Book

Hi everyone,

I hope this blog post finds you well. I also hope you have been enjoying / tolerating my rambling posts about baseball cards.

I wanted to let you know that I wrote a book. It is the same title as my personal blog, "So, Do You Like ... Stuff"" and can be purchased here.

The book has nothing to do with baseball cards, like, many would say, my baseball card posts. It's about, well, other stuff. If you like my writing in general, I think you would like the book, too, is all I'm saying.

Our own esteemed Ben Henry provided a very kind back cover blurb for the book, and so it's almost like, if you don't buy it, you're kind of doing a disservice to Ben. Those are his words, not mine.

Of course, I kid. Buy the book, buy several books ... whatever. Doesn't matter to me. I will still be your Internet/blog friend regardless.

Enjoy the season!

Mike Kenny

Curb Your Enthusiaczm

Mark Gubicza and John Russell, 1990 Fleer "Superstar Specials" series

MARK GUBICZA and JEFF RUSSELL, you have henceforth been selected to consecutive AL All-Star Games and are now featured on Fleer’s “Super Star Specials” series as “STARTER & STOPPER.” Please try to contain your excitement!







Thank you.

It is possible that both MARK GUBICZA and JEFF RUSSELL remain perturbed that their respective names have not received the proper name recognition as the more celebrated hurlers in baseball at this time of 1990—players like Roger Clemens and Nolan Ryan and Roger Clemens. Perhaps CAPS LOCK will do the trick?



Neither MARK GUBIZCA nor JEFF RUSSELL carries the name recognition of the more celebrated hurlers in baseball.

Person: Hey, have you heard of MARK GUBIZCA?

Other person: Who? No! That name sounds silly and difficult to spell.

Person: What about JEFF RUSSELL?

Other person: Why are you screaming at me? And yes—I went to kindergarten with a Jeff Russell. He used to eat his boogers and poop in his pants and there was a big rumor once that he put his boogers in his poop.

Person: No, I am talking about the major league pitcher.

Other person: You mean Roger Clemens? Yes! Let us celebrate him with a toast!

But now that each has been selected to represent the AL in the last two All-Star games that should change.

Whew! The last thing I want is for two guys making lots of money who play baseball for a living and are All-Stars and who every person who follows baseball is aware of regardless of any misconception that they are wallowing in obscurity (deep breath … ) to be not afforded the proper name recognition.

Let’s start with GUBIZCA. What would you say is most impressive about GUBIZCA?

Most impressive about GUBIZCA is his tenacity.

Awesome! Please elaborate.

Over the last two seasons he has pitched 524.2 innings.

Good gracious that is tenacious! What about RUSSELL?

RUSSELL earned a save or win in 53% of the Rangers’ victories.

The 1989 Texas Rangers slogan was “Got RUSSELL?” Because the milk ads had yet to surface, this made little sense to both fans and other MLB teams. In fact, confused, the Atlanta Braves responded with their own slogan: “Yeah. John,” which made even less sense bereft of context. As a means of escalating the Russell war, the Rangers countered by signing John Russell the next season, and as a result, 96% of Rangers wins and loses were at least partially influenced by a Russell in the year of 1990.

Any rare feats I should know about?

Thus, he made the All-Star team as a starter in 1988 and as a reliever in 1989.

Okaaaay …

A rare feat!

Oh, cool!

GUBIZCA and RUSSELL would go on to star in the popular UPN sitcom, “The Starter and the Stopper,” in which a black major league starting pitcher and a white major league closer—who are best friends—solve crimes. GUBIZCA and RUSSELL played local shop owners.

The Virtues of Hanging Around

Chad Curtis, 1996 Topps

As a Yankee fan, Chad Curtis holds a special place in my heart. I read in Buster Olney’s “Last Night of the Yankee Dynasty” that Curtis irked Derek Jeter by apparently trying to impose his Christian beliefs on the rest of the clubhouse. Eventually Curtis was shipped off. Running a secular clubhouse is just another Jeter intangible that doesn’t show up in the boxscore. In God’s boxscore though, Jeter is 0-for-4 with three errors, but … forgiven!

Coincidentally, Curtis was drafted by the Angels, who, fed up with his angelic ways, traded him to Detroit. Then, this happened:



Chad arrived in a trade 13 days before the season opener,

Wait—he only had two weeks to prepare for playing baseball with a different baseball team? Whhhaaaaaaaattttt????? He must have fell flat on his face!

then did what no other Tiger had since 1987: produce a 20-HR/20-SB season.

Detroit Tigers (in unison): Hi, Chad! Welcome to spring training.

Curtis: Hello, team. This season I am going to hit 20 home runs and also steal 20 bases, so you can run and go tell that.

Tigers: Are you crazy? No Tiger has accomplished such a feat since 1987!

Curtis: Well, 1987 was only eight years ago. Also, 20 is not really a lot. Also, your team is not very good.

Tigers: True, true.

Curtis: Why are you all standing around shirtless, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes?

Tigers: Why? How do YOU prepare for games, Mr. Goodie-two-spikes?

Curtis: God help me.

Even the Angel scout who signed him out of the draft’s 45th round admits he didn’t consider Curtis a prospect, hoping he’d hang around long enough to perhaps develop into a coach.

Angels’ front office executives: Hello, anonymous scout. How did things go during the 45th round today?

Scout: Well, first of all, let me say this—45 rounds is way too many rounds. I mean, I haven’t seen my family in six years.

Executives: …

Scout: Anyway, I grabbed some guy (fumbling through his notes) … Chad Curtis. He’s uh … a pitcher? No. Outfielder? He plays in the outfield somewhere. He’s white, I think. I don’t know. I don’t think he’s very good.

Executives: Okay, interesting. So what you’re telling us is that, you drafted a baseball player to play baseball for us who you do not think will be very good at playing baseball? Do we have that right? May we ask you then, why do we employ you to scout for us?

Scout: Well, I was hoping he’d hang around long enough to develop into a coach.

Executives: Oh, well then, why didn’t you say so! This will put us as frontrunners to win the World Series of Coaching, which isn’t a thing, because you are an idiot.

Scout: C’mon. It’s the 45th round!

Executives: Is there a definite amount of time that Mr. Curtis must “hang around” as a player in order to develop into a coach? We were not aware that coaching baseball at any level required major league experience.

Scout: I’m leaving. You guys are jerks.

Executives: Wait! Don’t go! Who will draft us a potential equipment manager in the 46th round? (They all give each other hi-fives. End scene.)

Alvaro Espinoza-lot

Alvaro Espinoza, 1991 Stadium Club

Here is a picture of Alvaro Espinoza getting ready to make an out. This wasn’t necessarily my favorite sight to see as a young Yankee fan, but man—Stadium Club made it look good, didn’t they?

Let’s take an in-depth look at Alvaro Espinoza’s adeptness at hitting baseballs, and let us start where we always do—with the Fastball Bars System:





As you can see from the Fastball Bars System chart, Alvaro Espinoza played baseball. Also, if you were a major league pitcher at the time, and a fastball was part of your repertoire, your best bet was to throw Alvaro Espinoza a high outside fastball. According to the chart, Espinoza never hit a high outside fastball in his entire life. Another good place to throw Alvaro Espinoza a fastball was pretty much anywhere.

But what about his fastball/curveball splits versus both right and left-handed pitchers? I’m glad you asked. For that let’s walk over to Star-rating Evaluation box. Stars are an easy and convenient way to capture a player’s ability. Is so-and-so good at baseball? Let’s see … three stars? Okay, cool! I understand now. Out of how many stars? I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.

In Alvaro Espinoza’s case, he earned three stars for hitting curveballs versus left-handed pitchers. That is important information for you to know as you continue living life. But what about hitting curveballs versus right-handed pitchers? Well, as we say in the business (printer repair), one star is better than no stars. Watching Alvaro Espinoza not hit curveballs versus right-handed pitchers was the equivalent of watching a romantic comedy starring Katherine Heigl and Ashton Kutcher. Unless you were on the other team, in which case it was like watching a romantic comedy starring Katherine Heigl and Al Pacino.

Now, I know what you’re saying: Charts and evaluation boxes are cool and all, but what about general comments? Well, Stadium Club has got that covered, too.

COMMENTS: Weak vs. outside and inside fastballs vs. RH.

What separated Espinoza from his peers was his average ability to hit fastballs right down the middle of the plate.

STRENGTHS: Medium-high outside curves vs. RH (.363)

The saying around baseball circa 1991 was, “You do NOT want to throw Alvaro Espinoza a medium-high outside curve if you’re right-handed.” Those rookie right-handers? Ha, ha … those guys found out the hard way.

WEAKNESSES: Low-outside curves vs. RH, outside fastballs vs. LH

Allow me to recap these general comments if I may: COMMENTS: Has weaknesses. STRENGTHS; One thing, kinda. WEAKNESSES: Everything else; see COMMENTS.

Espinoza’s Wikipedia page, which uses words to capture his career, lists several things that he was famous for being good at. For the following things, we will award him four stars:

-Knowledge
-Concentration
-Getting to balls that flashier shortstops would not be able to, as their flashiness prevents them from having knowledge or concentration (zero stars for them)
-Having a name that Yankees’ PA announcer Bob Sheppard liked to say
-Bubble gum hat antics

My own personal reflections on Alvaro Espinoza can be seen here. All in all, I think what it comes down to is this: You can have your complex charts and evaluation boxes and spreadsheets and computers and iPhones and time machines and whatever. But if you want a guy to just go out there and play some baseball? And concentrate? Well … he’s got a name. And ya’ know what? It’s pretty darn fun to say.

A Precious Solid

John Ramos, 1991 Fleer Ultra Prospects series

Everybody, this is John Ramos. John Ramos, everybody. John is going to pose in a batting stance while the rest of us discuss rare commodities in baseball, okay? Let’s get down to business.



What is the rarest commodity in baseball?

Ooh, ooh, I know! Albert Pujols. Oh wait. What year is this … ’91? Oh, okay. Barry Bonds. The answer is Barry Bonds.

A flamethrowing lefthander?

No. I mean, that’s good and all, don’t get me wrong. But lefties who throw fast, while they don’t grow on trees—the “southpaw fire spruce,” as many believe, which is cultivated in remote areas of central New Mexico—are not the rarest baseball commodity. Does this hypothetical flamethrower have pinpoint location? That would be better. But ya’ know what’s even better than that? Barry Bonds.

No.

See?

A shortstop with great range and power?

Is the shortstop Barry Bonds? Then yes. If not, no. Again, great thing to have. But if by “rarest commodity” you mean the best asset a baseball team could posses—and I think that’s what you mean—then again, no. I would say that the rarest commodity in baseball is a great player with a great eye who is fast and powerful and awesome defensively who plays everyday and who is great at playing baseball and who is Barry Bonds. Would it be better if he weren’t kind of a dick? Sure. That’s why I originally answered “Pujols.” But it’s ’91, and I’m working with what I’ve been given.

Also, sidebar: It’s common knowledge that the 1991 NL MVP voting was a joke. But I mean, are you freakin’ kidding me? I feel like the BBWAA got a pass on this, when in fact—in the realm of awards, which are kind of stupid—this is like the gravest injustice of my lifetime. Every time a BBWAA member writes a grand, pretentious opus about why he voted for so-and-so for whatever, it should always end with the phrase, “But then again, Terry Pendleton.”

Maybe.

“Maybe?” Could you please be more definitive in dismissing your own answers to your own question?

What has become a rarity is a solid catcher who can hit. Meet John Ramos.

Okay, first of all, we already met John Ramos. Also, your original question was, “What is the rarest commodity in baseball?” and you have pseudo-responded to that question by naming something that has “become” a rarity. Also, this is wrong. Literally every baseball team has a solid catcher who can hit (at least a little). I mean, you pose this grandiose question and answer it with solid? “Solid” is a description for a player who has no distinguishable characteristics. Also, what does John Ramos have to do with all this?

This 25-year-old was a fifth round selection in the 1986 draft and has been brought along slowly.

Oh, wait. I see. You are saying that John Ramos is the rarest commodity in baseball. Hmmm. Okay. John, what do you think? {John Ramos nods his head “no.”} I don’t mean to knock John Ramos here or anything, who seems like a nice enough guy, but maybe it’s not so much that he’s being brought along slowly as it is that he is going slowly. {John Ramos nods his head “yes.”}

With the Yankees perennially weak behind the plate,

Ummm, apparently someone has never heard of the Matt Nokes Pyramid of Hitting.

this former late-round selection will be looked upon to add some offensive punch and a calming influence to a young Yankees’ staff in the near future.

No, he won’t. Also, offensive punch + calming influence = rarest commodity. If I had a nickel for every guy who lacked offensive punch and was a disruptive influence, I’d have like, a nickel that wasn’t very rare.

*Note: It seems as though the Matt Nokes website has changed. Please trust me that the original site was much more amazing.

Ontiveros Shocks the World, With Finesse

Steve Ontiveros, 1996 Pinnacle

Now this is what a baseball card should be. Quality color action shot on the front; glam shot on the back. No clutter, but a simple gold pyramid thingee draws the eye, and my heart (I heart gold pyramid thingees). Short tidbit on the back is professionally executed, yet silly enough to allow me to bleed out yet another pointless post. It’s all there. So let’s go there.



A finesse pitcher

TANGENT ALERT! Ever try your hand at one of those “test your pitching speed” things on the boardwalk down at the Jersey Shore or whatever crappy beach you grew up near? Me too. Never a good idea, especially if you are with other people (although, worse idea: going to the boardwalk alone). I think one time I topped out at 49 mph. I always walk away from those things blaming the speed gun for not working, even though I threw the ball three times and each time it registered the same exact speed.

Another great time is going to the batting cage and upping the ol’ speed meter to “medium,” and by the time you finally get your timing down enough to foul a few pitches off, the reserve high school shortstop waiting behind the netting for his turn is making fun of you to his skanky girlfriend. It seems you have failed to convince yourself and others that you used to play sports. The good news? You look great in your cargo shorts and oversized batting helmet.

Anyway, Steve Ontiveros is classified as, first and foremost on his very own card, a finesse pitcher, which is a nice way of saying he doesn’t throw fast. This seemingly runs contrary to the picture on the front of the card—I’m not impressed by much, but his hand is a blur! In all honesty, Steve Ontiveros probably topped out in the high 80s to low 90s (I could probably look that up, but I don’t feel like it). The point is, that is hella fast. Yet, it is considered slow by major league standards.

This is why I love baseball. We’ve all played, and we all think we’re pretty good, and some of us have achieved success on the lower amateur ranks (the “Great Effort” Little League trophy sponsored by Vinnie’s Pizza was the goal of many a boy in East Brunswick, NJ). Yet no matter how old we get, we stand in awe of those who are only thrown off when they see a pitch slower than 90 miles per hour; by those who throw harder than we could ever imagine, but who have to change speeds just to survive.

who survives by changing speeds,

In the movie Speed 3: Ontiveros at the Wheel, Oakland A’s pitcher Steve Ontiveros drives a bus hijacked with an explosive, and must constantly change the bus’ speed from 55 mph to zero or else everyone on the bus will die, including him. Does he fall in love? You betcha.

Steve surprised the world by posting the AL’s best ERA in 1994.

The headline of the Beijing Gazette on the morning of September 14, 1994 read: World, Including Us, Shocked: A’s Ontiveros AL ERA Champ of Strike-Shortened American Season. Subtitle: 2.65 Mark Almost Run and a Half Higher Than Previous Career Best, Minimum 100 Innings-Pitched. All of this was written in Chinese. The Russian tabloids were much harsher. Blared the Soviet Herald: Steve Who? AL ERA Title, League Loses Credibility. Subtitle: Country Obviously Vulnerable; Now Could Be Time To Attack. This was written in Russian.

The world renown honor of hoisting the American League ERA trophy of a strike-shorted season (the gold-plated plastic pitcher on the trophy has no torso, so as to signify the shortened season) was not lost on Ontiveros, who used his worldwide fame to, according to Wikipedia, become the pitching coach for the Chinese National Baseball team in the Beijing Olympics. Ontiveros, who was born in New Mexico, was granted citizenship and a spot on the national coaching staff after the Chinese government discovered that Ontiveros had listed China as second in a Nickoldeon "Kids & The Pros" survey which asked him to the list the top three countries he'd most like to visit.

The Small Insect Slayer

Bo Jackson, 1994 Topps

Ya’ know what I’m sick and tired of? Bees. You know who agrees with me? Bo freakin’ Jackson.

I honestly cannot recall a situation where a bee showed up and made things better. What’s their deal, anyway? The main reason I don’t like bees is because—and I don’t want to get too much into science here—they can sting you. And they will! For no reason. Sometimes I will discover a bee in my car and my natural instinct is to react as if I am on fire and my main priority becomes getting the bee out of the car rather than paying attention to what else is happening on the road. I am more fearful of getting pinched with a miniscule stinger than getting into a multi-car accident.

Is my reaction to bees embarrassing? No. Ya’ know why? Because Bo Jackson reacts the same way:



On 9-26-93,

Write that date down. It will be important should anyone ever ask if you remember the exact day that Bo Jackson got attacked by a bee.

Bo was chased from the batter’s box to the dugout by a bee.

Bo Jackson played 12 professional sports and could bench-press a tank while eating a sandwich made of glass. Yet even he was not immune to the clear and present danger of bees. I mean really, a grown man trying to do his job getting harassed by a stupid little bee … IS THERE NO END TO THEIR WRATH?! If only someone had the guts and wherewithal to show those bees—or at least a bee—that we’re not gonna stand for this abuse!

He stepped back in and stung a pitch for a home run.

Ha! Score one for the good guys (humans)! Nothing shuts a bee up quicker than a home run. That stupid bee thought he could distract Bo Jackson? Pfft. After getting chased back to the dugout like a ninny and not coming back until he was certain the bee was gone, Bo Jackson was like, “Alright, enough. Let’s play some baseball.” Also, not sure if you caught this, but he didn’t just hit the pitch—he stung it. See, Bo turned things around and did what the bee could have done to him to a baseball, in a figuratively descriptive sense, because you can’t really sting a ball with a wooden bat. But still!

It’s never been confirmed, but I like to believe that the pitcher that day, Kenny Rogers, set aside the politics of baseball for a moment, recognized the statement that needed to be made to bees all over the world, and just grooved one right in there. That, or he was just pitching like Kenny Rogers.

Also, needless to say, this assault on bees obviously excludes the loyal bumblebees who work in baseball. There are some good ones out there.

Buff, Meet Bubba; Bubba, Buff

Tom Niedenfuer, 1989 Topps

Check out Tom Niedenfuer, the proudest District Manager of Produce at Orioles fantasy camp.

Ha, ha … (tear). I kid Tom Niedenfuer because he’s a good sport. I think. I’ve never actually talked to him, but I feel like I have, and that feeling says, “Go nuts making light of my professional baseball career—I married an actress who appeared in Playboy, so what do I care?” Okay, Tom, will do!

So by now we all know that Tom Niedenfuer famously married Judy Landers of, among other things, The Love Boat, and less-famously gave up two of the biggest post season bombs in recent baseball history—Ozzie Smith and Jack Clark’s respective 1985 NLCS ding-dongs. But what other interesting tidbits can Topps provide with regards to Tom Niedenfuer, playa extraordinaire?



Born in Minnesota, Tom’s family moved to Pennsylvania when he was age 3. He resided in Scranton and West Chester, then moved to Washington State in 3rd grade.

What happened? Honestly? I feel asleep. Where am I? Tom Niedenfuer? Hold on, I’m sorry—let me read that again.

Born in Minnesota, Tom’s family moved to Pennsylvania when he was age 3. He resided in Scranton and West Chester, then moved to Washington State in 3rd grade.

Wowwwwww! Minnesota, Pennsylvania , AND Washington??!! That’s three states! All before third grade??!! Tom Niedenfuer is da man! I wonder if he had an awesome nickname?!

Nicknamed Buff

For his great physique, as displayed above?

(short for Buffalo “because he had a big head,” Tom Lasorda said.)

That seems like a roundabout way of saying that someone has a big head. Why not just call him “Big Head?” I mean, I realize that buffalo have big heads as compared to humans, but are they like, the big-headed animal of note? I’m a little confused. That also makes consecutive posts referencing large, furry mammals traditionally hunted for sport. If anyone knows of a baseball player nicknamed “Elk,” please send me a card asap so we can keep this thing moving.

Quick aside: I often wish I were a professional baseball player, so that my peers in the clubhouse could endearingly josh me about some perceived physical flaw. Like, I have a cleft lip, so I wonder … would they call me “Clefty?” “Cleft Claven?” “Cleftopatomas?” I guess I’ll never know.

What else?

Daughter, Kristy, was featured on the show “My Super Sweet 16” in 2007.

Interesting to note that she goes by Kristi Flanders as opposed to Kristi Niedenfuer. I’m sure it’s because she doesn’t want any favoritism as she embarks on a professional baseball career. Anyway, that was the episode that featured the girls dancing provocatively with rapper Bubba Sparxxx during the circus-themed party at the Ringling Mansion (?)! That’s the parenting equivalent of giving of giving up two huge postseason home runs in two days! Except worse! Hooray Buff!

The Moose Whisperer (Psst -- You're Dead, Moose)

Moose Haas, 1981 Fleer

This card predates the prime of my baseball card-collecting years, and I honestly do not know where it came from or why I have it. It’s likely I traded for it, enticed by the allure of owning a small card featuring a man named “Moose.” One of my dad’s good friends is nicknamed Goose, so I may have been under the impression that Moose Haas was also one of my dad’s friends. He is not. Although he should be. I feel like they would get along.

Here’s the thing though—if you’re going to make a baseball card of a guy named Moose, who has a mustache and doesn’t wear a hat and plays baseball in Milwaukee, I’m going to need more of an explanation than simple baseball statistics. Luckily, there are other sources of information:

“Moose” earned his nickname after an unfortunate weekend run-in with a full-grown moose while on vacation in the Appalachian mountains.

I suspect this “run-in” was unfortunate for the moose only. Also, no kidding—you ran into a moose in the Appalachian mountains? Who would have figured?! A full-grown moose, too! Not one of those baby moose(s?) that you see all the time. Crazy. What five-star hotel were you staying at in the Appalachian mountains, Moose, that this moose so callously invaded?

Quick aside: please no more discussion about how nicknames aren’t like they used to be. Sure, A-Rod and CarGo aren’t entirely original, but neither is:

"Heh, heh. You killed a moose. We’re gonna call you … Moose."

The confrontation

What weapon was the moose using during this confrontation? A sword? Can you tell I’m a vegetarian?

resulted in the 12-foot-tall (3.7 m) moose

I swear he was 12-feet tall if he was a foot! -- George Costanza

felled at the hands of Mr. Haas.

I don’t like to throw the word hero around very often, so I won’t, but Moose Haas is a better person and American than Davey Crockett. And Daniel Boone. And Dan Boone.

If I may, allow me to reword this legendary baseball tale in layman’s terms. Ahem …

One time Bryan Haas, a professional baseball player, went moose-hunting and he shot a moose. After that, everyone called him Moose. The end. (applause)

The head of the moose (who Mr. Haas later named “Wallace”) was hung in his dining room as a memento of that infamous meeting and remains on display to this day.

Cute. I like when people name the things they kill. Am I crazy or this the plot to every Disney movie? Also, a giant moose head is a good conversation-starter, and goes well with any Pottery Barn-inspired décor. What else?

On Moose’s 1987 Topps Baseball Card,

That Wikipedia is going to the back of baseball cards for its information makes me worried.

Moose is also a locksmith, a magician, and a black belt in taekwondo.

I mean, obviously. Does anybody here know a moose-hunter that can’t pick a lock or karate-chop through wood? Didn’t think so. But the way that sentence is worded makes it sound as though Moose is actually pictured doing all three things on the back of that card. I am certain that is not the case, but if I’m wrong, somebody please send me that card immediately.

Also—and I am being completely serious—my dad is black belt in taekwondo. I told you those two would get along!

A Rush of Gold to the Beard

Jeff Reardon, 1994 Score "Gold Rush" series

Last year we got drawn-in by a series on TV called “America: The Story of Us.” One part involved the California gold rush of the mid-1800s. Men left their families behind in hopes of striking it rich, crossing dangerous terrain and encountering wild beasts and risking death all the way, an end that many realized. Some survived but abandoned their families anyway. Few actually struck it rich. It was a seminal event in American history, and a testament to this nation’s courage and fortitude, and to its perpetual fantasy of greener pastures.

As I sat there watching, I couldn’t help but think to myself, “Ya’ know, a company should pay homage to this event in our nation’s history, not through any exploration of the event itself, but by using it to sell small pictures of baseball players, thereby which the company can exploit the desired wealth of a new generation of growing men, as did the very historical event it now markets.” Those were literally the exact words that ran through my head. I cannot believe I remembered them all.

Anyway, silly me didn’t even realize that this already happened! And I was a sucker active participant!

Yes, Score was the first to capitalize on the marketability of a strange event that took place over a hundred years prior by introducing the Gold Rush series. Every child worth his salt would rush to the nearest store, flea market, or card show—encountering wild beasts—and dig deep into his pockets so as to become rich, albeit at a later date, as a result of purchasing these gold-plated cards, which weren’t so much gold-plated as they were made to look gold-plated.

Unfortunately, as you can deduce from this scintillating question-and-answer session, this series, like the gold rush itself, did not reap the desired rewards. Oh well! No biggie. Let’s look at it anyway.



For the first time in his 15-year major league career, Jeff trudged to the mound minus his trademark beard in 1993.

In assuming that every man who trekked to California in search of gold did, in fact, have a beard, I find it somewhat ironic that the famously bearded Jeff Reardon shaved his off just prior to being featured in the Gold Rush series. I suspect Score was disappointed, and this may have been an important factor in dooming the card series overall.

Anyhoo, this has been my valiant attempt to avoid the awkward topic and sad story of Reardon himself, which can be read here. Hope he’s doing okay, and that he found greener pastures.

But hey, doesn’t it seem like he’s throwing a snowball on this card and not a baseball? Ha, ha, lol, lmao, and what not.