Leaders of Men ... and Nothing

So in the mid-to-late 80s Fleer was putting out these League Leaders sets. I really hated them. They were so stupid.

I can't really pinpoint what exactly went wrong aesthetically ... oh wait, yes I can -- they were total ugz. I remember as a kid flipping through cards from these sets and just feeling depressed. Absolutely nothing about these cards inspired me. Their existence was pointless and inconsequential. Owning them was a burden. ("Other than that" joke in 3 ... 2 ... 1... ) Other than that they were awesome.

But what really irked me was that many of the players featured in these League Leaders sets DID NOT LEAD THE LEAGUE IN ANYTHING. I mean, surely some of them led the league in something at some point in their career, but that defies the purpose of putting out an annual League Leaders set.

To wit:

Keith Moreland led the league in ... upper thigh circumference.

Pete Rose led the league in ... most games as a player-manager, and most games wagered on, and ridonk bowl cuts, and also doubles (8).

Juan Samuel led the league in ... strikeouts. For real.

Willie Hernandez led the league in ... name changes.

Ozzie Smith led the league in ... slugging (.361). jk, lol.

The Great Experiment

Juan Samuel, 1991 Score

Where were you during the Great Juan Samuel Experiment?



The great experiment of making a center fielder out of Juan finally ended in mid-May ’90, when the Dodgers moved him back to second base, his original position.

I was finishing sixth grade during the Great Experiment. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was difficult for me to focus on my studies, obviously, what with Juan Samuel across the country, trying to adjust to a new position. I only wished I could have helped, somehow.

Every day I would watch the evening news intently, waiting for some indication that Juan Samuel was achieving at least minimal success as a center fielder. But Len Berman never thought to mention Juan Samuel -– he was the Dodgers’ problem now, Len Berman said with his silence -- and for me, no news was bad news.

Was he hitting the cutoff man accurately? How is his range? He needs to be a quarterback out there! These were the thoughts that occupied my mind, while my peers foolishly obsessed over girls and skateboards.

In my heart, I knew what the outcome would be. And so when I heard that the Dodgers had moved Juan Samuel back to second base, after a month-and-a-half of fly balls lost in the sun, and collisions with right and left fielders, and that time his pants fell down out of nowhere, I was saddened, yes, but also relieved. Second basemen, after all, play second base. Still, I wondered how this would affect Juan Samuel, a pawn in the game of the Great Experiment:

For Juan, it had been a humbling experience as his production dropped off dramatically.

Who can blame him? How can a man hit when he is being forced to play defense in an unfamiliar grassy area that defies his natural instincts? Who would blame me for being a poor husband were I ever forced to work on a Saturday? No one. That’s who. If only some happiness could have arisen out of the ashes of this misery…

Happily, Juan didn’t lose any of the skills on the bases.

Amazing. Juan Samuel –- held hostage by an organizational philosophy to mismatch players to positions –- somehow, someway, maintained his ability to run fast. I don’t like to throw the word hero around often, but…

When I think back and reflect upon the Great Experiment, I often wonder what, exactly, sustained Juan Samuel throughout. Was it his toughness? Sure. You have to be tough to catch fly balls instead of ground balls. Was it his aggressive, free-swinging ways and carte blanche attitude? Maybe. Although that probably didn’t help him break out of his offensive rut.

I think, in the end, what most sustained Juan Samuel during the harsh process of inevitable failure was something that defined him as a person: his courtly manners.

Juan, an aggressive free swinger, with courtly manners, was one of the league’s toughest hitters.

When asked several years ago during an interview with Time Magazine about the Great Experiment, Juan Samuel gently placed his salad fork on the outside of his silverware, took a bow, and said politely, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Life is Just One Big Warren Spahn Puzzle

I’ve wracked my brain for just about the worst card you could prepare yourself for when you opened a pack. Let’s face it, if you were like me when you were a kid, all of your money was going towards cards, but if you weren’t—and I can say that I envy you, but I don’t know if I really believe myself when I say that—and you were only buying one or two packs just to remind yourself you were a little kid and this was what little kids (or pimply teenagers without a girlfriend or any semblance of a life, for that matter) were supposed to buy and be interested in (and could afford to buy, besides Garbage Pail Kids and candy (and yes this would be right around the time your best friend got Super Mario 3 and you couldn’t go over to his house every day)), you’d probably be mega-pissed if you got a crap card in your pack. How much did packs cost? 1986 Topps cost 35 cents a pack, Donruss and Fleer more so, 1987 Topps went up to 40 cents a pack (but you got 17 cards a pack) and it just went up from there…until now you can’t buy a pack under a buck or even two (but that’s a different gripe).

So while I’m mostly writing this entry as a starter for an open forum, I have a few obvious suggestions and one strong suggestion for what the worst card you could pull would be.

1. Juan Samuel, Phillies (any year): Here was a guy whom Topps ‘honored’ as an All-Star in 1988 (this year has arguably the most-awesome design for the All-Star card during the 1980s). Okay, so he did have a great 1987, with 100 RBI and over 25 homers for a pretty crap Phillies team. But no one would be happy to pull a Juan Samuel card, let alone his All-Star card. Here were your Topps All-Star second basemen in the Eighties. American League:1982 gave us Willie Randolph, 83 Bobby Grich, 84 Sweet Lou Whitaker, 85 & 86 Damaso Garcia, 87 Tony Bernazard, 88 Randolph again, and 89 Julio ‘Never Gonna Die’ Franco. I wouldn’t be too happy pulling any of those guys, especially the immortals Garcia and Bernazard, though I think Bernazard is active in the Players Union now (actually, I’m not really sure about that, but I like to think he has a desk with a nameplate and a wall of plaques, including one reading ‘The Topps Chewing Gum Company would like to congratulate Tony Bernazard on being named to said Company’s entirely arbitrarily-chosen 1988 All-Star team. Way to go, Tony.’ National League: 1982 Davey Lopes, 83 Manny Trillo, 84 Johnny Ray, 85 Ryne Sandberg, 86 Tommy Herr, 87 Steve Sax, 88 Juan Samuel, and 89 Sandberg once more. Are you kidding me? They should have just given it to Sandberg every year. It would’ve saved thousands of kids from becoming inconsolable after spotting a 2B All-Star, only to realize it was Tommy fuckin’ Herr, or Johnny Ray, Manny Trillo, Steve Sax, take your pick…no one’s going to remember those guys, and All-Star status lasts forever.

2. Bill Doran, Astros, 1986: The idea of the ‘Common’ is one that deserves its own dissertation, but the idea of the faceless common is entirely different, and deserves a short paragraph. Julio Cruz played a forgettable career, recording every year on a forgettable card. Read the back of his card presented here. ‘Julio can dunk basketball from standing start.’ Do you understand the implications of something like this? Julio Cruz is listed at 5’ 9”. And he can dunk from a standing start? Does that mean he has a vertical leap of almost 5 feet? Is that for real? I really want to meet him and make him dunk a basketball. But Bill Doran? There’s nothing great about his career, nothing great about how he spends his leisure time, and worst of all, his photos aren’t interesting. Just a faceless common Topps needed to fill the 792 card quota. Faceless commons present a very strong case as being the worst cards to pull.

3. Doubles. In the same pack. Get a double in a pack sucks, unless it’s of a very good player, but the odds of that would probably be very slim because of print runs, et cetera. Somehow I remember ending up with tons of Lance McCullers, Padres in the 1989 Topps set, (and I just opened two 1989 Donruss packs just now and got a Mark Lemke in each pack…Donruss might as well as just’ve made the puzzle that year Mark Lemke, which leads me to…)

4. The Boring Puzzle Piece, any year, Donruss: unless you got the face or the logo or bat or something, there was nothing fun about the Donruss Puzzle. It was just wasted space.

I leave the rest of this thought to you. What’s the worst card to pull?