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!

Card vs. Card - May 3

The Champ: 1987 Donruss Bo Jackson Rated Rookie
The Challenger: 1958 Topps Moose Skowron All-Star

Moose takes the match, 10-8!

Card vs. Card - May 2

The Cards: 1987 Donruss Rated Rookie Bo Jackson vs. 1992 Fleer Rookie Sensations Frank Thomas

Bo knows victory: 21-6

Card vs. Card - May 1

Down goes Gooden! Down goes Gooden! Bo Jackson will be back tomorrow to face the competition after winning this one 16 - 7.

Cardboard Fenway: 1982 Donruss Mark Clear

Cardboard Fenway - #75. 1982 Donruss Mark Clear

Clear came over at one of the annual Red Sox/Angels swap meets: just like Remy, Rudi, Rick Miller, and others. Here, he's pitching with the centerfield bleachers and bullpens as backdrop.

Cardboard Fenway: 1982 Donruss Dwight Evans

Cardboard Fenway - #68. 1982 Donruss Dwight Evans

Here's Dewey pre-mustache, winding up the gun.

Cardboard Fenway: 1983 Donruss Carl Yastrzemski

Cardboard Fenway - #25. 1983 Donruss Carl Yastrzemski

Yaz looks kind of old in this photo, but if you'll notice—his eyes are on the ball. Which is kind of the whole point of the game. Also, he's in his home whites, getting ready before a game at Fenway.

Cardboard Fenway: 1984 Donruss Mark Clear

Cardboard Fenway - #33. 1984 Donruss Mark Clear

Here's a great shot of Mark mid-delivery, with the infielder (probably Marty Barrett) looking on and the right-field fence in the distance.

Cardboard Fenway: 1984 Donruss Jerry Remy

Cardboard Fenway - #30. 1984 Donruss Jerry Remy

Not sure about this one, if that's Fenway behind the batting-cage screen. But Remy looks like he's in his home whites. Then again, this could be a Spring Training shot. Oh well.

Cardboard Fenway: 1983 Donruss Tom Burgmeier

Cardboard Fenway - #70. 1983 Donruss Tom Burgmeier

Here's another great shot of the bullpens and bleachers at Fenway.

Cardboard Fenway: 1982 Donruss Dennis Eckersley

Cardboard Fenway - #65. 1982 Donruss Dennis Eckersley

This was back when Eck was a starter. Fenway's centerfield bleachers are behind him.

Cardboard Fenway: 1986 Donruss Oil Can Boyd

Cardboard Fenway - #52. 1986 Donruss "Oil Can" Boyd

Oil Can Boyd is a many-splendored thing: You got the personalized jacket, the killer old-people shades, the puffy towel/sweatshirt, the mean grin. Plus, I think that's a blurry Roger Clemens in the background.

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?

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 7

Contrary to what Donruss would want you to believe, Fred McGriff never won an MVP award. Did he ever deserve one? No, probably not.

But so what? Teams need players like McGriff to be successful. In a similar vein, someone recently said that teams wouldn't win with a whole roster of Dustin Pedroias. Why not? The guy has over 200 hits, 100 runs, he hits for average, he's a good fielder... what's not to like? Is it because he's short? Scrappy? Prematurely bald? Is it because he does that weird thing with his mouth and eyes before every swing? The same could be said for Fred McGriff. Could a team win with a roster of Fred McGriffs? Who wouldn't want a bunch of guys consistently smacking 35 homers, driving in runs and hitting for average?

Though until recently Pedroia had been putting together an MVP-like season, guys like Pedroia and McGriff aren't really MVP-caliber players. They're complementary guys. They're guys who make a lineup formidable. And though they're not a given lineup's heavy hitter, they're guys pitchers don't want to face in any situation.

They're like Thursday night. It's not quite Friday, but you're almost there.

1990 – 1994 Countdown: #4. 1990 Leaf

Why are baseball cards made? I know I keep asking that question, but it’s important. I’ve been batting around different ideas, but the most realistic answer I’ve come up with is “Because it’s big business.” Name me another product that is tied to childhood, nostalgia and bonding with family and friends more than Topps Baseball Cards. I can think of only four: Coca-Cola, firecrackers, TV and Playboy Magazine. All are timeless products that have helped shape the American identity. “The first time I…” with each is a venerable rite of passage.

One side of business is branding, so obvious and important in the baseball card business (especially during a period such as the early Nineties, when there were scores of different products competing for dealers’ shelf space and collectors’ attention).

Another side is competing in the marketplace. For all intents and purposes, there was one manufacturer from 1956 to 1980. In 1981 that figure tripled to three and by 1989, with the introduction of giant killer Upper Deck, there were six. And though for those thirty-some-odd years it may have seemed like there was Topps and then there was everyone else in terms of market share, Topps’ response to competition (or lack thereof) helped the company slip in the standings. It got so bad for the company that it took them two years to respond to the biggest threat the company had yet to face: Upper Deck. In Topps’ defense, it was the worth the wait, as the inaugural 1991 Stadium Club release was a fantastic set, and Topps wasn’t alone in its delayed reaction. It also took Fleer two years to lob its response (1991 Ultra).

But by waiting two years to respond to the higher-quality standards of Upper Deck, Topps and Fleer were no longer responding to just one company, they were jumping on the bandwagon of a hobby trend: premium cards.

Born out of 1989’s Upper Deck (and possibly even 1988’s Score set), premium cards were printed on higher-quality stock, with better photography, brighter colors and more bells and whistles, most noticeably the heavy use of metallic ink. To ensure their desirability, manufacturers released them in a more limited quantity (or that was the idea). As such, they could charge dealers more per case, dealers would pass on the price increase to the collector and the value of individual cards would skyrocket. Add in the big ball of hype surrounding the hobby at the time and it was a recipe for success.

The company that didn’t wait to see if premium would survive more than a year was Donruss. By repositioning their Leaf brand as a premium set, they ensured not only that theirs was the first Big Three (Topps, Fleer, Donruss) response to Upper Deck, but that the set would garner more attention within the hobby.

All this preparation could’ve backfired had the set been terrible. Luckily for Donruss (and collectors) it wasn’t. Far from it. If we pull back for a moment and look at the long-term values of the set and individual cards, the Sosa rookie is still within the $15 to $20 range, which is remarkable considering all the bad press he’s accumulated over the past five years. Unopened boxes still go for $30 - $60 each and it’s safe to say that the cards remain in demand.

Long-term card value is not the reason why I’ve ranked this set so high. Premium or no, this was a great set. The design wasn’t bad: there was a subtle futurism thing going on that included more than a healthy dollop of metallic ink. The photography was excellent. The cards were printed on clean, smooth white stock. And the checklist was stellar.

With big-name rookies (Thomas, Sosa, Olerud, Justice, Walker) and strong second-year guys (Griffey, Belle and Randy Johnson), Leaf was suddenly the coolest kid on the block. The Thomas rookie was at one point as big as Griffey’s iconic Upper Deck rookie from the year before and when Sammy Sosa became a household name in 1998, there was no bigger card of him than his Leaf rookie.

It wasn’t just the rookies and young guys that made this set desirable. Like with any popular card set, what’s old was suddenly new. Cards of veteran stars and other established players were desirable.

But perhaps the most telling statistic for the popularity of a given set is the price for individual commons. For context, you can probably get a common from 1990 Topps for two or three cents. For Leaf, expect to pay a dime per common. That’s five times the average rate for a Topps common from the same year. That difference is, in a word, sick. I think you have to go back to 1984 Donruss before you see a common price that’s even remotely in the same league. Seems like the initial decision to limit the quantity paid off.

Was it a good decision for Donruss to jump the gun on their response to Upper Deck? I think so. It was a strong set that whet collectors’ appetites not just for more Leaf, but more premium cards in general. And though our opinions differ of if it was good for long-term card quality, we all can agree it was good for business.

1990 - 1994 Countdown: #8. 1990 Donruss

By 1990, Donruss and the other baseball card companies were beginning to understand that their industry was in a very different place from as little as three years before. Following the initial across-the-board quality of Upper Deck, the others suddenly found their market shares smaller. In order to stay competitive, they had to find the intersection between maintaining a traditional set and adapting to the competition with bells and whistles.

From what I can tell, Donruss’ idea of “bells and whistles” was to go red. Eye-catching, hellfire, mid-life crisis, love-it-or-hate-it red. That’s not to say their strategy didn’t work. I, for one, was both shocked and pleased to see them shake their black and blue funk (every year’s design from 1985 to 1989 had either been black or blue). The new color, coupled with the risk-taking cursive signature player name on the front, helped the set stand out in the crowd.

They made two other significant changes from the previous year. First, they put together a fantastic checklist with Diamond Kings you wanted, an intriguing “insert set” (MVPs), kick-ass ‘King of Kings’ and ‘5,000 Ks’ Nolan Ryan cards and one of the strongest Rated Rookie classes in years. Second, they let the presses fly without bothering to hire proofreaders.

Obviously that claim isn’t true, but consider the circumstances: just a year before, one of their competitors (Fleer) grabbed endless headlines after one of its cards (Billy Ripken) featured an obscenity. In order to prolong the news (or simply because they didn’t know how best to handle the situation), Fleer corrected the card not once but four different times throughout the season, resulting in five available versions of the card and guaranteeing a hard-to-find, highly collectible product.

Granted, it’s hard to monitor quality on every single card of a set, but 1990 Donruss featured eight error cards, with two of those being high-profile Nolan Ryan cards and one coming in the insert set (Glavine for Smoltz). Makes you wonder about motive.

Like other strong Donruss sets, in order for it to be truly great there had to be rookie balance over the entire checklist. This was certainly the case for 1990. Donruss had a track record of including great Rated Rookies since Bill Madden put together the first on-card-denoted subset back in 1984, but ran into trouble sometimes when it came to seeding rookies into the rest of the checklist. No such problem in 1990. With eleven desirable Rated Rookies (the most since 1987), the set found balance with rookies of Sosa, Larry Walker, Bernie Williams, John Olerud, David Justice, John Wetteland and flameouts like Junior Felix, Dwight Smith and Jerome Walton.

Yes, the base set lacked a Frank Thomas rookie (and so did the boxed Best of AL and end of year Rookies sets), but in this instance (unlike with 1990 Bowman or Fleer) it didn’t matter. Bowman nor Fleer had Rated Rookies to divert the attention away from the glaring Thomas omission.

Regardless, despite its overall quality and the changes the company made for 1990, this set finds Donruss at a crossroads. Yes, it has a checklist with more than a few highlights. Yes, it has the company’s third foray into insert cards. And yes, it was done with an eye-catching palette. But with the introduction of Leaf as a premium brand, created to compete and out-do Upper Deck on its own level, 1990 was the first year Donruss was the other brand for the company.

You know, it’s funny, but some companies seem to be able to cope year to year; their releases make sense as a cohesive whole. On the surface, this seems to be the case with Donruss (at least in terms of design). But if we dig a little deeper and examine the sets they released from 1990 through 1992—the first three in their role as secondary brand—the company seemed to go a few steps forward in 1990 (clearly their best set of the early Nineties, and their best since 1987) and then two or three giant leaps backward the next two years (crap in ’91 and more of the same for ’92).

It’s as if Donruss simply didn’t know what to do with the brand now that it was number two. Two series? Full color fronts and backs? Save rookies for an insert set? Did anybody even notice? Or care? Despite creating a great set for 1990, it was the beginning of a sad period for the brand.

1990 - 1994 Countdown: #11. 1991 Studio

It's taken me a while to accept it, but I've decided there's no use beating around the bush anymore: there are just some things that I'll never truly be able to experience, no matter how many hours I spend outfitting my Delorean with time-traveling capabilities.

One such event was a certain brainstorm at Donruss HQ. You know the one I'm talking about. The one where they decided that the time was finally right to take the Glamor Shots phenomenon out of the malls and share it with an audience as yet unaware of its glory. And hell, the hobby was practically a perfect storm; no one would have noticed had it flopped.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm talking about the day Donruss sprung Studio on the world. And despite the fact that you may be able to take Glamor Shots out of the mall, no matter how you dress them up, you can't take 'the mall' out of Glamor Shots. And yet, this set was a hit. Because really, how could it not be? First of all, we're talking about 1991 here. If it was an air of quality that you were trying to exude, black and white photography set against a cross-hatched resume paper backdrop was de rigueur.

A limited checklist helps too. As does a metallic ink border (red copper, anyone?). Oh, and don't forget slapping big-time rookies right into the set instead of quarantining them as inserts. Who can forget Sammy Sosa's hair soufflé (even if they've spent the last 17 years trying)? One more thing helps distance this set from the rest: no inserts. And no bullshit.

Alright, a little bullshit. But in a good, Steve Lake-with-a-cockatoo-on-his-goddamn-shoulder senior superlatives way. That was what this set was known for; it was what separated it from the pack. Nothing wrong with that. Don't try to be more than you are, I say. Never mind that this was the first real, honest to God set that didn't use one color photo in 31 years (1960 Leaf had been the last). And while the return of black and white was somewhat of an accomplishment, the real hero here is the evolution of photographic equipment since 1960. Instead of a set of deer-in-the-headlights major leaguers, Studio could have been stray photos from a hairdresser's idea book: fades, mullets, crewcuts, feathered, layered; practically every style was represented.

It's too bad this set didn't exist in the late Seventies. Professionally-shot Avedon-esque portraits of guys like Oscar Gamble and Sammy Stewart. Can you imagine how great a set like that would be? I guess the closest set to Studio were the SSPC sets from 1975 and 1976, though the photos were taken at the ballpark. What can I say? I'm greedy. And disappointed that I'll never know what Willie Montanez's favorite TV show was.

1990 - 1994 Countdown: #25. 1993 Studio

While the countless other brands fought tooth and nail for a foothold in the hobby, GlamorShots, excuse me, Studio was the only set with a truly unique position: showcase the players as well-rounded individuals. And do so on great-looking cards. Instead of re-inventing the wheel each and every year, all they had to do was pull down a different backdrop: 1991 saw the classic charcoal, 1992 had a close up on a craquelure newspaper photo and 1993 gave us jersey detail. All that was missing was the hand-on-chin pose in front of the bookcase and soft-focus lighting on stars in the night sky.

For Studio, baseball was just window-dressing. The real focus was the emotional side of each player. From Curt Schilling: Hobbies are golf, war gaming and military history… Might have been a history teacher if he hadn’t been an athlete. And from Robin Yount: Hobbies are golf, motorcycles, cars and fishing… Might have been in professional racing if he hadn’t been a baseball player.

The key to this set was that players had lives off the field (who knew Curt Schilling liked to play Risk?), and were somewhat normal human beings with normal, everyday dreams. Robin Yount wanted to be the next Richard Petty? Me too. It’s the ‘me too’ aspect that takes down the wall between player and fan and endears them to us (damn you, psychological window dressing!).

1990 - 1994 Countdown: #28. 1994 Donruss

This was a gorgeous set. Sure, some of the inserts were ugly (MVPs, Long Ball Leaders, Spirit of the Game, Elite, Award Winners), but others were fantastic (Decade Dominators, anyone?) and the base set was probably the nicest-looking Donruss design since… well, at least since the black’n’red of 1985.

But what really made this set unbelievable was that just three years earlier Donruss still held tight to their nerdy line motif. And yet, despite 1992 being one of the worst designs of the early decade, without it and the 1993 set, there’s a good chance that 1994 would look very different (this kind of design transition was nothing new to the hobby: in 1969 Topps released a minimalist set, then in 1970 did gray borders, setting up a short-lived design renaissance consisting of 1971’s black borders and 1972’s psychedelia). Let’s take a step back for a moment to note how 1994 Donruss came to pass (from a design sense).

1991 was the last ‘traditional’ Donruss issue, with thick patterned borders that completely surrounded the photograph on the front and came in two colors (green and blue), dependent on the series, not the team. ’91 also marked the last year of the pictureless, statistic-heavy two-color back (black for text and a border in the same green or blue of the front). 1992, while hideous in design, moved the set onto a better, more durable stock, with a four-color front and back, replete with a headshot. Because they added color (and thus photography) to the card backs, Donruss took a step away from showcasing row after row of statistics. 1993 saw more of the same: the borders on the front got thinner, the photography got more adventurous on both the front and back, and while they provided roughly 40% of the back for stats, gone was the always-entertaining ‘Career Highlights’ section (usually devoted to recounting a player’s freak injuries). For more on 1991, 1992, and 1993 Donruss, see earlier Nineties Countdown posts.

So then it made sense that 1994 would feature borderless photography on the front (it was next logical step). What was truly amazing was that Donruss made the backs borderless photos as well (with overlaid graphics); biographical information and statistics seemed as mere afterthoughts on these cards. And while I’m usually a proponent of full career statistics, the sparse use of typography (in any form) works well in this design.

Coupled with the more refined design was a refined checklist. 1994 saw the return to 660 cards, and the checklist had a ‘classic Donruss’ feel (despite there being no Diamond Kings in the base set, or, for the first time in 11 years, any Rated Rookies). And the set was not even really hurt by the fact that there weren’t Rated Rookies (though it would’ve been nice to have a 1994 Alex Rodriguez Rated Rookie, right?) or really any other, unmarked rookies to speak of. 1994 was all about veterans, doing veteran things, including a subset of cards celebrating various veterans’ accomplishments spread out over the checklist (many of them checklists themselves). There was even an insert of 1984 reprints.

I was 15 years old in 1994. And with greasy, matted hair, embarrassingly thick glasses, and a face full of pimples and a mouth full of braces, I was old enough to appreciate a thing of beauty.


These scans are from TwinsCards. Visit their great site if you get a chance.

1990 - 1994 Countdown: #32 - 31

32. 1990 Upper Deck
If you were Upper Deck, how would you have followed the seminal 1989 set? With an equally revered set in terms of design, availability and checklist, or by capitalizing on the hype surrounding your somewhat limited 1989 production run with a flood of product?

I haven’t looked at Card Sharks since reading it last summer, so forgive me if I paraphrase. The gist of the situation was that because the 1989 set took almost the whole hobby by surprise, everybody and his brother wanted to get in on the ground floor for Upper Deck’s 1990 release. Upper Deck, understanding the situation, was smart because they required dealers to buy in way in advance, guaranteeing a wide distribution. Then, as dealers realized en masse that the 1990 product was kind of a dud—and that the hobby was flooded with massive amounts of the product—Upper Deck was already laughing its way to the bank.

Why was it a dud? A couple of reasons. First, it wasn’t 1989 Upper Deck. The inaugural set was impossible to follow; any set in its wake was going to suffer. Second, the player that 1990 UD should have put on card #1 (Frank Thomas) wasn’t even included in the set (he wouldn’t find his way onto an Upper Deck card until 1991). Third, the stock was flimsy and the design seemed weak in comparison to 1989. I say that it ‘seemed’ weak because it actually wasn’t, it was just minimal to a fault. Fourth, there were so many of these cards that the special-ness of the Upper Deck brand seemed to evaporate.

But even though it was a dud at the time, the cards survive well. Sure, the stock is flimsy, some of the rookies have fallen by the wayside, and the design is a little boring, but it’s not a bad follow-up, especially when you take the situation into account. It bears repeating: any set would have had a hard time playing successor to 1989 Upper Deck.


31. 1993 Donruss
After creating birdcage-lining sets with ballooned checklists in 1991 and 1992, Donruss did something peculiar in 1993: they released a nice set that was worthwhile to collect. (They also did something interesting that didn’t seem so at the time: they released a set of 792 cards, the number of cards Topps practically trademarked in the Eighties. Why 792? It broke down nicely to two 396-card series. Ironically, though it didn’t feel that way, it was Donruss’ largest base set ever.)

It’s almost as if they frantically yelled ‘Wait! Wait!’ in vain as the trucks left the printing plant in 1992. Lesser companies would’ve turned to drink and vice, and probably closed up shop. Donruss just went back to the drawing board and came up with a somewhat attractive design, a balanced checklist worth buying into for both series, and inserts that felt more like true inserts rather than glorified subsets.

They also breathed new life into the by-then stale Rated Rookie subset by spreading the cards out over the entire set, and paring down the amount of them to 34 (from 40 in 1991 and 44 in 1992). By doing this, Donruss no longer felt naked without the Diamond Kings as a base set subset. It also allowed the Rated Rookie to become more of an event card (see the David Nied RR on #792, the last card of the set).

In addition to all the improvements on the base set, 1993 Donruss should be characterized as the brand’s transition set. It was the first Donruss set since 1981 without a puzzle. And even though they had separated the Diamond Kings into their own insert set in 1992, 1993 saw the brand put a greater emphasis on inserts (seven sets in all). The rest of the Donruss Nineties would follow suit.