This is the first design for the flagship Topps set (not their other brands) in the company's 65-year history that doesn't feature some kind of border. Think about that for a minute. The design malaise of the white-bordered years (2008–2014) seems like a distant memory. Even last year's casual homage to the 25th anniversary of 1990 Topps seems quaint. Borders? That's so 2015!
Full-bleed photography is old hat for a lot of card brands, most notably Topps's own Stadium Club imprint (the brand debuted in 1991 with a bright, shiny, never-done-before design feature: full-bleed Kodak photography). But Stadium Club has always been seen as more of a premium than the eponymous brand.
Obviously, it's a dramatic shift for Topps. But it's also a natural next step, as the company had to find a way to marry the designs of its base tactile and digital products (Topps Bunt). It could make more Bunt designs look like traditional baseball cards. Or it could make its baseball cards look more like video game cover art. They went with the latter.
And you know what? There's absolutely nothing wrong with that decision. Though the photography looks heavily processed, the cards are attractive. Incorporating the stock-in-trade faux watercolor look Topps has long employed in its Allen & Ginter designs doesn't hurt, either. The glossy stock doesn't feel cheap, and the photos are a nice mix of in-game action shots and paused-action close-ups.
Even some of the inserts breathe with their own life: besides the trip-down-memory-lane retread (Berger's Best), the Stadium Club–esque "Perspectives" and position players as pitchers (Pressed Into Service) are fun ideas. The celebrities insert isn't bad (First Pitch), and the Cubs insert is okay, even though its subjects skew more toward the present-day roster than I would have liked (100 Years of Wrigley Field). These are all insert sets I would collect, though the Wrigley Field set gets me thinking: Why didn't they do something like this for Fenway Park's 100th anniversary in 2012? The only insert set that had me yawning was the one-two lineup punch of "Back 2 Back." The world doesn't need any more insert cards celebrating Ryan Braun.
Even some of the inserts breathe with their own life: besides the trip-down-memory-lane retread (Berger's Best), the Stadium Club–esque "Perspectives" and position players as pitchers (Pressed Into Service) are fun ideas. The celebrities insert isn't bad (First Pitch), and the Cubs insert is okay, even though its subjects skew more toward the present-day roster than I would have liked (100 Years of Wrigley Field). These are all insert sets I would collect, though the Wrigley Field set gets me thinking: Why didn't they do something like this for Fenway Park's 100th anniversary in 2012? The only insert set that had me yawning was the one-two lineup punch of "Back 2 Back." The world doesn't need any more insert cards celebrating Ryan Braun.
And don't get me started about parallels. On the whole, I think they're a waste of time, especially if they don't add anything to the design. In the packs I opened, I got a few rainbow foil parallels (not serial-numbered), a few "gold" parallels (numbered out of 2016), and an acetate "clear" parallel of Mark Melancon (numbered out of 10). The clear acetate parallel is a fun idea, and reminds me of a throwback from the mid-1990s. The other parallels, however, are not fun and remind me only that it would've been nice to receive a different card in my pack. I especially don't understand the logic of non-serial-numbered parallels. I think it would be much more enticing if the rainbow-foil cards were numbered out of 1,000,000 or whatever their print run happened to be. (Of course, the next logical step in this serial-numbering madness is for every single card to be serial-numbered. Oh, how I long for a Jered Weaver numbered 1,110,054 / 200,650,755! Every single stinkin' card would be unique...)
By elevating the look and feel of the base cards of the flagship set, Topps has done something that all 21st-century companies try to achieve: they've unified their brands. This is different from past years where all that separated Opening Day, flagship, and Topps Chrome was a logo and card stock. Base digital and tactile offerings look and feel similar, and low-end and higher-end tactile offerings incorporate similar, if not the same, design characteristics. For Topps, there's the hope that this diminishes attrition; not just losing customers to other card manufacturers, but to the company's real competition: video games, smartphones, and whatever else steals the attention and dollars of collectors.
Heavily Photoshopped cards without borders is just the beginning. Maybe the next step for the company will be an augmented reality app where you use the backgrounds of tactile cards to find "hidden" virtual packs of Topps Bunt cards in the real world. And so it may seem like a small thing, but I bet you that we won't see the return of a white—or any other color, tint, or hue—border anytime soon.
Heavily Photoshopped cards without borders is just the beginning. Maybe the next step for the company will be an augmented reality app where you use the backgrounds of tactile cards to find "hidden" virtual packs of Topps Bunt cards in the real world. And so it may seem like a small thing, but I bet you that we won't see the return of a white—or any other color, tint, or hue—border anytime soon.
Before I get into how much I like 1959 Topps (it’s by far the most brilliant Topps design of the early years, embracing jazz, beat, and a post-modernist pop culture sensibility within the staid, confines of baseball; plus it’s one of the few American card designs that was blatantly copied for a Japanese card set (1967 Kabaya Leaf, image shown from 
I’ve written about Upper Deck before at great length, but when they burst onto the scene in 1989, they got so many things right that the normal learning curve just didn’t apply. They led their sets with (and thus showcased) rookies. They included special cards, cards with fun, offbeat photography, artistic cards and holograms—lots of holograms. And they built on their success the very next year with randomly-inserted autographed cards, insert cards and more of what made their 1989 product great. Sure, they made a helluva lot more of the cards in 1990 and the set wasn’t career-defining, but it helped set the table for the company for the next few years. Their forward-thinking mentality helped them nearly corner the certified-autographed sports memorabilia racket and carried them into the 21st century. Round about this time, Donruss lost their license from Major League Baseball, Upper Deck bought up what was left of the Fleer imprint after the company went bankrupt and many of the other early-Nineties competitors fell by the wayside. Coming into 2007, the landscape is again sparsely populated, with only Topps and Upper Deck producing licensed sets. So far the two companies have released at least eight product lines between them, with many more on the way (there were 38 different product lines produced in 2006, not counting the scores of insert sets available as well). 
Then I found that Kmart sold ‘fat packs’ which are essentially rack packs, as you get 32 cards for $4.99. So I ended up buying 3 fat packs. I’m not entirely disappointed in my pulls, as I understand that you pay a premium for hobby boxes because you’re basically paying for the chance for the big insert pull, and that was really not what I was looking for.
That’s really all there is to the front of the base card. Slap a Fleer logo on it and you’re done. And you know what? It’s not that bad. In fact, I kind of like it. The only bad thing about the base set is that there are no posed sideline or headshots—all cards feature action shots. As for the positives, let’s look at the design a little closer: they’ve chosen a dull coat gloss for the front and a matte finish for the back, the trademark Fleer clean white border is present, and the design is pretty straightforward. Topps’ 2007 offering—with its little boxes, silver foil stamp and facsimile autograph—is bells and whistles in comparison to Fleer. This base set is decidedly no-frills, which is very nice. 
The In The Zone cards are possibly the ugliest insert card of the year so far, and that’s including Topps’ Alex Rodriguez Home Run History set, which are hideous. The Year in Review cards should not be an insert set at all, but a subset in the base set. The card I got of Bobby Abreu isn’t that bad, but it looks like the designer didn’t know where to ghost-out Abreu’s photo and bring up the celestial calendar background. It ends up looking a little muddy, but a good idea for design. But perhaps the worst idea for an insert set is the parallel set, which is basically the base set without the white border. I’m going to call them Little Cards. I think they’re dumb. If Fleer wanted to put out a little set and have it be exactly like the regular set, why didn’t they also issue little packs and little blaster boxes? Then it would’ve at least been more collectible, a la the 1975 Topps Minis. Instead collectors are faced with the prospect of a parallel set with no redeeming value except that the cards are missing their border. Besides, what’s the point of paying a premium on a card if anyone with a pair of scissors can turn a regular card into a parallel? The Little Cards get the thumbs down.
This set feels perfect for young collectors, as insert cards are being distributed almost as freely as cards from the base set (I pulled 17 insert and parallel cards out of a total of seven packs), players from the same team are checklisted next to each other, and there seems to be a healthy dose of rookie cards that are readily accessible within packs (the packs I bought said that they contained at least two rookie cards on average). Plus, how can you go wrong with a set that calls every team by its nickname except the Rockies, which it calls the ‘Colorado Rockies’? I mean, c’mon, how great is that?
How many more years can Topps do the Heritage line? You have to think they’ll do it as long as it makes them money, right? Or is it more of a question of design? I’d like to think it’s the latter, that at a certain point they’d stop (after the well of classic design runs dry). So how many more years? Well, they’re set for now, because this set is almost flawless, a huge improvement from last year’s Heritage ’57 (and I’ve always been a much bigger fan of the 1957 design than 1958). Topps had stellar design years in 1959, 1960 (to a certain degree), 1963, 1965, 1967, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1977, 1978…but Upper Deck compromised more than a few of those years with their own rip-off Vintage line, and do we really need or want Heritage ’78? 
This set—one of the strongest Heritage sets in years—represents Topps at the top of their design arc of the 1950s-1960s. Gone are the unneeded (and historically inaccurate) action poses. Instead: lots of close-ups and medium close-ups. Now I know beyond a doubt that not only does Jeff Weaver look exactly like Zach from Gilmore Girls, but he will probably fight you if you tell him. Gone is the washed-out photography that seriously marred last year’s Heritage ’57 set. Taking their places are strong colors: from the better-quality photography to the iconic solid color background; even the backs feel stronger than last year’s. The deep red may be a little hard to read in low light, but for some reason when I read them I get the strongest urge to learn how to chew tobacco. This is also odd, because I’ve always considered 1958’s design to be the most elemental Topps ever produced, almost to the flash-card degree. Like all great art, it’s all things to all people: elegant, abstract, simple, international, clean, crisp, modern, and yet I find it very pre-school (I think it would be fascinating to track down some of the old Topps designers and have them explain how they went from the almost no-design design of 1958 to the ultra modern, beatnik, jazz-record-and-advertising design of 1959. The two years couldn’t be more different. I almost expect the explanation to be that there was a change in art department leadership). Because today’s Topps designers didn’t muck around with the base card design (or any aspect thereof), it works.
They should really do a design overhaul on this one, and while they’re at it, they should re-evaluate where they’re getting their images. This one of Kaline is obviously taken off his 1967 card. Not even the right decade! How dumb do they think we are? 
At least in the Mantle set’s defense, it commemorates his 1958 home run title and it’s printed on the same stock as the set, so it sort of fits. But the Rodriguez cards have nothing to do with anything, plus they are printed on thin glossy stock. They feel out of place in Heritage packs, like Topps got the target audience wrong. They’re as bad and feel as worthless as the Hobby Masters from last year’s Series 2 hobby packs. 
one thing holding me back from going for the master set (I’m 11 cards shy of the master Heritage ’54 set), and it’s this: in 1958, card #273 featured Hal Smith of the Cardinals. Smith, possibly to stem the tide of questions about who was who between the two Hal Smith’s, possibly because he was just having fun or was out of his mind, had his photo taken with his mask on. It’s one of the greatest cards ever. He’s even giving a sign, which to a little boy might look like he’s gesturing inappropriately. I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure he’s smiling, and it sure as hell is creepy. That’s why I’m crossing my fingers that there’s a card of Joe Mauer or Jason Varitek with their mask and pads on, hopefully giving an equally inappropriate-looking sign. Then I’ll know it’s okay to dive in head-first.
I went out to the Babylon Sports Memorabilia Show on Saturday in Babylon, New York. And while I ended up with really great steals (more on those later), I spent my twenty bucks and made the rite the passage into spring—4 packs of Topps and 3 packs of Heritage. And I have to say that I’m both under- and overwhelmed. I guess the most accurate term is ‘whelmed’. I’m whelmed by 2007 Topps products (so far). Let’s get right to it.
Take a look at the front and back of this Francisco Cordero card (my first card of the season). Besides the fact that his Rangers uniform is now magically a Brewers jersey a lá the Apple iPod Shuffle TV ads, and that he doesn’t seem to know how to spell his own name (‘Francico Cordero’ = signature), notice how on the back there’s that awkward black bar taking up the left fourth of the card. There’s Coco’s little block of a headshot. OK, now, that black bar provides enough room for a much larger photo, framed in an oblong rectangle, or maybe an artistic take on the team logo, or at least a series of blocky shots, like frames from a filmstrip or something. The way they’ve got it now, it’s just wasted space. Plus, it’s black, so unless Sharpie invents a white marker, kids aren’t going to use that back bar as an autograph panel. 
Daryle Ward In the 1987 set, Dion James was shown in his Yankees uniform but his team logo was Toronto. So, given Topps’ history of trying to stay on top of things, that one was understandable, even if his stats never reflected the change in teams. So explain to me how—or maybe why is the better question—did Topps think it would be a good idea to put Ward in a Cubs uniform, actually swinging a bat, supposedly in live game play? His stats don’t suggest he even played one game for the Cubs, and he played for two teams in 2006: the Nationals and the Braves…fun fact, Daryle Ward is from the same town in California as Weird Al Yankovic.
Mike Redmond Man, that’s two back-up catchers. In one pack.
Let me start by saying that I haven’t really collected basketball cards since 1993. I think my last major purchase of that era was a box of Upper Deck’s 93/94 Series I and I just wasn’t impressed enough to continue collecting the sport; Topps had just introduced Finest onto the scene and everything was headed towards the same mid-Nineties blah that engulfed baseball cards: too many sets, too many inserts, expensive packs, and one or two exciting rookies but mostly heaps of garbage. 
Topps seems to have had an inside man working for the NBA last year, because almost 95% of the base card photos feature a player skying for a rebound, slamming home a killer dunk, or in mid-flight somewhere around the basket. It’s obvious that Topps had access to a camera directly behind the backboard, though there are some other shots (Matt Harpring’s card comes to mind), where it wouldn’t surprise me if Ethan Hunt took the photos while suspended from a guy wire sixty feet above the court at the Delta Center. 
Here’s another interesting thing about this set. Topps seems to need a father-figure/hero to worship. In baseball it’s Mickey Mantle. I don’t know who it is for football or hockey. For basketball it’s Larry Bird. This set features a great Larry Bird 'Missing Years' insert set where they take each year’s baseball design from 1982 to 1991 and give Bird a card. It’s a simple, winning idea, one that I hope they do for their hero worship player next year (it could work nicely for Magic or Dominique, who were both around for all of the 1980s). This insert set may actually be the sole reason for me to continue to buy packs of this set and may end up as my insert set of the year, regardless of sport. Plus, it's a nicer baseball/Bird tie-in insert idea than Bird's weird insert from the 1994 Ted Williams Baseball card set of Larry hunched over playing shortstop in what looks like either high school or college (or an early-Eighties Celtics charity softball game).
