Card vs. Card - May 8th

The Champ: 1992 Topps Craig Wilson
The Challenger: 1992 Donruss Roger Clemens Diamond King

Craig Wilson makes quick work of Clemens, 18 - 5. Make sure to come back tomorrow to vote in the next Card versus Card poll!

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.

A Few Notes on Donruss Diamond Kings

I just finished reading a rough draft treatment I wrote last year about how the explosion of card production in the early Nineties pretty much set the table for the implosion at the end of the decade. To illustrate this, I had singled out 1991. My thesis was that this year more than any other should be recognized as the true starting point for the premium card era, and that combining perceived value with vast over-production allowed for card companies to claim limited availability while cranking out the crap.

Highlighting this point seems obvious to me; I’m glad that I didn’t publish it on the blog. But there was something in there that I'd like to talk about.

The Evolution of the Donruss Diamond King
The Diamond King subset cards in 1982 Donruss were the first cards to feature out-and-out paintings since 1956 Topps. For nine years, 1982 to 1990, the subset featured the previous season’s stars, one from each team, in goofy headshots on colored backgrounds, each year more outrageous than the last (culminating in the bizarre Alexander Calder-esque background explosions of 1990).

Then, in a move that can only be explained as a Donruss executive realizing the 1990 Diamond Kings kind of resembled dried vomit—albeit in a totally awesome, Tron’n’Skittles way—the brand moved towards a more serious outlook for 1991 with stoic portraits (usually reserved for the oak-paneled walls of an early century gentlemen’s study) replacing the tried-and-true toothy grins and action painting. It was an interesting move, not only because it reflected the collective distance the hobby was putting between itself and the posed, close-cropped sideline portrait photography that had been featured on at least 90% of cards since the dawn of time, but because it essentially robbed Donruss of one of its trademarks: the humanized hero. Without the warm-toned close-ups and headshots, the Diamond Kings felt cold and distant, a meaningless element of a meaningless set.

It’s also interesting to note that while Donruss was busy pushing the camera back, Score was eagerly pulling it closer. 1990 saw the pastel introduction of Score’s Dream Team subset, and while the subset became the Oddly Homoerotic Dream Team in 1991 (at least three cards featured shirtless torsos: Jose Canseco, Rickey Henderson, Kirby Puckett), the factory-set-only Cooperstown insert set took the pastels to their soft focus, ethereal pinnacle. It was almost like Score had out-Diamond King'd Donruss.

It's been almost sixteen years and I still don’t understand why Donruss pulled the Diamond Kings out of the base set for 1992, and I’m not entirely sure it was a good idea. I mean, I get that they were trying to compete in an out-of-control marketplace lovesick on inserts. But isn’t that why they had Donruss Elite? If they really needed a more tangible insert that anyone had a chance of getting in a pack, couldn’t they have put their heads together and created something new? By pulling the Diamond Kings from the base set, Donruss effectively killed their own product.