attitude that’s gonna leave you third on the depth chart. Try pounding your glove a little bit, and say something reassuring, like, “Throw it heeeyaaaa, pitch! Lemme see that heat!”



Sully:



Daley: Throws up. Mouse emerges from barf and scurries away.

Sully: Okay, I think that’s enough for today.

Pete Daley played two more years in the big leagues before settling into a zombie retirement community in Pensacola, Florida, where he still unlives today. On the third Saturday night of each month, he tells zombie jokes at the Pensacola Community Center.

Back card art and concept by Punk Rock Paint, words by Mike Kenny.