Randy Myers, 1991 Score "Dream Team" Series

I am constructing a Dream Team of baseball players. When I go to sleep at night, my Dream Team will play baseball games, and I will enjoy them immensely in my slumber. Then I will wake up, and the reality that these players actually split time respectively among many different and competing ballclubs—along with the fact that it is Tuesday and I have to go to work—will be greatly disappointing. Anyway, I am beginning construction of this Dream Team now. The first thing I want is heat.



If it’s heat you want, Randy’s your man.

Cool. You’re in, Randy.

When he comes into a game in the late innings as the Reds’ primary stopper, he hurls fastball after fastball as hard as he can

I like that. Diversity. Effort. It’s decided then—Randy Myers will play the position of “primary stopper” on my Dream Team. “Secondary stopper” will be played by Rollie Fingers and our third base coach will be Kelly Kapowski. This is my dream and I can do what I want.

Always, he has a ferocious look on his face when he peers at a batter.

I can see that. My Dream Team is going to have the most ferocious faces of any other Dream Team ever assembled! They will intimidate each other so much through peering that no actual baseball will be played. Ferocious face-off! I can’t wait to fall asleep later …

He must be doing something right

Was anyone implying he was doing something wrong? Did I miss something?

for he was picked for his first All-Star Game in ‘90

Every year Yao Ming is voted as a starter for the NBA All-Star Game, and he has not played professional basketball in six years. Major League Baseball allows fans to vote as many times as they want, and the managers pick the rest—when Joe Torre was managing All-Star games, the only Yankee he didn’t bring along was Jose Vizcaino—and if someone is injured or just doesn’t feel like going, the league just calls up another player and is like, “Dude, wanna go to the All-Star Game?” All I’m saying is, it bothers me when All-Star games are used as some criteria for greatness. There are one thousand better statistical alternatives to prove why Randy Myers was “doing something right.” Like this:

Exceptionally strong,

Strength.

he is an effervescent type of guy

Effervescence. Scratch that—strong effervescence.

who is somewhat of a character off the field, with a flair for pranks.

In that he has heat, a ferocious face, is strong, effervescent, and will not hesitate to give another player the “hot foot,” Randy Myers encapsulates literally every quality I am looking for in a Dream Team. No other players need apply. Good night.

Vance Law, 1987 Topps

In my baseball card-collecting heyday, it seemed like every pack I opened contained several Vance Law cards. If there were, say, 15 cards in the pack, I would get eight Vance Laws, a checklist, two Spike Owens, and, if I was lucky, a card or two that were binder-worthy. If someone were to audit my entire childhood, it would be discovered that I unwittingly spent $3,000 on Vance Law baseball cards. This eventually, as you could understand, caused me to have great animosity towards Vance Law. But that is also because when I was 10, Vance Law killed my favorite goldfish. Long story. Not important.

Now that I am older and wiser and am immersed in the process of re-approaching the athletes of my youth in an informative and productive manner, I would like to learn more about Vance Law, person. One thing I have always, for my entire life, wondered about Vance Law was this: Could Vance Law procreate?



Vance and his wife are parents of 2 children.

Awesome! I love baseball. You never know when a guy is going to get a hit, or have kids. In my fantasy league, if your guy has a kid during the season you get 200 points! It’s not a points-based league, so that means nothing, but still.

The second main thing I have always wondered about Vance Law was this: Did he, by chance, ever have a hot dog named after him?

During the 1980s,

Ha! The 80s. Am I right?

a variation of the Chicago-style hot dog called the Vance Law Dog was sold at Wrigley Field.

I don’t know what a person has to do to have a hot dog named after him—believe me, I have tried everything, including becoming a vegetarian—but whatever Vance Law was doing, he was doing it right.

It featured a traditional Chicago-style hot dog topped with cole slaw and ketchup.

There’s not always, with every baseball player, a condiment / side dish that captures the essence of the way that man plays baseball. But Vance Law? Pure coleslaw out there. Anybody will tell you that.

Some fans incorrectly referred to the dog as ‘The Vance Slaw Dog’ because of the inclusion of the cole slaw.

Cubs fan, 1989: This “Vance Slaw Dog” is delicious!

Future Wikipedia-entry writer: Incorrect, Bill! Take it back! It’s the Vance Law Dog. Law, not slaw.

Bill: Dude, relax. There’s coleslaw in it. Why can’t the name of this hot dog evolve over time to be made even better?

Future Wikipedia-entry writer: Because that’s not the name of the hot dog. What if I called you “Billslaw” instead of “Bill” because it made my life easier? You’d be pissed, right?

Bill: I mean, I’d think it’s weird, because: why? But I wouldn’t be pissed.

Future Wikipedia-entry writer: YOU’D BE PISSED!

Bill: Honestly? I don’t know why I come to games with you.

Finally, the third main thing I have always wondered about Vance Law is this: On June 27, 1984, did Dusty Baker steal 2nd base, 3rd base, and home plate in one inning for the Giants, and if so, what was his 1984 Topps card number?

June 27, 1984: Dusty Baker stole 2nd base, 3rd base and home plate in inning for the Giants. Dusty’s 1984 Topps card was #40.

Wow! Turns out Vance Law isn’t such a bad guy after all. It should also be mentioned that the Dusty Dog is a traditional San Francisco-style hot dog topped with relish and thousand island dressing, sprinkled with dust, obviously. It won't clog the bases, but it sure as heck will clog your arteries.

Doug Brocail, 1994 Fleer

I don’t know, man. It doesn’t look like Doug Brocail gets a lot of force behind those pitches. Maybe this card is misleading, but this pitch looks like it’s coming in for a smooth landing in the left field bleachers. Am I wrong?



Doug was thrown into the fire in 1993, his first Major League season.

According to the back of this card, Doug Brocail spent the better part of eight—eight—seasons in the minors before being called up for good in ’93, so he was thrown into the fire in the sense that he was brought along slowly and steadily until the organization felt he was adequately ready to compete at the Major League level. Firefighter!

I got sidetracked. Allow me to repeat my original question. Ahem … Am I wrong?

Gopher balls were his Achilles heel,

Despising children was the pediatrician’s Achilles heel.

Having no Achilles tendon was the runner’s Achilles heel.

Not having Internet access was the blogger's Achilles heel.

although he deserved better than a 4-13 mark.

In 1993, Doug Brocail gave up 16 home runs in 128.1 innings pitched, with a 4.56 ERA and a 1.44 WHIP. He deserved better than a 4-13 record because … he was a nice person? Screw it—let’s give him the Cy Young. I mean—and we’ve been over this ad nauseam—win-loss records for pitchers might be the worst statistic to understand how that pitcher pitched, so, I guess, it might as well be arbitrary. In the interest of fairness, it would have been nice to see some MLB record-keeper come across Brocail’s 4-13 record, yell in frustration, “He doesn’t deserve this!’ and furiously scribble in its place, “7-10.”

What else, Wikipedia?

On September 13, 2004, Brocail was involved in an ugly incident at the McAfee Coliseum, when his Texas Rangers were playing the Oakland Athletics. His rookie teammate Frank Francisco, angry at fan Craig Bueno for heckling Brocail about his stillborn child, hoisted a folded chair into the stands, striking Bueno's wife and breaking her nose.

I remember this, but I either never knew the details, or somehow forgot. Now, I’m not saying that tossing a folding chair is any way for a person to react who is not immersed in a professional wrestling match, but, I mean … I don’t know, ya’ know? And, like Brocail’s 4-13 1993 record, Mrs. Bueno did not deserve to get smashed in the nose with a folding chair. Although, I kinda sorta think that a person deserves some minor physical trauma for voluntarily attending games with—much less marrying—a person who heckles players about such things. I mean, if you are, or are married to, any sort of sports heckler, you deserve to get hit with something once in a while, is all I'm saying. This is just something I believe in, and will be part of my platform when I run for office in 2012.

Yes, I’m throwing my hat into the fire, as the saying goes. My running mate is Frank Francisco. Challenge us. I dare you.

Mark Tranberg, 1994 Bowman

Here is Mark Tranberg, player of baseball and major league hopeful. I haven’t turned this card over yet, but I have a gut feeling, just by looking at Mark Tranberg, that dude throws straight cheese. Probably—and this is just a guess—the hardest thrower in the bigs. Tran. Berg. Cheese. Hit me!



“In the pros, everybody throws harder than I do,” says Tranberg

Okay, so I was wrong. We’re off to a questionable start here. Still though, I like the guy. He looks—and I don’t throw this term out there liberally—nice. If it were 1993, and I wrote for say, The Los Angeles Times, I would totally do a feature on Mark Tranberg of the Philadelphia Phillies. I would title it, “On the Mark for a Shot at the Majors: Baseball : Mark Tranberg didn’t earn respect when pitching at Dominguez Hills, but he is earning victories in Philadelphia’s farm system.” It would be the longest and best title ever written, and potential readers wouldn’t even really have to read the ensuing article, but I would write it anyway.

When he wasn’t selected {after his junior season}, Tranberg was told it was because his fastball was only about 83 m.p.h.

I mean, yeah … that is something that, in many cases, will not get you drafted to be a major league pitcher. I understand that there are pitchers that can do a lot with less stuff—and Tranberg had done just that in the minors, and was drafted the following year—but as they say in redundancyland, “83 miles per hour is 83 miles per hour.”

What to do?

"His fastball was just average," Verhoeven said. "It was just a little bit short. So I got in touch with (former major league catcher) Bob Boone, who I've kept in contact with, and he put me in touch with a guy named Bill Pewett to work on picking up his velocity."

That is literally the last paragraph of the article. What a cliffhanger! We are only left to make an educated guess as to what transpired next:

John Verhoeven, the pitching coach at Cal State Dominguez Hills and former Angel and Minnesota Twin pitcher: Mark, let me break it down for you—you don’t throw the ball fast enough. There, I said it. Tough love. But here’s the deal. I got in touch with former major league catcher Bob Boone, who I still keep in touch with, and every now and then we keep in touch, for example, this particular instance which I am specifically referring to.

Mark Tranberg: Okaaaaay …

Verhoeven: So yeah, we keep in touch, the two of us. Anyway, I figured if anybody could help you throw harder, it would be former major league catcher Bob Boone. Well, turns out, Bob Boone passed me off to some guy named Bill Pewett, and he—Bill Pewett, not Bob Boone—is going to help you with your velocity. The two of you meet tomorrow morning on the mound of a deserted high school baseball field.

The next day ...

Bill Pewett: Name’s Bill Pewett. Got a PhD in velocity and a Master’s in kicking ass. Let me see what ya’ got, kid.

Mark Tranberg throws a pitch. Anonymous man wearing a sombrero and holding a radar gun clocks the pitch at 83 m.p.h.

Pewett: Okay. Alright. Now here’s what I want you to do. Throw a pitch again, but this time, throw the ball faster.

Mark Tranberg throws a pitch, which is clocked at 83 miles per hour.

Pewett: Hmmm. Okay, well, that’s a wrap for today. Meet me back here in three weeks and in the meantime, work on what I told you.

Todd Benzinger, 1989 Fleer

Not to get all corny and stuff, but this—right here—is exactly how I would look, always, if I played Major League Baseball for a living. I would wear this exact smile on my face at all times, even during my at-bats. Of course, after batting .000 (but slugging .000) and having my smile become a source of discomfort for the more jaded players, I would be outright released. It would all be worth it, though. It would all be worth it.

Also, Matt Damon is slated to loosely portray Todd Benzinger in an upcoming action film called The Benzinger Identity, in which Todd Benzinger gets screwed over by the intelligence operation of the Red Sox front office, and seeks revenge by hitting home runs and killing a bunch of people and also he knows ju-jitsu. It has nothing to do with The Bourne Identity franchise.

Now, I know a little bit about Todd Benzinger, but not a lot. And by not a lot I mean barely anything. I am excited to find out more. You? Good.



DID YOU KNOW? Made successful move from outfield to first base in 1988 …

Wowzers! The move from outfield to first base has left a trail of broken careers and broken men. It’s totally different, mostly because there are no bases in the outfield, so you’re pretty much learning baseball from scratch. Todd Benzinger’s move from the outfield to first base was successful in that he literally did not die doing it.

70 RBI most ever in pro career …

Todd Benzinger’s 70 RBI are the most RBI that Todd Benzinger ever hit in Todd Benzinger’s pro career? That is crazy.

I am bored. Let’s go to Toddy Beezee’s Wiki page, yo.

As a member of the Red Sox, Benzinger is legendary

Hold on. I just want to cut it off there for a second. Let it sink in. Marinate. Take a breath. Now … I’m all for using terms loosely—I am legendary at using terms loosely—but, regardless of how this sentence achieves completion, this sentence is false.

for his clutch hitting during the Sox’ 1988 “Morgan Magic” run,

Surely, every true Red Sox fan joyously recalls the “Morgan Magic” run of 1988, which witnessed the team win 12 games in a row under then-interim manager Joe Morgan, who was not the real Joe Morgan (a good quality to have in a baseball decision-maker), but a regular ol’ white dude—a run that culminated in the team not winning the World Series that had eluded them since the year of 1918. Years and years of almost unbearable heartache were brushed aside when the team won 12 consecutive games one July, and at the forefront of this resurgence was Red Sox legend Todd Benzinger, who, as this card points out, hit .394 with a runner on 3rd base. I am getting goosebumps.

particularly his 10th inning walk-off HR on July 20th, 1988. This has been called “The Benzinger Game” by some Red Sox enthusiasts.

To highlight the silliness of this tidbit, I stopped a random Red Sox enthusiast on the street yesterday and asked him if he remembers “The Benzinger Game.”

His reply: “Are you serious, dude? July 20th, ’88. I was supposed to be there. Had to sell the tix cause my bee-otch girlfriend at the time wanted to celebrate the third month anniversary of our second kiss. Watched the game on the TV at Smitty’s while she yapped about something. But yeah—10th inning jack to extend Morgan’s Magic? I mean, how could I possibly forget that? Benzinger was a legend, man. Still is. I named my second son Todd because of that game. You know the guy hit .394 with a runner on third that year, right?”

Did you know?
Then he punched me in the face for calling him a Red Sox “enthusiast.”

Mark Langston, 1996 Upper Deck "Defensive Gems" series

The reason I got into baseball card-collecting in the first place was to acquire as many cards as possible that featured pitchers who field well.

I ask, rhetorically only, because the obvious answer is a resounding NO: Is there anything more exhilarating in baseball than a pitcher who fields his position adequately? (Sidebar: I enjoy the term “fields his position” because I never want to get confused and think we are talking about how a guy fields a different position that he does not play.) I mean, weak ground ball back to the pitcher? I’m on the edge of my seat! Will he get there in time? Should he, out of fear of throwing it away, underhand it to first? Granny-style!!! Boo-yah! Oh, and ground ball to the first baseman? WILL YOUR PITCHER REMEMBER TO COVER FIRST???? Arggghhhh! Also, pop-up somewhere in the infield? Who is going to point into the sky in order to bravely alert his infielders that the ball is somewhere in the sky? “Look up, a-holes! I’m not getting it—I’m the pitcher! I could fall off the mound!” The pitcher is the center fielder of the infield, if the center fielder was not allowed to go near a ball in play because he was an accident waiting to happen, and if the center fielder was directly responsible for the ball being in play because he doesn’t have a strikeout pitch.

Anyhoo, I especially craved cards that highlighted a pitcher’s ability to field—DEFENSIVE GEMS—yet showed them not playing defense. The dichotomy takes my breath away. That is why this is my favorite card in the whole world, for the purposes of this post.

All I know is this: If I’m a cameraman, and I ever have the outstanding good fortune to snap a portrait of a major league pitcher renown for his solid fielding, there’s only way I’m doing it—from the ground up, and that pitcher is crossing his arms. X-it, Langston!



BAM! In your face, lukewarm defensive pitchers! The only thing I would change here is that instead of a glove and ball, Mark Langston would be holding in one hand a wad of cash (his cash; I am broke—I’m a cameraman) and a bottle of Absolute in the other. On the bottle of Absolute, I would cross out “Mandarin” and write in permanent black marker, “Defense.” More:



When the subject of great fielding pitchers comes up,

Let’s be honest—when doesn’t this come up? It’s the only thing I talk about at parties. Also, I haven’t been invited to a party in four years.

Mark’s name is usually at the top of the list.

Usually? Dude only has SEVEN gold gloves. What an intro. When people talk about an obscure thing, sometimes they bring up this person. Wow! Where can I continue reading about this?!

Seven Gold Gloves
(’88-89, ’91-95)

In 1990, Mike Boddicker caught a ground ball in his hat and did a cartwheel to first base, wowing the voters. (Also, Langston had retired from baseball to play basketball that year, but finished second in the voting anyway.) In 1995, Langston has 26 errors, two of which caused his pants to fall down, but the voters went on name recognition alone.

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 be still be your Internet/blog friend regardless.

Enjoy the season!

Mike Kenny

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.

Steve Chitren, 1991 Fleer Ultra Prospects Series

This is Steve Chitren. Here is a riddle: How do you know a kid can throw?



You know a kid can throw when he is a highly regarded Major League prospect

Oh, okay! Makes sense.

for an already bullpen-rich Oakland team.

I have to admit, I love the ol’ roundabout grammatical “You know X can Y because Z”-formula, especially when “Z” is something less than succinct and to the point, and when “Y” should be implied by “X’s” career choice. Personally, I would have gone with: You know a kid can throw when he throws baseballs for a living. Now that is a lede. I greatly enjoy the term “bullpen-rich” by the way, and would like to record a baseball-themed rap album called, “Get Bullpen-Rich or Die Tryin.’” I would like the chorus of one of my tracks to be nothing but the latest and hippest DJ scratching a sample of Joe Morgan saying, “There are no bullpen-rich teams anymore,” which is something I assume he has said many times. Anyway, back to this Chit…ren.

Steve’s credentials are impeccable. At Huntsville,

So many great success stories have started this way. Here is the first scene of a screenplay I have just now created.

In the top floor of a high-rise office building in the middle of Manhattan, two handsome men in designer suits sit across from one another in a beautifully-furnished office with a view, separated only by a Brazilian hardwood desk. Ronald McMurray looks at the white piece of paper in front of him with a slight smirk, occasionally nodding his approval. Martin VanSussman sits with his hands folded, patiently but nervously, staring longingly at the “McMurray, Weiner & Wannamaker” insignia on the back wall. McMurray leans back in his chair and gently tosses the paper onto his desk. He looks out the window, and for a brief moment, into the future. He turns to VanSussman. “Your credentials are impeccable,” he says. “Tell me about Huntsville.”

That was fun. Let’s find out though how Chitren fared initially in the majors:

In eight games, Chitren used his guile and grace to take 19 batters down swinging in 18 innings and earn his first Major League win.

I can understand using guile to take down 19 batters swinging in 18 innings. A feat like that would, inherently, require at least a little guile. I would, however, like an additional explanation re: grace. Were the batters so in awe of the gracefulness with which Steve Chitren threw baseballs that they could not maintain their focus? Or did Steve Chitren execute his pitches with the grace of God by his side? I guess, either way –- that is some serious grace.

This guy is as blue-chip as they come

I realize that the media’s influence in 1991 wasn’t nearly what it is today, where we are subjected to hype of Strasburgian proportions. Still, this seems like an exaggeration to me.

and with the possible movement of Todd Burns to the starting rotation, Steve may get his big chance just two years removed from his appearance in the College World Series with Stanford.

I am confused. Is the “big chance” being the seventh-inning guy out of the bullpen for the Oakland A’s? I feel like there might be a bigger chance out there. Allow me, if I may, to rewrite this lede once more:

You know a kid can throw when his biggest career opportunity is predicated on the potential promotion of Todd Burns.

There. Better.

Bobby Bonilla & Barry Larkin, 1991 Fleer, NLCS Team Leaders

Look at these two guys here. They have nothing in common! One guy is tall and the other guy is not as tall. One guy plays for the Pirates and the other guy plays for the Reds. One guy has a mustache and the other guy only kinda has a mustache. One guy plays by the rules and the other guy is unorthodox and goes only by his gut instincts, I imagine. What common denominator could possibly bring two men together who are otherwise worlds apart with regards to their careers, backgrounds, general worldviews and favorite musical artists?



Bobby Bonilla and Barry Larkin don’t have the same physical stature or play the same position,

You’re telling me! I mean, how could two men who aren’t the exact same size and don’t play the exact same position within the sport that they both play professionally possibly relate to one another? How?!

But the two did share one thing in the 1990 National League Championship Series:

Popcorn? Groupies? Playing in the 1990 National League Championship Series?

Leadership.

Huh. Leadership. Come to think of it, they do both resemble leaders of their respective clubs, what with their arrogant smiles and “come follow me” demeanors. I would go to war with either of these great men! Or whichever one was on the winning side! Let us discover the manner in which both men lead:

Bonilla, the Pittsburgh Pirates slugger, put together a marvelous 1990 campaign as Pittsburgh captured the NL East title.

Bobby Bonilla: Leading by marvelousness.

Bobby finished second in the NL with 120 RBIs and delivered a career-high 32 homers (sixth in NL). Bonilla placed second in the NL in runs and total bases (324) and finished 10th in slugging percentage and hits.

Bobby Bonilla: Leading by finishing second and sixth and tenth in various statistical categories.

Bobby, a switch-hitter who was signed by the Pirates at a baseball clinic in Europe in 1981, was moved to the outfield after playing third base in his previous four years with the Pirates.

Bobby Bonilla: Leading by being a switch-hitter in Europe in 1981. Bonilla would actually go on to display his leadership in future NCLS contests by reportedly playing cards with Rickey Henderson in the clubhouse while his team, the Mets, were outside attempting to reach the World Series in 1999. So there is that.

Larkin once again proved to be the Major League’s best offensive shortstop in 1990 as Cincinnati led the NL West Division from start to finish.

Barry Larkin in clubhouse after first game of 1990 season: We’re in first place and I intend to stay there! Are you with me?!

Clubhouse: erupts in chorus, Yeah!

Larkin: I will prove to be the best offensive shortstop again in 1990! Who’s better than me at playing shortstop offensively?!

Clubhouse: erupts in chorus, No one!

Larkin: They can’t handle the truth!

Clubhouse: erupts in chorus, Yeah!

Larkin: They can take our lives, but they’ll never take…our FREEDOM!

Clubhouse: destroyed in ensuing mayhem

Larkin had a sensational first half in the 1989 season, but an injury during the All-Star Game Skills Competition sidelined him for most of the rest of the season.

Barry Larkin: Leading by entering the 1989 All-Star Game Skills Competition and injuring himself while trying to throw a baseball through a giant clown’s mouth.

This account of the various leadership qualities of two men, and the specific events and situations in which these two men –- otherwise so different -– exercised their innate ability to lead, has been, for me, truly inspiring. Churchill & Truman? Pffttt. As the great Bobby Bonilla once said:

Looked who just walked in, {beep}. Hey, Bobby, why don’t you {bleep} my {bleep}? But don’t take it personally….That’s right, you heard me, {beep}. But, hey, don’t take it personally.

Somebody needs to put that on a poster. A poster entitled “Leadership.”

Pat Tabler, 1991 Score

Let’s just get right into this:



No matter what Pat does in the rest of his baseball career, he will always be remembered as the guy who always gets a hit with the bases loaded.

That is a bit presumptuous, no? This may sound somewhat outlandish, but let us say, for example, that one day while playing in a professional baseball game, Pat Tabler decides, out of nowhere, to pull down his pants and poop on second base. I may be wrong, but I would imagine that this occurrence would override his penchant for hitting well with the bases loaded in terms of his legacy. I would say things like, “Hey, remember when Pat Tabler pooped on second base?” and then the other person, my bestest friend, would say, “Heck yeah. That was ridonk.” And then I’d be like, “Didn’t he always get a hit with the bases loaded?” And my friend would be like, “What?”

Again, that is an extreme example. I just use it to illustrate the point that I greatly despise when people close the door on Pat Tabler’s potential accomplishments when his career is in midstream. Still though, I must admit it is impressive when a guy always gets a hit with the bases loaded. Always is a lot of times!

Well, not always,

What? I always take always literally! Pat Tabler is a fraud!

but more than any other player in at least the last 15 years.

That “statistic” sounds like something that John Kruk made up off of the top of his head during one his rambling episodes on Baseball Tonight. I mean, “in at least the last 15 years?” What does that mean? If it was more than 15 years, then just give me the amount of years. It’s not as if baseball started tracking statistics in 1976. Just look it up. You owe it to Pat Tabler.

Nevertheless, let’s pretend it’s 2010, and Pat Tabler never did poop on second base. Let us discover whether or not Score was prophetic. Wikipedia?

He gained attention for his amazing success in bases-loaded situations: 43 for 88 (.489) with 108 RBI.

Okay. But “gaining attention for” is not necessarily a legacy.

In his career, Tabler was known as a remarkably clutch hitter and for his uncanny ability to hit with the bases loaded, batting just under .500 in such situations (43 for 88).

Alrighty then. Those statements are four sentences apart, by the way, so I will take Wikipedia’s redundancy as proof of Pat Tabler’s legacy. Still, there must be something else that serves to define Pat Tabler as a person.

He has mentioned on a few occasions that he is a fan of band Jethro Tull.

I love how Wikipedia refrains from openly stating that Pat Tabler is fan of Jethro Tull, but instead cites undocumented occurrences where Pat Tabler mentioned as much. Allow us to document these occurrences:

Pat Tabler, at 1982 batting practice at Wrigley Field: I am a fan of band Jethro Tull.

Pat Tabler, at 1987 Jethro Tull concert: I am a fan of band onstage.

Pat Tabler, at home in 1990: Check out my Jethro Tull stuff. I am a fan of band, that is them.

One more Pat Tabler-related item, then I’ll stop. Promise.

It was rumored that a residential quad was named after him on the Stony Brook University Campus, however, the quad was built and named in the late 1960’s, long before his MLB career began.

This rumor gained steam when Jethro Tull randomly decided to play a free concert at Tabler Quad in 1988. May I also applaud the student body at Stony Brook University, for recognizing the ironic iconic greatness of one Pat Tabler. Mathematician Vladimir Tabler may have founded Stony Brook University in 1958*, but Pat Tabler had 34 doubles in 1987. I think we all know whose quad that really is.

*may not be accurate

Sam Horn, 1993 Pinnacle

Sam Horn was a popular player during his days in Boston, and has gained somewhat of a cult following these days as a Red Sox post-game show analyst. Horn’s home run catch-phrase is “ka-pow,” so I am unsure if his loyal following is sincere or ironic. Nevertheless, once upon a time Sam Horn played for the Baltimore Orioles. We know now that Sam Horn’s job is to analyze baseball games. But what was his job then?



Sam’s job on the Orioles isn’t to dance around first base, and make acrobatic grabs or to take an extra base on a slap hit to left.

WANTED: Baseball player with sass. Must dance around first base, make acrobatic grabs, and take an extra base on a slap hit to left. At least 4-years experience required. Also must be proficient in Microsoft Word. Sam Horn need not apply.

Okay, so we know what Sam Horn’s job wasn’t. I do wonder however: If Sam Horn were to do any of these things –- say for example, if he, by chance, managed to, in some hypothetical scenario, take an extra base on a slap hit to left –- would the Orioles’ brass consider that a bonus, or would he be reprimanded? It seems like, from the tone of this, that he would be reprimanded. Still, I do not know what Sam Horn’s job is.

Sam’s job is to hit the ball hard and far.

Alrighty then. Easy enough, right? No need to make excuses when you, apparently, have one job and one job only.

Unfortunately, strikeouts happen when you’re a longball hitter.

It seems as though Pinnacle employed Sam Horn to write his own tidbit in the third person. And Sam Horn sounds defensive. Not defensive in the sense of making acrobatic defensive grabs, as we know for sure that he does not do that, nor is he responsible for doing that. It’s just…this reads like something Sam Horn would have said while sitting at his locker, angry and dejected, after -– oh, I don’t know –- striking out six times in one game: “Listen, my job on the Orioles isn’t to dance around first base and make acrobatic grabs or take an extra base on a slap hit to left. My job is to hit the ball hard and far. Unfortunately, strikeouts happen when you’re a longball hitter. Bitch.”

Coincidentally, Sam Horn once struck out six times in one game, which apparently spawned a term. Wikipedia?

Horn is perhaps best remembered as the origin of the term horn, referring to the act of striking out six times in a single game, a feat Horn accomplished in 1992 while with the Baltimore Orioles.

I have honestly never heard of this before in my life. I’m not even sure how to apply it. For example, according to my research (!), Geoff Jenkins struck out six times in a game back in 2004. Had I watched that game at the time, and witnessed this feat, I would have screamed, “He horned it!” But did he do the horning, or did he get horned? I think the batter receives a proverbial horn, but I am unsure. Anyway, this is a fun game! Who else is horny?

Did you know?
When Sam Horn was asked the reason for his retirement from Major League Baseball in 1995, he responded, simply, “Less ka-pow. More horn.”

Larry Walker, 1996 Upper Deck

Here is a Larry Walker baseball card, part of an Upper Deck series entitled “Strange but True.” My mind is racing with the possibilities of what I will discover about Larry Walker that is simultaneously strange and true! Perhaps he has a pet Koala Bear that speaks Russian! That would be strange, and also true if it were true. Maybe he is an amateur ballet dancer, which would be so strange in its contrast to baseball! Or maybe Larry Walker dips his baseball glove in milk before every game for no apparent reason! Or maybe I should stop speculating and turn the card over:



First allow me to say that I thoroughly enjoy the pencil-sketch portrait of Larry Walker. It’s very classy, and truly encapsulates the strangeness yet trueness at hand. Now:

“The Rocket in Right Field”
In 1995, Walker recorded a rare feat by throwing out a runner at first base on an apparent single. He has three other similar plays in his career, and in 1992, he gunned out more men at first (three) than third (two).

Breaking news from the strange but true department: Baseball player throws out runner! Granted, I realize how rare it is for an outfielder to throw a runner out at first base –- that’s the kind of stuff that happens in Little League, and woe is you if you are the hitter, and your dad is the coach, and you just lollygagged it to first on a single and got tossed by the right fielder, and your dad gives you a look as you walk back to the dugout like, “Just wait until the car ride home…” –- but there is a difference between rare and strange. For example, it is rare for a player like Larry Walker to throw a runner out at first from right field, though it is indeed true that he has done this several times. It is strange to depict this rare feat in cartoon form with nonsensical dialogue and a bumblebee wearing a baseball hat.

I’m not ashamed to say that I had to read this thing like three times before it sort of sunk in. To recap, two men are watching Larry Walker throw a baseball. The assistant coach –- who has no face –- says to the manager – who also has no face, but wears a “MGR” on his chest, as managers do: Funny – it doesn’t look like a canon. And then –- get this -– the mgr says: It’s not……he throws farther! Also, completely out of the picture to the right is a bumblebee with binoculars that adds: Target sighted!

Here is how I comprehend this cartoon. The assistant coach was told that Larry Walker has a canon for an arm. The assistant coach, who is a moron, took this literally, and so when he is watching Larry Walker throw, he marvels at the fact that Larry Walker’s arm does not physically resemble an actual canon, and states as much. The manager, amused by this moron, assures the assistant coach that he was misinformed –- Larry Walker’s arm is not a canon. This is evident because Larry Walker throws farther than a canon. (This is obviously not true, because a canon can shoot farther than Larry Walker can throw. I know that because I saw it on Mythbusters.) Also, the manager gives no explanation as to what Larry Walker’s arm IS, unless, by not stating anything, he is implying that Larry Walker’s arm is simply an arm, albeit a very, very strong one.

However, the aforementioned title of “The Rocket in Right Field” leaves one to believe that Larry Walker’s arm is actually a rocket. So we can only conclude that Larry Walker’s arm is either an arm or a rocket. We also discover that, although his arm/rocket is undoubtedly strong, Larry Walker’s accuracy is not solely of his own accord, as he employs a bumblebee that wears a baseball hat and uses binoculars to locate “targets,” which in this case would be runners or, more definitively, the teammate covering the respective base. It remains uncertain however, why Larry Walker cannot use his own eyes to locate his targets, as he is the only character depicted that has a face. But hey, I don’t want to get too involved here. It’s just a cartoon.

Mike LaCoss, 1989 Topps

Hey, I’m Mike LaCoss! Check out my FORKBALL! Or split-fingered fastball, or curveball, or whatever! I don’t really like to classify my pitches. The point is -- my forkball does crazy stuff! It’ll bend your KNEES! I like to throw it when I’m angry, like when a batter tries to call timeout because I’m taking too long to decide which kind of forkball I want to throw! Arrrrgh! I hate that! But that’s when I’ll hit you off with the ol’ forky and you’ll be sorry you ever wasted Mike LaCoss’ time! How much you wanna bet I can throw this forkball over them mountains?! One time I threw my forkball so hard that it split into four baseballs and I ended up striking out a guy in France! I didn’t find out until three weeks later when the guy sent me a letter and all it said was “Nice forkball!” At least that’s what I think it said because I don’t read French! FREEDOM fries!



Mike pitched 5 straight Shutouts and a No-Hitter in high school.

Remember high school, dork?! I probably struck you out like, a zillion times! My forkball wasn’t even refined then! I didn’t care –- I threw it anyway! Watch out, here it comes! Psyche! Scared ya’, didn’t I? I throw my forkball during sex! Sex with women!

He enjoys raising his own bird dogs.

Another thing I like to do is raise my own bird dogs! Not other peoples’ bird dogs -– my own bird dogs! If you have a bird dog and you think I’m gonna raise it for you, well –- you got another thing coming, buddy! I raise ‘em from birth, and teach how to hunt, and catch birds, and then they kill ‘em! Yeah! Stupid birds, squeaking and quacking all the time! Shutup! I’ll sick my bird dogs on ya’, you stupid birds! And I raise ‘em right! A buddy of mine said he liked to raise his own bird dogs too, and then one day I was hanging out with him, drinking some moonshine and talking about mustaches, and a bird flew by, and his bird dog just sat there! I was like, “What kind of a bird dog are you?!” My bird dogs would’ve eaten, digested, and pooped that bird out before his dumb dog even realized there was a bird in the area! Arrrgh! I hate when other people say they raise their own bird dogs but really don’t! One time we were supposed to play the Cardinals and my bird dogs ate the entire team before the game started! I was like, “Ooops!” But not really! Sometimes I play fetch with my bird dogs by throwing them my FORKBALL! They catch my forkball better than my own stupid catcher! And he’s a person! Last year my stupid catcher let one of my forkballs get past him and the winning run scored! I was like, “You iiiiiiiidiot!” Then I gave him a real stern look, like this, and I threatened to throw my forkball in his freakin’ face! And he was like, “Cool, that should mean it’ll hit near my feet!” And I was like, “Arrrgh!” And I went to hit him, but I missed, and then he punched me in the face, and I fell down. But then he helped me back up. We're cool now. I mean, that’s my catcher.

Dante Bichette, 1996 Topps



Buoyed by a 23-game hitting streak, Dante was named to his 2nd All-Star Game in 1995. After being selected in ’94, he received a congratulatory call from his idol, Ted Williams, but wasn’t at home.

Hi, you’ve reached the Bichettes. We’re not home right now, but feel free to leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.

Beeeep.

Hello? Hello? Geez la freakin weez. Daniel? Listen, I don’t know if this confarnit machine is on or what. This is Ted Williams. Somebody told me to call you, because you uh, used to like me or something. Ya’ know, when I was playing ball – not in a homosexual kind of way, so just get that thought out of your head right now! Anyway David, I heard you made the All-Star team, and I wanted to say: Wow, what an honor. Can you sense the sarcasm there, Danny boy? What do they invite to that game now, 70 guys? If I had to call every guy they invited to the All-Star game my freakin finger would fall off! Mostly because I still use a rotary phone, and it takes me 12 minutes to dial locally. I time myself. Anyway, when I was playing ball, they invited two guys to the All-Star Game. Two! Me and DiMaggio. Not Dom – the good one. There was no one on the National League team, because they sucked, so me and DiMaggio would go out and there and hit until our hands were bleeding, and that was the game. In the ’41 game I hit 12 home runs and afterwards I caught a 54-lb marlin off the coast of the Pacific, so stick that in your ballot, Jimmy! And DiMaggio hit in 32 straight games that day, and it was only one game! You figure it out. But believe me – it happened. Hope you enjoyed your famous 23-hitting game hitting streak this year, Billy Bob. I once hit in 23 straight games myself, and by “hit in 23 straight games” I mean "shot down 23 enemy planes in the freakin’ war!" But really, hooray for you. By the way, it says here that you play for Colorado, so if somebody is pullin’ my chain and this is a prank call, my apologies. Baseball in Colorado…..pfft. Nothing but tree huggers over there, so good luck finding baseball bats! I met a Native American fellow in Colorado once. Cured my hangover with squirrel’s blood and two scoops of mulch. Nice fellow. Didn’t speak a lick of English though, and smelled like a sonofabitch. You’re not Native American, are ya’, Donald? Ehhh, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. These days. So…glad I caught you. Maybe the next time your childhood idol calls you’ll remember to be home, and not out dilly-dallying all over town with your long hair and what not. So I hoped you liked someone other than me growing up, cause I sure ain’t calling again. Maybe uh, Arthur Fonzarelli will call you up next week and you’ll be home, and the two of you nincompoops can talk about the good old days. I’ll be out on the lake trying to pretend this whole thing never happened. Anyway, congratulations.

Beeeeep.

Curt Schilling, 1999 Stadium Club

It is 1999. The world is about to end. Computers are bound to go haywire, compromising the future possibilities of posting old baseball cards to the Internet. None of this bothers you however, because you have just arrived to this land called America. You love baseball. You attend your first baseball game –- a Philadelphia Phillies game -– and you are loudly booed when a foul ball hits you in the teeth. In your country, booing means, “Are you okay?” and so you immediately take to the fans of Philadelphia. Furthermore, you have just watched Curt Schilling work seven scoreless innings. He is your new favorite player.

You want to know everything about him. What’s he like? you wonder. Is he outspoken? Will he ever win a championship because of his socks? If the computers stave off disaster, will he ever become a contributing member of the blogosphere? Also: What are his grass/turf splits? So many questions you have. So many weird questions. Because you are from another country, and you are so freakin’ weird.

You read up on everything about Curt Schilling. You discover he is from Alaska and you’re like, “Wtf?!!!” Even you make fun of Alaska. You marvel at his 300-strikeout 1998 season, which is the second time in his career he reached that mark. You wonder what could have been had he made the commitment to tap into his vast potential earlier in his career. They haven’t even come out yet, but you buy his fathead.

You have absorbed every possible bit of Curt Schilling information. Your mind races with data, and you are going insane. You race out of your house grabbing your hair and screaming –- your mind overflowing with largely useless Curt Schilling-related facts. You need immediate relief, something to override and replace all of the information you have gathered. You need a brief and concise summary of Curt Schilling up until that point in his career –- something that encapsulates what he means. In essence, with regards to Curt Schilling, you need the bottom line.

You run into me in the street. You grab me and scream, ”What is the bottom line on Curt Schilling?!” I think you are so weird, but you are also oddly endearing and have no teeth and so I sympathize. Also, I think that I may be on some type of hidden camera show, and want to act appropriately should this air on television. Now, I have an idea of the bottom line on Curt Schilling, but considering your plight, I want to be certain. Luckily, and completely randomly, I remember that I have his 1999 Stadium Club baseball card in my wallet. I take it out and flip it over. You scream again, “What is the bottom line on Curt Schilling?!” I say, “Calm down, dude!” and squint again at the back of the card.

“Okay,” I say. “You want the bottom line on Curt Schilling?”

You are shivering.

“That’s easy,” I say. “He holds the sixth-best strikeout-per-nine-innings rate –- which is 8.45 –- since World War II, with a minimum of 1,500 innings pitched.”

You look at me quizzically, panicked. “World War II?” you ask.

I look back at you.

You spontaneously combust.

Regardless of everything you are about to read, I’m not really into the aesthetics of baseball cards. In fact, as it stands now -- with me posting old cards to the Internet for the enjoyment of no one in particular -– the worse a card looks, the better.

That said, from like 1988 until at least 1991, Topps wasn’t even trying anymore. Just awful, awful sets of cards. I should know because I still have a complete unopened set of 1989 Topps that I received on Christmas of that year which has actually decreased in value since then. When he dropped it off that night even Santa was like “Pfftt. This set has nobody, and these cards are too bland to even generate camp value when you’re in your 30s!” And I was like, “I know dude. Just put it under the tree.”

So I was as delighted as anyone when Upper Deck came along and blew everyone out of the water. It was like going to HD. But it wasn’t until I was recently flipping through some old cards that it really dawned on me just how far ahead of the game Upper Deck was, and how little Topps cared. I would like to illustrate this point using two cards that feature an Oakland A’s pitcher. (I realize these cards are two years apart, however Topps ’89 set was probably the nicest from that era of indifference, and Upper Deck came out in ’89 with this, and Topps responded with this.)


Todd Burns, 1989 Topps

Look at ol’ Burnsie over there. Mullet blowing in the breeze. Doesn’t have a care in the world. I think Topps banged out its entire 1989 set after two days at spring training asking guys like Todd Burns to pretend like they were playing baseball for three seconds. Also, according to Wikipedia:

Burns now runs the Todd Burns School of Baseball in Huntsville, Alabama.

In my head I have an image of ol’ Burnsie standing in front of a crowd of like, seven kids, and speaking to them in an extremely slow southern drawl:

Todd Burns: Alright, kids. Do you want to learn how to play baseball?

Kids: …

Todd Burns: I saaaiiiiid, do you want to learn how to play baseball?

Kids: I guess/yeah?/*cough*

Todd Burns: Okay, then. Well, first thing you do is lift your arms over your head like this…

It should also be mentioned that the first rule of Todd Burns School of Baseball is: don’t talk about Todd Burns School of Baseball. Since I just violated that rule and now fear for my safety, I will move on.

In fact, let’s look at our next installment. I call this one: “Joe Slusarski in Three Parts.”


Joe Slusarski, 1991 Upper Deck

I’m not saying that this is the coolest card ever. Assuredly it would be much cooler if it featured someone other than Joe Slusarski. But for 1991, this was pretty awesome. I mean, ol’ Burnsie probably needed one take for his pose. Meanwhile, Upper Deck is taking their photos back to the lab. If he wanted to Joe Slusarski could analyze his mechanics with this. I mean, not really. But still. Based on these two cards, and given the choice, I would much rather attend The Joe Slusarski Camp of Awesomeness, which takes place every year during the first week of fall at alternating parks in Indianapolis.

I am also finding it quite humorous to envision what “Todd Burns in Three Parts” would look like if it involved just him bringing his glove from his waist to over his head. And now I know what I will be asking for this year for Christmas. I realize that there is something wrong with me.

Did you know?
During my college years I valiantly attempted to make the phrase “getting Slusarski’d” synonymous with getting really, really drunk, but it never seemed to catch on.

Hi everyone. I’m Mike. Happy to be here. I’d like to talk to you, if I may, about Gregg Jefferies.


Gregg Jefferies, 1991 Score

Gregg Jefferies –- the extra “g” is for gregarious –- holds a special place in my baseball card-loving heart. You see, I grew up in central New Jersey, and the arrival of Jefferies coincided with the apex of my card-trading days, which meant that I took full advantage of the unbridled enthusiasm and unrealistic expectations of the Mets fans in the local neighborhood. Not that I myself wasn’t interested in obtaining the cards of a can’t-miss prospect, but as a Yankee fan I was content with my expanding card-collection of one future-Hall-of-Famer named Kevin Maas.

Speaking of enthusiasm, we all know that Gregg Jefferies was a talented player, but what I really want to know is: Was he enthusiastic? Let’s check the back of this card and find out:



“Everything he does, he does with great enthusiasm,” said Giants’ GM Al Rosen.

Awesome! I love enthusiasm! But, wait…everything? Not that I would ever in a million years doubt the input of Giants’ GM Al Rosen, but could it really be that Gregg Jefferies displayed noticeable enthusiasm for all of his endeavors? Spring training bunting drills? Furniture shopping? Putting his mail on hold at the post office because he needed to make an impromptu trip back to California because his great aunt fell down a flight of stairs? Hmmm. It’s also interesting to me that San Francisco Giants general manager Al Rosen has seemingly obtained exclusive knowledge regarding the enthusiastic nature of Mets’ third baseman Gregg Jefferies, but whatever. The point is that Gregg Jefferies is one enthusiastic mo fo. Also, not to change the subject but do you guys smell something? Al?

“You can almost smell the love of the game reeking all over him.”

Almost? It’s been twenty years since the release of this card and the smell that emanates from Gregg Jefferies’ love of the game still wafts over certain parts of the metropolitan area, most notably Staten Island and South River, NJ. Unfortunately, Gregg Jefferies’ love of the game smells like scrambled eggs and exhaust fumes.

Anyway, one thing you all will soon discover about me is that, when I am nostalgically searching for information on a baseball player of my youth, I have two and only two sources for reliable information: 1) Al Rosen. And 2) Wikipedia.

In response to criticism from teammates, on May 24, 1991, Jefferies pleaded his case in an open letter read on WFAN, New York's sports radio station. In the letter, Jefferies wrote: "When a pitcher is having trouble getting players out, when a hitter is having trouble hitting, or when a player makes an error, I try to support them in whatever way I can. I don't run to the media to belittle them or to draw more attention to their difficult times…”

I honestly don’t remember this, and Wikipedia surprisingly makes no mention of why Gregg Jefferies was forced to plead his case. We can only assume, via context, that Gregg Jefferies had been criticized by numerous teammates for his extreme enthusiasm -- "Slow down, honky," was the mantra of both Dwight Gooden and Kevin Elster -- and also because he smelled. Nevertheless, I do thoroughly enjoy how he maintains that he does not run to the media in an open letter to the media. One other thing:

Also in 2000, Lisa Kesner who was a flight attendant at Olympia Aviation, which provided flights to both the Detroit Tigers and the Detroit Red Wings, alleged that many players were sexually harassing her, and it was also alleged that Doug Brocail and Jeffries, who were with the Tigers at the time, asked her if she could perform sexual acts with her husband, "in a van".[citation needed]

For his career, Jefferies had a career .289 batting average with 126 home runs, 663 RBIs and 196 stolen bases.

Nice transition there from alleged sex requests “in a van” to career stats. I call that a transwikition. And I obviously have no idea if something like this ever happened or not –- Wikipedia has failed me before and Al Rosen could not be reached for comment. All I’m saying is: Kevin Maas would never do that.

Did you know?
In 2002 Gregg Jefferies was forced to go on "Larry King Live" in order to reiterate his anti-media stance and also to inform people about what to do when this van's a' rockin'.

Dear Gentle Reader,

Please put your hands together for Mike Kenny, who is joining the unpaid staff here at The Baseball Card Blog (ie, me) as a contributing writer. If you're unfamiliar with Mike's baseball-card-related writing, don't worry. Check his own blog out here: So...do you like stuff?

Not to build him up too much, but Mike's ability to mix non sequitur observation, bombastic shit he's made up, and actual anecdotes allows him to accurately pinpoint where a card goes from normal to ridiculous time and time again. It makes for a fantastic read.

Please welcome him aboard.