Mattingly Exceeds Strict Drake's Standards of Bigness

Don Mattingly, 1988 Drake's "Big Hitters"

I have always liked Don Mattingly, as you may or may not have known. And by liked I mean wished he were my best friend and went to the mall with me on the weekends and took me under his wing and mentored me to baseball greatness and eventually introduced me at my Hall of Fame induction and at some point died in my loving arms. But I entered this labor of love with some sense of trepidation. Yes, he was the best player on my favorite team, said all the right things, was very handsome, had a je ne sais quoi that demanded my undivided attention and instant admiration, was/is/always will be the greatest baseball player, etc. Still, for a brief time at the outset, I was plagued by the burning question: when, if ever, will Don Mattingly be endorsed by a popular brand of processed snack cake products?

It's entirely possible that Drake's had named Mattingly a Big Hitter prior to 1988 - I would argue that an entity as focused and research-driven as Drake's Bakeries would be hard-pressed to find a bigger hitter for their 85/86/87 set - but, if so, I never obtained the evidence. So when Drake's released its 8th Annual Collector's Edition, I waited with baited breath as my mom went to the store and bought out all Drake's products at my demand.

I exhaled ... and then inhaled three packs of coffee cakes.

The thing a lot of people don't realize: it's not easy to be named a Drake's Big Hitter. This isn't some arbitrary, meaningless promotion type deal where a snack company aligns itself with Major League Baseball to maximize their respective revenue streams and, as a result, several hundred thousand naive kids are taking a pair of scissors to a cardboard snack box thinking their gonna be millionaires some day. No, it transcends all that. To be named a Drake's Big Hitter, the three separate but equal driving forces behind Drake's - Ring Dings, Sunny Doodles, and Yodels - must all be in agreement. One may assume that, working for the same parent company, these brands would have similar tastes, but they most certainly do not.

Ring Dings is old school, blue collar, used to be a scout. Values hard work, grit, scrappiness, hustle, leadership, guts. Famously submitted backup catcher Ed Hearn as a Big Hitter in '87 because he liked "the cut of his jib."

Sunny Doodles is all about stats: WAR, UZR, OPS+, and the like. Doesn't allow romantic notions about baseball to enter the equation when considering Big Hitters. Takes everything literally, and once submitted a motion to change "Big Hitters" to "Excellent Hitters" so he could vote for someone besides Cecil Fielder. Motion didn't pass, so Sunny Doodles adjusted privately to account for rumored penis size, hence Mattingly.

Yodels is an idiot who doesn't even watch baseball. Likes professional wrestling and drinks Monster Energy drinks, still has no energy.

To boot, on the rare occasions these three entities even agree on a Big Hitter, their unanimous vote acts only as a suggestion. The final say is with the Drake's duck.

Drake's duck be like, "Quack, quack," and that can be good or bad, depending on how he quacks it.

So anyway, as you can see, it's near impossibl--

Whatever.

The Leaders

In 1986 there were two Yankees leaders. One of them was Donald Arthur Mattingly, the greatest baseball player who has ever lived in the universe. The other was Rickey Henderson, who was pretty good, I guess, but who deferred to Mattingly. There were no other leaders.

But there was another leader. He couldn't be found in the clubhouse, for he was the leader of Yankees fans everywhere. Every day, day after day, without exception, except for away games and off days, this leader would wake up, put on his Yankee red shorts, not put on a shirt, fluff his hair, and head to the ballpark. The name of the ballpark was Yankee Stadium, a.k.a. Leader Stadium. He sat in the front row. The crowd knew when to cheer because this leader would stand up and not have a shirt on and start cheering, and so everyone else would know that something good happened. Did the Yankees score? Probably. Just clap.

On one glorious day in 1986, the three leaders of Yankeeland converged in such an epic and magnificent display of leadership, it could never again be duplicated. Donnie Baseball, a.k.a Hitman, a.k.a. G.O.A.T. drove in Rickey on a biz-omb--standard--and when the two heroes converged at home plate, they executed the world's only known perfect high-ten. Their hands clasped together, an audible sound of batting gloves converging with force could be heard for miles, and the shockwaves of awesomeness it sent through the air began to inspire people all around the country. (Note: For example, that was the day Bill Gates invented the computer and also the day Chesley Sullenberger decided to become a pilot.) Amazingly, caught in between this epic high-ten, and putting forth an undercurrent of swagger in his own right was leader of the Yankees fans, understandably and bravely leading the cheers. It was leadership personified, and it would never, ever, ever, ever happen again.

Except the next year it happened again when Donnie hit a grand salami--standard--and broke the record for grand salamis in a season and then executed another perfect high-ten with his boy Rickey at the dish.

But therein lies the mystery ...

Was the leader of the Yankees fans there? Did the fans know to cheer? It's impossible to tell, because stupid Topps orange'd out the whole thing.

But like my mom always used to say, you can't just orange out a leader. I believe somewhere, in between Donnie and Rickey's crotches probably, is a blurry, shirtless man with a puff of hair on his chest clapping his ass off. Being a leader.

Hat tip to Punk Rock Paint, for his finest work yet.

Inside Informant

Don Mattingly, 1989 SCD Baseball Card Pricing Guide Monthly

I am posting this as a public service announcement so that nothing like this ever happens again. Granted, Don Mattingly is no longer an active player, so this probably will not happen again. But still. Let us never forget ... that this is the worst picture of Donnie Baseball ever produced.

Look at this! He looks like a guffawing, double-chinned, mustachioed redneck who spent his life savings to attend Yankees fantasy camp.

Uhh, where'd ya'll said the port-a-johns wuz?

UNACCEPTABLE. Where is the eye black? Why is it so dark outside? Why is Donnie so sullen when he is the undisputed champion of life? If this picture were on facebook, Donnie wouldn't be able to untag himself fast enough.

If my scissor hatchet job does not adequately come across here, allow me to inform you that I cut this beauty out of, apparently, SCD Baseball Card Price Guide Monthly. Yes, I was cutting baseball cards out of a monthly guide that priced baseball cards. Man, I was cool back in the diz-ay. Unfortunately, the SCD Guide did not price its own cards, probably because they weren't cards and were not meant to be cut out of the magazine. Nevertheless, this card is worth, according to me, $18, if only because the back includes a picture of Donnie's rookie card, and a picture of a Mattingly rookie card is worth a minimum of $15 even in the current financial climate.

INSIDE INFORMATION

Interesting. Here I am, an 11-year-old kid, thinking I know all there is to know about my favorite player and hero, and along comes this card claiming to have inside information. Delving any deeper into the world of Mattingly could, I suppose, uncover some truths I may not be prepared for, but I am willing to take that risk.

Although he suffered through an untypically slow start, Don Mattingly rebounded early enough in the '89 season to earn his sixth straight trip to the All-Star Game and salvage an otherwise off-year.

A few things:

1) Even at 11, I disliked the word "untypically."
2) "he rebounded early enough ... in an otherwise off-year." Makes zero sense.
3) Also, he didn't rebound to earn a trip to the All-Star Game; he earned a trip to the All-Star Game because he's Donnie freakin' Baseball and the All-Star Game is a popularity contest, and he's the most popular player in the game who plays in the biggest market.
4) All-Star Game participation does not salvage a season. If a dude got invited to the All-Star Game because three guys ahead of him got injured, then posted a .228/.264/.301 line in the second half and cost his team a trip to the playoffs after his pants fell down running the bases and he tripped over his pants and was tagged out on his bare butt, we wouldn't say, "He was terrible and that was totally weird, but it was a successful season nonetheless!"
5) Unless the All-Star Game is a private affair played at an undisclosed location and its participants are never revealed, this is not inside information.
6) I would also like to mention that, although '89 was certainly an off year by Donnie's standards, he did post a surface stat line of .303/23/113. The would be Justin Upton's greatest on year.

The left-handed Yankee slugger

INSIDE INFO! THOUGHT HE WAS RIGHTY, PLAYED FOR THE REDS???

remains one of the most popular players in the game today, a fact reflected in the value of his baseball cards

Popularity is the defining metric of card value. For example, my Luis Sojo second-year card is worth $4,000.

which held their value despite the early-season slump.

MAKETWATCH 1989: CARDS SURPRISINGLY SHOW LITTLE-TO-NO FLUCTUATION IN VALUE AFTER MATTINGLY GOES 1-FOR-4 TUESDAY; SUBTITLE: CARD NERDS HOLD FORT BASED ON 'FIVE-YEAR TRACK RECORD OF AWESOMENESS'

One sub-par season won't affect the long-term investment potential of a popular megastar like Mattingly, but it may delay future increases long enough to offer collectors a good opportunity to invest in a sure thing.

Take it from someone who collected Mattingly cards almost exclusively: it wasn't a sound long-term financial investment. Nor did I care if it would be. I collected baseball cards because it was fun as heck, and I love(d) baseball, and I had a hunch the Internet would be invented one day and I could post old cards that I cut out of weird magazines and hopefully make people laugh and what not.

For what it's worth, the '84 Donruss Mattingly rookie card is available on Amazon for $597 or, ya' know, $29.99.

Mattingly Month: A Final Motif

Don Mattingly, 1991 Coca-Cola series

The artist’s rendition of Donald Arthur Mattingly is risky business. How does one adequately capture the Picasso of baseball without access to Picasso himself? It is a conundrum, indeed. Better, I believe, to merely fantasize about such a task than attempt to execute it. Then again, if you have a bunch of Coca-Cola money to throw at some self-proclaimed artistic genius, then, as they say in the art world, “go nuts, yo.”

This is okay, I guess. I’m no art critic, but I like the way they shaded it and stuff. I suppose I like it enough to have purchased the original painting back in 1993 after taking out a $30,000 loan at 15.7% interest. I then placed the portrait in a 6’X10’ 14-karat gold frame—separate loan; what was I going to do, laminate it? Please—and it currently rests on the living room wall of my home over our fireplace. We don’t have a fireplace, but every time you look in Mattingly’s eyes, the wall beneath lights ablaze.

I would also like to mention that Don Mattingly was no shill to corporate suits! With so many companies and individuals striving to pay him homage, it’s doubtful he was even aware of this exclusive set of Coca-Cola sponsored baseball cards that bore his image, likeness, and biographical information. That, or he firmly, 100% believed in the quality and healthy attributes of Coca-Cola soft drinks. It is true that he could often be found quenching his thirst with the smooth taste of Coca-Cola after making a familiar and casual trot around the base paths. As Mattingly once said, allegedly, “Water is for plants and Gatorade is for communists.”



Evansville, Indiana, home of Yankee all-star first baseman and Mattinglys’ 23 Restaurant and Lounge—world famous for its exciting sports motif and hospitality since opening August 12, 1987.

A few things: a) That is not a sentence. b) Wrong apostrophe placement. c) ? d) Do you think they sell Coca-Cola at this restaurant? e) World famous? World. Earth? They’re talking about Don Mattingly’s Evansville, Indiana-based restaurant in Istanbul (not Constantinople)? f) “And Lounge?” I imagine you can take the entire family there for a round of “Mattingly manwhiches,” rid yourselves of the children somehow and then retire with your wife to the back room, where you can both light one up and enjoy the smooth sounds of Ron Phogarty, jazz saxophonist and cover artist of “Centerfield” and other baseball-related tunes. g) Circa 1991:

Person: Hey, where are you guys headed this summer?

Other person: Evansville, Indiana!

Person: Oh. Did someone die?

Other person: What? No! We’re all going as a family to experience Don Mattingly’s 23 Restaurant and Lounge!

Person: Wait—is that the place with the exciting sports motif and wonderful hospitality that opened on August 12, 1987?

Other person: Hells bells!

Person: Awesome! Do you think Don Mattingly will be there?

Other person: Probably not. He’s playing baseball.

Person: Still!

Other person: I know! We’ll probably run into some major dignitaries there though, as the place is world famous. I’m trying to learn how to say, “Try the waffle fries” in Mandarin, in case I see their Prime Minister or something. Why, where are you guys going?

Person: San Diego. Probably head to the San Diego Zoo, go to the beaches, water parks, whatever.

Other person: No offense, but I feel like you can do that anywhere.

Person: Wasn’t my idea. Hey, can you bring me back some motif?

Don Mattingly: Non-Standard

The non-standard issued sized baseball card always drove me nuts growing up. What am I supposed to do with this giant baseball card? How am I supposed to keep track of this mini-baseball card? These are the things that bothered me when I was nine.

When it came to Don Mattingly, however, baseball cards of varying sizes did not perturb me. In fact, he was so much the non-standard player in terms of his otherworldly ability, I thought the non-standard size card captured that aspect perfectly. That companies made similar cards for other players was the glaring error.

Let us begin with the big:


Don Mattingly, 1985 Donruss oversized

I’m not sure how well this comes across on the Interwebs, but this card is gigantic. When I was in grammar school, I happily boasted a Mattingly ’88 Topps folder, which is exactly what you imagine it to be, and which I used to keep my school papers, which were, by the way, frequently studied and well-graded, as I strived for the excellence consistently achieved by the man on the folder. Anyway, this card is almost as big as that folder, for reference. It is in poor condition because, again—they didn’t make enormous binders or casings for these cards, and it often fell victim to mishandlings and awkward placement among its normal-sized counterparts. I once considered placing this particular card in a picture frame for both protection purposes as well as adoration, but then I couldn’t see the back. :(

Two things of note: 1) I am a sucker for the headshot inset, especially one outlined in a halo of white, in which the look of our hero says, “I don’t know why you’re taking my picture—I’m just doing my job; .343/23/110 in my first full season was really just baseballs finding holes—but I’ll oblige.”

Also, this:



CONTRACT STATUS
Signed thru 1985

Steinbrenner: Alright, let’s not beat around the bush here, Don. You just had 211 hits—35 of them home runs—and drove in freakin’ 145. Your defense is flawless and you could run for mayor of this city tomorrow and win in a landslide similar to the one that just witnessed you win the AL MVP. You’re 24. I know when I don’t have leverage, so just tell me—what do you want?

Mattingly: Oh geez, Boss. I mean, I really just want the chance to go out there and compete day in and da—

Steinbrenner: For crying out loud, Don, CUT THE CRAP! I got things to do! I’m on Winfield’s trail—Hank, GET YOUR GREASY HANDS OFF THE DESK!—so just give me a number!

Mattingly: Eight billion, 20 years.

Steinbrenner: Fine, whatever. But you gotta cut those sideburns.

Mattingly: It’s a side mullet. And no.

Steinbrenner: Deal. Get out.


Don Mattingly, 1988 Topps-mini

This is a mini card. Isn’t it cute? The dream-sequence nature and glossy texture make it something straight out of mini-heaven.



This “Major League Leaders” card then goes on to list several categories that Don Mattingly did not lead the league in. I am sure they recognized, as do I, that “general awesomeness” should be a concrete statistic, and thus awarded him leader-status and the spoils that go with it, which, in this case, is a mini baseball card. The headshot inset is fantastic. But not as fantastic as …

Don Mattingly, 1988 Topps special




In a word: breathtaking.

This is when Topps started producing—like they would with Bowman—baseball cards that were just slightly bigger than normal, allowing children the all over the world the convenience of having baseball cards that were just slightly bigger than normal, and which stuck out of the ends of binder sleeves and casings and got bent and ruined. In this series, Topps made up for it with cartoons:



I love the notion that when a record is broken, the record book wherein the details of that record are contained is dramatically smashed, via the very means by which that record was achieved. I believe all records should be broken in this manner. Remember the Guinness record of the two fattest identical twins to ride motorcycles? They should have totally run over with their motorcycles the record book containing the information about the previously fattest identical twins to ride motorcycles.

(By the way, in order to provide you the link to that picture, I Googled “guinness record fat twins motorcycles.” I just wanted you to know that. Also, they made a great cameo on “The Simpsons” once, fyi.)

We also discover that Mattingly’s brother Randy played professional football, and that he either scored a touchdown or had a game referee outwardly cheering for him. I can’t really blame the referee—it’s impossible to be objective in the face of Mattingly athletic prowess. To wit: my life.

Don Mattingly: Not the Illusion Hologram Implied

Don Mattingly, 1986 SportsFlics

My 1986 Don Mattingly Triple Action Sportsflics card is certainly not the rarest Mattingly card I own, but it is by far the most durable. A great portion of my childhood was spent painstakingly trying to keep my Don Mattingly cards in pristine and mint condition—admiring them in hand and constantly transferring them from binder to binder, plastic cover to plastic cover, did me no favors in this endeavor, minus the pure, innocent, and youthful enjoyment it provided the deepest parts of my baseball-loving soul—but I never had to worry about my Sportsflics card. It was thicker than the sheetrock used to construct the walls of my parents home, and you could run it over with giant spiked tires and it would still look like it did coming out of the pack—that look being blurry and confusing.

I wasn’t sure how this would scan to the ol’ Internet, but even the best scan could not do justice to the magnificence of this card. Like Slusarski, except a million times better, this is “Mattingly in Three Parts:” 1) in his stance and ready to pounce, 2) post-pouncing with his beautiful stride—a Ride-and-Stride even future teammate Matt Nokes would envy—2) and an extreme close-up headshot in which his unparalleled mustache has never looked finer and more lush, which is only faintly visible here, as if a giant-headed and strikingly handsome ghost is watching a Yankee game. Whoever said that 1980s sports-card hologram technology could not stand the test of time—I think it was Mr. Wizard? Pfftt—was wrong.



Don, one of the best players

"Don, one of the best players" I strive for accuracy here.

in the majors — young or old —

That is so … weird. I don’t know why someone would feel the need to mention something like this even in passing, much less make it stand out in between hyphens. It’s as if there was a raging debate at the time: Can young players be the best players? Can old players be the best players? This debate alone bucked the traditional thinking that only exactly middle-aged-by-baseball-standards players could be the best players, therefore by which a 28-year old Spike Owen belonged in the discussion; a 36-year old Nolan Ryan did not. Don Mattingly, by being so undeniably awesome at the not that young age of 24, finally put the debate to rest.

was named the 1985 A.L. MVP. He tore apart the league

And my heart. By never responding to multiple personal requests to coach my Little League team and make me an honorable Yankee batboy, or shortstop.

as he finished first in RBIs

And my heart.

doubles, extra-base hits, total bases and game-winning RBIs (21)

Game-winning RBI are sort of fluky, but: !!!

Don also is an outstanding first baseman who has excellent range and moves in the field.

First base isn’t exactly a haven for physical self-expression, and to say that he had excellent “moves in the field” makes it sound as though he could often be found doing the Roger Rabbit in between innings or roboting his way to the first base after scooping up a routine grounder (by letting it roll up his leg, into the air, and catching it in his hat). Now, I’m not saying that Donnie couldn’t do these things—of course he could—he would just never show up the competition like that. Although I think that would have worked well in a hologram.

Mattingly > Textbook

Don Mattingly, 1988 "CMC"?

This is part of a Limited Edition set of Don Mattingly cards that I purchased somewhere, at some time, for an undisclosed sum of money that I handed over in cash, in a bag with a dollar sign on it, to an obese, 45-year old baseball card dealer at a flea market card show. You can tell it’s a “Limited Edition” by the words “Limited Edition” in elegant cursive—pure class—that are present on each and every card, so as never to forget. It is a limited edition set, of course, in that they did not make an infinite supply of sets which they are still currently producing, which makes this set no different than every set of baseball cards ever.

Truth be told, this set is freaking awesome. It is so simple; the pictures are fantastic—look at that swing! No, LOOK. AT. THAT. SWING!!!—and the write-ups on the back are as direct, unassuming, and to the point as the man himself. One of the greatest birthday gifts I ever received—besides his ’84 Topps rookie; thanks again, Aunt Carol!—was a small, Yankee-pinstriped baseball card binder with a No. 23 on the front. The first thing I did was place this entire set into that binder, and I would page through it approximately 18 times per day, all the while marveling at my good fortune. I am not absolutely certain what happened to that binder, but I have a faint memory of the cover fading to a point where I thought it was disrespectful to Donnie Baseball for me to continue to own it, and I’m pretty sure it was buried in my backyard after a 20-minute ceremony followed by refreshments.



In this shot, Don displays the textbook swing—

I think even a textbook would be like, “This swing is too perfect to include in my pages. It’s just not realistic to expect one of my readers to be able to execute something like this. In fact, forget baseball. I will be about … the Civil War.”

Some people think you have to be a big muscle man to hit major league pitching,

Who thinks that? Honestly? I don’t know anybody who thinks that or who has ever thought that. Yogi Berra was 4-foot, 3-inches tall and hit 800 home runs, and that was in 1889—fact.

but at six foot and 175 pounds

According to a Harvard-based 1986 study, the overwhelming version of the idealistic American man is one who is six feet tall and 175 pounds, with a mustache, who grew up in the Midwest and who is an athlete.

Don is proof that baseball is a mechanical game

And a mechanic.

“The main thing for me is to hit the ball as hard as I can. If I go 0-for-4,

Never happened.

but hit the ball hard, I know good things will come.”

The modesty is simultaneously admirable and infuriating. Don Mattingly’s average OPS + from 1984-through-1986 was 158. Awww, shucks—I was just trying to hit the ball hard. Let me take it from here, Donnie …

“I am the greatest baseball player in the world and the prototypical man. Look at my swing. Breathe it in. There will never be another like me. The 175 pounds is all lean muscle. I only fear my back may eventually give out from carrying this suddenly dormant franchise. Until then, enjoy the clinic.” – Me, as Don Mattingly for a day, in 1987

Mattingly Month ... Go

When I began doing the “classic card” write-ups for my blog many years ago, I, quite obviously, was using “classic” in the sarcastic sense. The point was to highlight the silliness and oftentimes bizarre nature of the cards that occupied shoeboxes as opposed to binders, and featured the more obscure players of the 80s and early 90s. This, for what it's worth, has been revealed as my life’s calling.

The reason I own of all these crappy cards is because once upon a time, like many still valiantly do, I took my baseball card-collecting very, very seriously, and the acquisition of these cards was a mere byproduct of my search for greater ones, of which I valued with my heart and soul. I remember in those dark, mysterious hours when I would imagine worst-case scenarios, the loss of my card-collection was prominently involved. Our house is on fire? Grab my cards! Who cares about my sister?! She has legs!

My quest, however, was not to have the best, most diverse, or even most expensive collection. No. My quest was only: Don Mattingly cards.

I differ from exactly no Yankee fan of my generation in my undying love for Mattingly, which continues unabashedly to this day, although with a sprinkle of realism and perspective that was absent from my youth. My favorite player from my favorite team, who encompassed every quality we value as baseball fans and as young men, I couldn’t have been prouder or more certain that Don Mattingly was the best player in the game.

Thusly, I wanted all of his baseball cards. Mostly I wanted the obscure ones—’88 Topps All-Star? Bit#%, please; I have 39 of those—which I often found at card shows. I remember my dad’s friend warning me in those years not to put all of my eggs in one basket, as if Mattingly wasn’t so obviously on an uninterrupted collision course with G.O.A.T. status. My friends, as friends do, were happy to take advantage of my soft spot for Donnie Baseball during trades. None of this bothered me because, remember—my quest was only Don Mattingly cards. Diversifying my portfolio was of no concern, and cost, relatively speaking for a boy who made $7-10 per lawn, was not an issue, and so what if Mattingly, through some unforeseen accident or ailment that had nothing to do with his work ethic or God-given talent, did not achieve a Ruthian level of greatness. My love was unconditional, and all of this was irrelevant.

With that in mind, may I proudly introduce you to the first installment of “Mattingly Month”—my humble quest to present to you several pieces of my priceless collection. Now, with regards to my penchant for a light-hearted and faux-cynical take on baseball cards and the players featured on them, I must tread carefully here, lest I offend my greatest baseball hero, who totally, I firmly believe, reads this blog.

I start at the most logical place: our nation’s most popular chocolate-production company.


Don Mattingly, 1988 Nestle Foods Corporation

The “we cannot show the actual team logo due to copyright standards” will never, ever, ever fail to amuse the heck out of me. (It’s especially awesome during commercials.) I mean, really? Nestle and Major League Baseball can’t sit down at a table and iron something out that doesn’t witness Don Mattingly playing for “the blue team?” It says right there he plays for the Yankees. Everybody knows he plays for the Yankees. You wouldn’t be printing this card if he didn’t achieve some level of notoriety with some organization—why are you pretending that organization doesn’t exist? THE YANKEES ARE NOT GENERIC AND YOU MADE MATTINGLY LOOK LIKE A FREAKIN’ UMPIRE!!! I am not upset, really. Deep breath … I am fine.

Also, look at how handsome he is! He is so handsome.



Regarded by many as the finest player in the game,

“Many” implies that several people do not acknowledge this indisputable fact. Who are these people? I would like to speak with them. Do they work at Nestle? Figures. Why don’t you stick to knowing about chocolate, you worthless sons of bit—I’m good, I’m cool.

Don continues annually to add to laurels

I remember when I was a kid, and I would watch Mattingly do something great, seemingly daily, and I would think to myself, “There goes Don, adding to his laurels again. How many laurels does he have now? A million?” In actuality, he had infinite laurels. “Infinite Laurels,” by the way, will be the name of my Don Mattingly-themed alternative rock band that I will be starting soon. The drummer from Band of Horses is in, as are like, eight dudes from Arcade Fire. I only need a lead singer who looks exactly like Don Mattingly and who is the greatest singer ever. Know him? Are him? Call me.

that will put him on a Cooperstown pedestal.

As improbable as it seems that the Nestle Chocolate-Production Company was inaccurate in forecasting future greatness for a baseball player, it is unlikely that Mattingly will gain entrance into the Hall of Fame. As much of a Mattingly fan as I am—and I am the greatest one, I humbly submit—I am first and foremost a rational baseball fan, and I don’t believe that Mattingly, unfortunately, achieved the longevity, by the Hall’s subjective and ever-changing standards, needed to get on that pedestal (I thought it was a bust?).

That said, I take great comfort in that Mattingly’s stretch of 1984-through-1987, considering his era and the very poor Yankee teams for which he played and the fact that he remained an excellent defensive first baseman, can, I believe, stand up with the best four-year stretch of any offensive player ever. And, if we judge him by fame—that elusive of criteria for which the hall in question is defined—his status as the hero of virtually every modern-day major leaguer can attest that he had it in laurels.

Don Mattingly transcends the Hall of Fame. The Hall of Fame should want inclusion into Don Mattingly. Not into his butt—DON’T MAKE A JOKE!—I mean theoretically or something.

Until next week …

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 6

I never saw Fred McGriff play in person. And yet, here he is in Fenway Park circa 1989-1990. A friend of mine used to have tickets about 20 rows behind home plate and I remember going to a number of games around that time.

Nor did I ever really watch games that McGriff played in. My family, like everybody else who got cable, got all the Braves games on TBS. But that didn't mean I watched them. So then here's my question: Can I legitimately call McGriff my favorite player if I a) never saw him play in person and b) never made much of an effort to catch his games on TV? I think I'm safe.

McGriff fit what I was looking for in a baseball hero. To me, he was obscure. And if you know anything about my values system, obscurity ranks very high. Oh sure, he wasn't a face in the crowd to fans of the game. But ask a random person on the street who McGriff was and I'd bet nine out of ten wouldn't know. And yet, here's the funny thing: if McGriff had spent his career in a baseball mecca like Boston or New York, I'm completely convinced that his national presence would've rivaled that of Boggs, Mattingly or any other of his more famous contemporaries.

The 792: #251 - 300

I know it's only January 1, but this year I'm going to stick to my New Year's resolutions. What are they, you ask? First, no more soda. Second, this is the year I finish what I start. That means I'm not going to abandon a project part-way through, starting with The 792. It's been a while since my last fifty-card checklist post, so here's a little background on the project.

The 792 is my attempt to create the ultimate Topps set for the 1980s by determining the best card for each checklist number, 1 through 792. Though this project is a fan set, it's one that rivals Topps Archives in terms of capturing the best and most memorable cards from the decade. Plus, it's easy to put together for collectors of these sets (1980 through 1989 Topps)--they don't need to buy any new cards. Collectors can just pull them from the original ten sets.

Cards #251 to 300

251. Tony Gwynn, 1984
252. Fred Lynn In Action, 1982
253. Sid Bream, 1985 (RC)
254. George Bell, 1982 (RC)
255. Tony Armas, 1986
256. Gene Garber Super Veteran, 1983
257. Rennie Stennett, 1981
258. Ed Nunez, 1988
259. Mike Greenwell, 1987 (RC)
260. Dave Winfield, 1989
261. Ruben Sierra, 1987 (RC)
262. Tom Candiotti, 1984 (RC)
263. Stan Javier, 1987
264. Rob Dibble, 1989 (RC)
265. Robin Yount, 1980
266. Frank Viola, 1985
267. Paul Molitor, 1986
268. Jerry Royster, 1981
269. Ellis Burks, 1988 (RC)
270. Dennis Eckersley, 1983
271. Tim Foli, #1 Draft Pick, 1985
272. Andres Galarraga, 1987 (RC)
273. Bill Almon, #1 Draft Pick, 1985
For a #1 draft pick, Billy Almon sure bounced around a lot. He was included in Traded sets almost every year. Him and Joaquin Andujar. Those two guys are in almost every Traded set from the Eighties.

274. Dale Murphy, 1980
275. Kevin Seitzer, 1988 (RC)
276. Angels Leaders, 1984
277. Al Chambers, #1 Draft Pick, 1985
278. Sixto Lezcano, 1986
279. Dan Plesac, 1987 (RC)
280. Tim Raines, 1986
281. Reds Leaders, 1987
282. Mariners Team, 1980
283. Doug Drabek, 1987 (RC)
284. Jim Leyland, 1989 MGR
285. Oil Can Boyd, 1987
286. Chuck Crim, 1988 (RC)
287. Warren Cromartie, 1984
Cromartie always looked pissed on his cards, like he couldn't wait to get back to Japan.

288. Pat Pacillo, 1988 (RC)
289. Mickey Hatcher, 1981
290. Carlton Fisk, 1986
291. Tom Lasorda, 1986 MGR
292. Craig Swan, 1983
293. Charlie Lea, 1981 (RC)
294. Al Pedrique, 1988 (RC)
I don't remember why I got excited about Pedrique when this set came out; he never did anything that would've warranted my attention. I guess it probably had to do with the other stellar Pirate rookies from the year before. Residual hype, if such a thing exists.

295. Kirk Gibson, 1986
296. Ricky Nelson, 1985
297. Tim Lollar, 1986
298. Chris James, 1989
299. Andy Hawkins, 1985
There haven't been too many guys who've thrown a no-hitter and lost.

300. Don Mattingly, 1988
Arguably the iconic veteran card of late Eighties Topps.