Delino DeShields, 2001 Fleer Ultra #189

There's a lot to see in this action shot from 2000, a season in which Delaware native Delino DeShields put up some of the best offensive numbers of his career (career-highs: .296 AVG, 86 RBI, 43 2B). He's leaping over Indians outfielder Kenny Lofton, who barrels into second base trying to break up the double play. Delino has just fired off the relay throw to first, and his pinkie and index fingers are extended as if he's giving the O's first baseman a heavy metal salute. Meanwhile, the exceptionally blurry right fielder jogs in place, attempting to look busy.

But the most amazing thing about this scene is that DeShields is going about his business on the field with a cool and calm demeanor even as the grim spectre of a giant Esskay hot dog lurks in the background. The frankfurter bides its time, moving a little closer and then closer still, its glacial movements imperceptible to the human eye. Soon, it will make its play and attempt to devour Delino whole. That, my friends, is why I eat hot dogs. It's all about the food chain; you have to eat them before they eat you. Kind of like those old Fruit Sharks gummi snacks.

Dickie Noles, 1991 Crown/Coca-Cola All-Time Orioles #333

Another quickie entry today, as I've spent all afternoon getting ready to host my friend Boothe's bachelor party tonight. Such is the chief responsibility of the best man, other than that whole "don't lose the rings" thing. This should be a pretty tame party by most standards, a steak-dinner-and-beer (and cards and video games) affair. Nevertheless, here's Dickie Noles, who was one of the lousiest and most short-lived members of the disastrous 1988 Orioles (0-2, 24.30 ERA in 3 and 1/3 innings) and has with a name that just sounds dirty.

Vintage Fridays: Paul Blair, 1974 Topps #92

This card comes from the days when Topps still printed a player's full name (first, middle, last) on the card back. In my childhood, this was the domain of Donruss. In the days before Baseball Reference, these cards provided an endless source of amusement. One of my favorite embarrassing middle names belonged to Mr. William Nuschler Clark. "Will the Thrill", indeed. I also remember the Ripken boys, Calvin Edwin and William Oliver. To see their uncommon middle names, you'd have to imagine that Mama Vi was a fan of Charles Dickens. Then there's the occasional error that would slip through Donruss' quality control. Bruce Lee Hurst is a pretty cool name, reminiscent of the kung fu film legend. But in 1991, his card back read Bruce "Vee" Hurst. That's just silly.

The back of this particular card lends an air of mystery to the defensively gifted center fielder lovingly known as "Motormouth". His name reads, "Paul L D Blair". No name, just initials. But are they even initials? You'll notice that there are no periods after "L" or "D". Quick trips to Baseball Reference and Wikipedia have his name in the same format, with no explanation as to why it is so. The Internet is not infallible, so I've consulted my bookshelf: one encyclopedia reads "Paul L. D. Blair", but Total Baseball is sans periods.

None of this brings me closer to an answer. Is this a Harry S Truman situation, in which his parents couldn't agree on a middle name and compromised with the enigma of a letter or two? Or did he have some embarrassing Nuschler-esque monikers that he worked hard to bury at the onset of his baseball career? Inquiring minds want to know.

In the meantime, we can attach our own interpretations to Paul L D Blair. Might I suggest "Long Drive"? He was never much of a power hitter, though his solo home run clinched the Orioles' first World Series over the Dodgers in 1966. How about "Lord of Defense"? It's a little haughty, but if Michael Flatley gets to lord over something, then surely an eight-time Gold Glover should be able to flaunt it. Perhaps "Leather Dazzler"? Nope, that sounds more like an exotic dancer or a soap opera character. I'll open this one up to the rest of you.

What DOES the L D in Paul L D Blair signify?

Eddie Murray, 1982 Topps #390

I can't believe I've featured almost 150 cards on this blog and it took me this long to get to Eddie Murray. Considering the well-documented truth that #33 is just plain badass, I actually fear for my safety should the Hall of Famer ever learn that I turned my focus to the likes of Rocky Coppinger and Jack Voigt before I gave him his due. Eddie could disassemble my vital organs with nothing more than a five-second stare. So this will be our little secret.

I'm not sure why I haven't had anything to say about Murray before now. Even the fact that I chose him today has mostly to do with a sense of "Holy crap, I still haven't done Eddie". It might have something to do with my late blooming as an O's fan. By the time I started rooting for the black and orange, he was two teams and five years removed from Baltimore, wearing Mets pinstripes. Sure, he'd return to Charm City during the 1996 pennant chase in time for his 500th home run, but I never got to see Eddie Murray in his prime, as the driving force of the Birds' offense and one of the most feared hitters in the league.

Just looking at this card gives me a sense of the Eddie Murray of old, though. Lean, athletic build, intense stare, and of course the awe-inspiring afro/blade sideburns/mustache combo. He's striding forward, bat starting to uncoil, prepared to blast the ball into the stratosphere. It looks like he's wearing road grays, but you can bet that back in Baltimore, the fans are tuned into WBAL listening for the crack of the bat. They jump out of their chairs, pump their fists in their cars, and their voices join as one...

"ED-DIE! ED-DIE! ED-DIE!"

Mike Mussina, 1991 Upper Deck #65

This card depicts Mike Mussina a lifetime ago, as a 21-year-old pitcher for the Single-A Hagerstown Suns in his first season of professional baseball. Even though he'd just been drafted 20th overall in the 1990 draft, the weight of the Orioles' expectations didn't seem to be weighing too heavily on him. He looks like a pretty cool customer. Indeed, he would make his major league debut just one year later, completing two of his twelve starts with an impressive 2.87 ERA for the O's.

That young, confident "Moose" was nowhere to be found last night, as the now-39-year-old Yankee had an absolute meltdown. He looked a lot like the Mike Mussina who left Baltimore after the 2000 season, the ace pitcher who was suddenly getting roughed up for 5, 6, 7 runs once every few weeks and sullenly and subtly placing the blame on others. He had a rocky start to the game against his former team, but when Luke Scott hit a grounder at Derek Jeter with two on and two out, it looked like he'd escape with only one run allowed. But with Robinson Cano slow to cover second base, Jeter lost his focus and threw high to Jason Giambi at first. Mussina lost his focus after that error, allowing six more runs. The killing blow was an 0-2, bases-clearing double by rookie Adam Jones. Mike was pulled without getting that third out, tying a career mark for his shortest appearance. The O's went on to win 12-2, a game that I enjoyed right through the last out.

I thought recently that I had finally overcome my bitterness toward Mussina for bailing on the Birds and joining the Dark Side for George Steinbrenner's big bucks. After all, he moved a little closer to his Pennsylvania home, he was apparently sweet-talked by the very popular Joe Torre, and the Orioles were backsliding both on the field and in their front office dealings. But his implosion last night instilled a great sense of schadenfreude within me, and I realized something: as long as #35 is wearing those pinstripes, I'll always root against him. He's the enemy, pure and simple.

Tom Niedenfuer, 1988 Score #261

This one is a quickie. Last summer I was flipping through an Orioles game-day program from 1989 (with an artist's conception of Camden Yards on the front) and found an advertisement that was just too funny. See for yourself:


Um, I'll take their word for it. How many Orioles do you think could actually spell Niedenfuer? It's tricky, with the i before e and u before e as well. I bet the Rolaids folks wished that Doug Sisk had led the Birds in saves in 1988.

Josh Towers, 2002 Upper Deck #141

For some reason, I've been in a reflective mood for the past few days, and I've been thinking about high school. While I was sitting at my desk at work today, I unearthed some memories of a girl named Dawn, someone I hadn't thought about in years. We knew each other through youth group, and though we were never much more than acquaintances, she was always very friendly towards me. Dawn was a petite brunette with a big smile and a bubbly personality, and she was very affectionate. She just knew how to perk up your mood.

I, on the other hand, was just as awkward as I am today, if not more so. I probably looked a lot like Josh Towers, all skin and bones and long, gangly limbs and quirky fashion sense. Yet for some reason, Dawn started calling me "Hercules", or even "my Hercules". I honestly couldn't tell whether she was teasing me or if it was a genuine term of endearment. Not only did I take a lot of teasing in high school (though I endured much of it with good humor), but my intuition for those sort of things was still undeveloped. I've honed my radar in the subsequent decade (oh God, it really has been ten years), but at the time I was often willfully oblivious. Sure, I allowed my mind to wander when she sat in my lap at a friend's birthday party, but I figured that she was just being flirtatious, as she'd been before with mutual friends. She even tried to set me up with her younger sister once. Talk about mixed signals!

A year or two after I last saw Dawn, I heard that she had a child of her own; she was still a teenager at that time. I don't really know anything else about her whereabouts, but I'm grateful that I knew her. After all, today was another monotonous Monday in a cubicle in a windowless office, a day of paper cuts and the whining drone of the fax machine. But then I suddenly remembered a time when a goofy, skinny kid was someone's Hercules for no adequately explained reason, and I smiled to myself.