Jackie Gutierrez, 1987 Topps #276

Despite the fact that I've been pecking away at this little-read blog on a near-daily basis for more than seven years, there are still corners of the Orioles universe that I have not yet explored. For instance, this is the first appearance of infielder Jackie Gutierrez in this space. When Jackie debuted with the Red Sox in 1983, he was just the second Colombian-born player in MLB history; the first was Orlando Ramirez, a shortstop who played 143 games for the Angels in the mid-1970s. Ramirez, as it would happen, is Gutierrez's brother-in-law. To date, only 15 major leaguers have come from Colombia, with the most prominent being shortstops Orlando Cabrera and Edgar Renteria.

Jackie did not have a particularly illustrious tenure in Baltimore, appearing in 64 games in 1986 and 1987 and batting .185/.205/.205 in 153 trips to the plate. He had only three extra-base hits, all doubles, and drove in four runs. It was enough to get his picture on a few trading cards, but not much else.

I can add that Gutierrez came from an athletically-inclined family. His father Campo threw the javelin in the 1936 Olympics, and his older brother Freddie ran the 100-meter dash in the 1960 Olympics. So I guess Jackie got a leg up on them by competing as a professional athlete.

Floyd Rayford, 1987 Topps #426

If my week (and counting) of recovery from wisdom tooth extraction surgery has an avatar, it's Floyd Rayford's musty 1987 Topps card. Thanks to an infection that developed in the middle of last week, it's now been eight days since I've been able to: exercise, sleep soundly, chew food like a normal human being, drink a beer...it hasn't been fun. I dragged myself out of the house on Saturday for the first birthday party of my best friend's son, and while we were gift shopping at Target I thought that I could find a pick-me-up in the card aisle. I was way too crabby to buy anything Topps, so I grabbed a 100-card repack hanger even as my brain shouted "BAD IDEA BAD IDEA BAD IDEA WALK AWAY". I don't need to tell you what I found inside. This Floyd Rayford card, bunches more 1987-1991 Topps, a smattering of 2010 Topps just to keep me guessing, some Donruss junk wax, maybe a dozen cards that were new to me. So there's your lesson: don't try to make even small-scale hobby choices when medicated and dealing with pain and discomfort.

Brad Havens, 1987 Topps #398

How is the Great Sorting and Storing of 2013 going? I just spent my entire Sunday collating all of the 1980s cards in my collection. It gave me no small sense of accomplishment, but checking out all of the boxes that are still littering my living room and lurking in my spare bedroom closet offered me a reminder that the 1990s cards are waiting with bated breath to kick my ass by the thousands. It's going to be a long week.

Earl Weaver, 1987 Topps #568

I've spent some time in thrift stores in my day, and I've even found some secondhand articles of clothing that I came to treasure, like an old paper-thin "Maryland Is for Crabs" ringer tee. But never have I found a genuine game-worn Earl Weaver jersey. Some lucky bastige named Ben Aguirre not only spotted one of Earl's 1977 home whites in a Bay Area thrift store (complete with the telltale breast pocket for his pack of smokes), but took it home for $3. As if that weren't enough, Ben also got his mitts on Mike Torrez' 1975 home jersey at the same price! The Orioles' legendary manager was back in Baltimore this past weekend for the National Sports Collectors Convention, so our charmed bargain hunter was able to meet Weaver and get him to sign the uniform top. Follow the link up above to read more about this incredible story, including a great quote from Earl. If you need me, I'll be at the thrift store.

Eddie Murray, 1987 Topps #120

Until reader Drew made mention of it in the comments to Tuesday's post, I had completely forgotten that Eddie Murray had appeared in glasses on a baseball card. I'm not quite seasoned enough to remember a time when he wore glasses, and off the top of my head I can't remember seeing any other photos or cards where he sported this look. Was it a short-lived experiment? Did he usually wear contact lenses? Help me out, folks. At any rate, I'm grateful that Eddie didn't keep it up. Even he couldn't make those oversized wire frames look intimidating.

Tom O'Malley, 1987 Topps #154

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I went and found an O'Malley for you. Tom O'Malley was a star in the minor leagues, struggled in his various trials in the majors, and was an absolute masher in Japan. To my knowledge, he never played in Ireland.

I hope you enjoyed yourself today, no matter what you did and what your heritage may be. I have a history of March 17 adventures; in 2002, I was in Toronto with three of my closest friends enjoying ringside seats at WrestleMania. Three years ago, I escaped an especially late Maryland ice storm, slipping away to Fort Lauderdale with my father to catch a few Orioles spring training games. Tonight wasn't nearly as grandiose as all of that, but it was a fun evening nonetheless. I did a pub crawl in downtown Annapolis with my girlfriend and a friend of ours, and still made it home early enough to collapse into bed at a reasonable hour. But before I wander off to sleep, I'd like to raise a figurative glass of green beer to all of you. Cheers.

Tippy Martinez, 1987 Topps #728

According to reader and Atlantic League devotee Alan, York Revolution pitching coach Tippy Martinez is pretty accommodating when it comes to autograph requests, save for one quirk. He will not sign a baseball card if it depicts him with a mustache on his face, which would apply to some 1986 and 1987 issues. I can certainly understand his reticence; in my reasonably heterosexual opinion, he was (and still is) a handsome guy, but that cookie duster just did not do him any favors. Drink in that photo up top, just for a minute. He looks less like Tippy, and more like Edward James Olmos. Eek.

Nate Snell, 1987 Topps #86

This Day in Orioles History: June 29, 1985

Orioles 16, Red Sox 4 at Fenway Park

Righthander Nate Snell picked up the third save of his career, and it was an easy one. Snell, who had made his major league debut the previous year at the age of thirty-one, pitched the last three innings in relief of winner Dennis Martinez. The Bird bats doubled their run total in an eight-run sixth inning in which they sent thirteen men to the plate. Lee Lacy and Floyd Rayford each drove in four runs as the O's broke a four-game losing streak.

Cal Ripken, Jr., 1987 Topps #784

With my eighth post, on the eighth day of the year, I had to go with #8. I believe this is the first Cal Ripken card that I owned, and until recently it was the oldest. The young star shortstop has his trademark stoic, steely gaze, fixed on some point off-camera in Spring Training 1986. He has no way of knowing that he is about to suffer through his first losing season in the major leagues. He is still just two and a half years removed from catching the final out of the World Series, a soft liner arcing off of the bat of Garry Maddox. It was the perfect capper to a great season, an MVP campaign for a second-year player. He jumped up and down in jubilation, rushing the mound to join unlikely series MVP Rick Dempsey and winning pitcher Scott McGregor. He would have to remember this moment, for sure, but he'd be back someday. Wouldn't he?

Cal Ripken, Jr. suited up for the Orioles for eighteen more seasons and 2656 games after 1983. The team wouldn't even experience another pennant race until 1989. By that time, his father had already realized his dream of managing the O's (with his two sons forming the double-play combo), only to have it all taken away just six games into his second season at the helm. Every teammate from that World Champion team would be gone by Opening Day of 1989, as well. (Though Eddie Murray would return near the end of his career in 1996.) There wouldn't be another postseason until 1996; Cal and company would fall two wins short of making it to the World Series. The next year was even better, and ultimately even more disappointing. A first-place finish for the first time since 1983, but another 4-2 ALCS loss.

The following year, the foundation started to crumble. With key players seeming to age overnight, and new manager Ray Miller possibly in over his head, the 1998 Orioles sat in fourth place on Sunday evening, September 20. That's when Cal Ripken, Jr. removed himself from the starting lineup for the first time since May 29, 1982. Over the next two seasons, the team would slip further down the path to the laughingstock they are today and Cal would struggle to play in half of the games on the schedule. To add further difficulty, he would lose his father to lung cancer in 1999. Cal's body was ready to call it a career, and so was he, after a farewell tour in 2001 that coincided with a 98-loss season.

If you or I traveled back to Miami in Spring of 1986 and told Cal Ripken, Jr. how the rest of his career would unfold, that the losing seasons would outnumber the winning ones nearly two-to-one, that he would spend his post-prime years hounded at every turn by media members and autograph seekers who looked to him to "save baseball", that he would outlast every teammate that he had ever known to that point in time, that he would see his father cast aside by the team he loved and would ultimately lose him too soon, do you think he would consider doing anything differently? That is, would he start counting the days to free agency, or think about taking a day off once in a while?

He probably would think about it. For all of the adoration from fans and peers alike, Cal Ripken, Jr. is not a saint. But he is stubborn as well.

I think he would still choose to stay the path.