When players come into the league, they either do or do not live up to their hype. Doesn't matter who—Alex Rodriguez, Fred Lynn, Bob Hamelin, or Stephen Strasburg—it seems like everybody is subject to hype. (A great movie about this, in a roundabout way, is Sugar.)

But what about the guys who fly under the radar? Guys who just sort of show up? Where do they stand? In a world dominated by information, it's hard to imagine a player making it to the majors today without at least one news source commenting on his talent (or lack thereof).

I'm not old enough to remember John Doherty. His statistics suggest he didn't really belong in the major leagues, or the high minor leagues, for that matter, but he hung around the California Angels for parts of two seasons (1974, 1975), and triple-AAA for six others.

But you'd think someone must remember him, right? You'd think fans of the game or little kids collecting cards in the mid-1970s would know about John Doherty of the Angels. And maybe they do, but I'd venture a guess that the circle is relatively small—say, limited to the Los Angeles, California–area. The reason? This card of Doherty (1975 Topps) was his only Topps card. Ever.

And it's not a memorable card. The only reason I pulled it from a stack last night was because I didn't recognize the face or the name, and because his face was so close to the camera. Right away that's a bad sign, possibly meaning no photo of him in game-play action, or the batting cage, for that matter, was taken (though he's wearing a left-handed batting helmet). Even the signature (from his Topps contract) emblazoned across his neck is hurriedly scrawled, as if Doherty, too, was surprised by the dumb luck of his being called up.

The game's history is filled with "cup of coffee" guys. For some players, that means one inning of mop-up duty, or a few games as a fourth outfielder. For others, it's parts of a few seasons, or an exceptional first season followed by a disappointing second. And then nothing.

We will remember Stephen Strasburg, no matter how he performs in the majors, just like we remember Clint Hurdle and Brien Taylor.

But John Doherty? All I can say is, Who?

In a conversation with Andy of the 88 Topps blog, this topic came up: How long has the hobby been obsessed with the rookie card? Or, perhaps more importantly, how long has the rookie card been important to card manufacturers? And has it become more important through the years, or is its importance just a quality we as collectors project?

Andy made the point that historically, rookies had to prove themselves in the minor leagues with at least a few good seasons under their belts, before they made the jump to the big leagues and got their card in a baseball card set. In contrast, in the last 20 years, young players have been on cards from the moment they were drafted, and sometimes even before they were drafted (the Team USA subsets in 1985 Topps and 1988, 1991, and 1992 Topps Traded).

It seemed obvious, at least to us, that the rookie card has taken a much more significant role in sets as the years, and hobby, have progressed. But then after the conversation ended, I got to thinking: Do rookies really take up a larger percentage of today's sets than in years past? I looked at ten random sets: the T206 White Border monster, 1954 Bowman, 1957 Topps, 1966 Topps, 1978 Topps, 1983 Fleer, 1991 Donruss, 1994 Bowman, 1998 Upper Deck, and 2006 Topps. Here are the percentages:

T206 White Border: 2.1% (11/525)
(incomplete tally, though most glaring rookie omission is that of Hall of Famer Harry Hooper, which is surprising considering the set included more than a few cards of flashes-in-the-pan like Lucky Wright.)

1954 Bowman: 1.8% (4/224)
(I didn't count cards of players making their manufacturer debut, like Jim Gilliam and Bill Bruton, much like you can't count Mantle's 1952 Topps card as his rookie card.)

1957 Topps: 5.4% (22/407)

1966 Topps: 16.6% (99/598)
(This set included many team and league rookie cards. In those instances, I counted each individual player, not card.)

1978 Topps: 20% (145/726)

1983 Fleer: 3.5% (23/660)

1991 Donruss: 11.8% (91/770)
(Coincidentally, this set and others in the early 1990s got screwed out of having more true rookie cards because of earlier player appearances in other sets. In this set, the most notable instance is Tino Martinez, whose only 'true' rookie is his Team USA card in 1988 Topps Traded.)

1994 Bowman: 26% (177/682)

1998 Upper Deck: 3.1% (23/750)

2005 Topps: I can't find a single rookie in this set


It's surprising that the second highest concentration of rookies in this list of random sets is in 1978 Topps. I would've guessed that the later sets had more. But what's even more surprising, if we follow our earlier assumptions, is that there were a handful of players pictured in the monster 1909-1911 T206 White Border set that were only in a league for one or two seasons, guys like Harry Gaspar and Lucky Wright (this smacks of the modern-day Bowman plan of giving everybody a card). Their inclusion may not seem important to the makeup of the set, but by including cards of Gaspar and Wright, American Tobacco left others (perhaps more deserving) out of the set, most notably Harry Hooper.

Another interesting idea is raised, this one for modern sets. When a player is included in a set many years before his actual major league debut, can those cards issued directly preceding or after his major league debut be considered rookie cards? Let's go back to the example of Tino Martinez. He made his cardboard debut in 1988 Topps Traded, as a member of Team USA that participated in the 1988 Summer Olympics in Seoul, South Korea. His next cards came three years later in 1991, as a member of the Seattle Mariners. None of his cards from 1991 are considered his rookie card, but is this fair?

Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever your opinion, this issue is an important one that still affects the hobby (thus the need for and adoption of an official 'rookie card' notation in recent years).


(The card shown, 1989 Topps Gregg Jefferies, is not his rookie card.)

Back before card manufacturers had (somewhat) strict rules about who and who was not eligible for a rookie card, anybody was pretty much fair game. And coupled with the vast hype focused by the media and collectors on the rookie bubble as part of the hobby explosion in the early Nineties, it was only a matter of time before a manufacturer capitalized on the situation. Enter 1991 Bowman.

More so than any set before it, Bowman’s 1991 release was all about rookie cards. Legitimate rookies, guys who would never set foot on a major league diamond—like I said before: everybody was fair game, and everybody was included.


It wasn’t a bad thing for a set like this to exist. For one thing, it set up a nice working model for 1992 Bowman (as classic and hobby-defining a set as there is). It also made a relatively strong rookie class and made it stronger, not by adding more quality rookies but adding more rookies and career minor leaguers in general. It’s a ‘phonebook’ set: if you made it to Spring Training, you probably had a Bowman card. It’s also a ‘sidelines’ set: a sea of faces, crouches, poses and the odd throwback painted card. Few and far between are actual cards that feature what could be considered ‘action’ shots: out of a 704-card checklist, I only found only 189 (the best being of Cal Ripken’s back, excuse me, I mean Junior Ortiz). That’s less than 30% of the set. Action shots comprise almost 100% of brand flagship sets today. It’s funny how trends die out and others take hold.

Anyway, this set reminds me of an essay I wrote last August that addressed the idea of why baseball cards exist. If my thesis has some merit—that cards exist to validate the hard work minor leaguers put in to make the big leagues—then 1991 Bowman exists so that guys like Pat Lennon can get a major league rookie card. Think of it this way: just because only seven of the 12 guys at the beginning of this article ever made it to the major leagues doesn’t mean the others didn’t try just as hard. More often than not, guys just don't get there, or they're the odd man out if and when they do make it (just ask Pat Lennon). Only Sean Cheetham failed to have any semblance of a baseball career: the other 11 combined to tally service in 3,365 minor and 185 major league games.

As I mentioned above, this set was blessed with a strong rookie class (beyond just those on their ways to long minor league careers), made stronger because with no insert sets to speak of, there was nowhere for them to hide but amongst their team set. Rookies of guys either destined for the Hall of Fame or the Veterans Committee ballot like Chipper Jones, Jeff Bagwell, Jim Thome, Ivan Rodriguez, Mike Mussina, Javy Lopez, Kenny Lofton, Tim Salmon and Luis Gonzalez and other guys like Rondell White, Reggie Sanders, Ryan Klesko, Raul Mondesi (yeaahhh boy-eee!), Mike Lieberthal, Jeromy Burnitz, Roberto “Father Time” Hernandez, Bret Boone, Jeff Conine, a flameout like Todd Van Poppel and the colossal jerk Carl “Someday I’ll Head-butt an Umpire” Everett; all of them got their start in 1991 Bowman. This is not to say that other sets didn't feature one or most of these guys as well, but all of them together in a one-series regular set? Bowman was your only option.

Don’t get me wrong. There were problems with this set. The design was an afterthought, the backs made no sense, the photography was at best uninspired and at worst terrible and as I said, it was both a ‘sidelines’ and a ‘phonebook’ set. But so what? The checklist was incredible. And it had a purpose: to include not just everybody, not even just everybody who was anybody--but everybody who was everybody, everybody who was anybody and everybody who was never going to be anybody. And that’s the very reason baseball cards exist.

Boy, what a year Topps has put together, eh? They started 2007 with Jeter, Mantle and The Prez. From there it was on to what seemed like six long months of speculation, back-stabbing boardroom greed and the eventual buyout that polarized the hobby. So how have they followed it up? With a whoopsie on Michael Vick and now a slew of 'errors' in their brand-new baseball Series 3.

What can we take away from all of this? At its most base, it shows that it's a hobby for us but a cutthroat business for the manufacturers. One minute Topps is fighting off a hostile takeover from Upper Deck, the next they're figuring out ways to head UD off at the pass not only with Joba Chamberlain and Jacoby Ellsbury rookies, but with a Joba error and a super-rare Ellsbury not even on the set checklist.

And what's with that Ellsbury, anyway? Traditionally, Topps Series 3 (or Traded, or Updates & Milestones, or whatever) has been for late-season call-ups, trades and other stuff they couldn't fit in the set. But didn't this change with the designated rookie card? I thought the point of all the hoopla about using the standard 'rookie card' logo was to eliminate cards of guys like Jacoby from regular sets. First of all, he didn't have enough at-bats to qualify for rookie status. So that opens up a whole can of worms in trying to determine his true rookie card, because after his stellar play in September and just this past week on the national stage, you know he's going to be one of the major rookies for 2008 sets.

I don't know how I feel about all of this. Topps' strategy towards their baseball card products has been somewhat predictable this year, and these developments only cement their reputation. It begs the question: Do they employ the worst quality-control staffers in the business? Or do they have such a grim outlook towards their own product that they feel it won't sell without an error or two?

This trade comes in from Daniel in Provo, Utah.

Giving: Adam LaRoche, #152
Getting: Preston Wilson, 2000 Upper Deck

Daniel writes: "Enjoy this card of Preston Wilson in a reflective pose. He is probably pondering over the fact that he will never hit over .300."

Daniel, you could very well be right. Either that, or he's trying to figure out if the good times will last. It's funny how some players can seem to figure the system out, but only for a very short period of time. Some guys make that period last for a year or two (like Preston Wilson), while other guys can't last for even a whole year.

Probably the most famous contemporary flame-outs are one-hit wonders like Kevin Maas and Jerome Walton. But there are others. Take this year's Red Sox. At one point they had two or three guys in Hideki Okajima, Daisuke Matsuzaka and Dustin Pedroia, who were in serious contention for AL Rookie of the Year. Now we're just looking at Pedroia, as Okajima has hit a wall as of late and whenever I watch Matsuzaka pitch, he's always working with guys on base ("Taking the Gas-pipe," as my father calls it).

By the way, do you think it would be weird if you could also call your step-dad Uncle Mookie?

This trade comes in from Pat in Charlottesville, Virginia.

Giving: Jeff Francoeur, #56 (red back)
Getting: John Wasdin, 1995 Topps

Pat writes: "One of my favorite things about baseball cards is looking back at 'future star' cards of players who turned out to be quite forgettable." I agree. There's nothing like coming upon Steve Searcy's 1989 Topps Future Star card and trying to figure out who he is. Or Mike Harkey. Or Pat Dodson, Todd Van Poppel, Jeff Juden, Earl Cunningham, Nigel Wilson, David Nied--stop me if I'm hitting nerves here. I mean, we all bought into these guys.

The only thing better, when it comes to rookie cards, is going back through old stacks and finding an overlooked star rookie. I have very clear memories of finding about six or seven of the 1986 Topps Cecil Fielder rookie during his breakout 1990 season. I also just pulled a few Torii Hunters and Derrek Lees from old stacks of 1994 Score (which, by the way, is a very clean, attractive set with a nice array of inserts. Unopened wax is also abundant and cheap, if you've got an itch for ripping old wax).

A couple fun things about Wasdin. The back of this card is just classic Topps: two photos on the back that are exactly the same. Good times. Also, although he's out of the game, he's in MLB: The Show 06, which I still play (I'm in season nine of my Red Sox franchise). And no matter how many runs I'm down, if the computer puts Wasdin in the game, I know I'll be able to tie the score or take the lead in one inning. I mean, he wasn't called Way Back Wasdin for nothing.