Mike Boddicker, 1988 Topps #725

When I was younger, I don't know if I failed to notice that the player photos were layered on top of the team name in the 1988 Topps design, or if I just failed to appreciate it. Either way, it's one of the best little touches that the company has ever added to its cards. It creates a 3-D effect and draws the attention to the photo, where it should be. I was flipping through my 1988 Topps binder tonight, and each and every base card features a cap or a bat or an arm popping up in front of those bold, team-colored letters. It was such a clever concept that Upper Deck borrowed it five years later.

Mark Williamson, 1988 Topps #571

I've often wondered why baseball cards sometimes feature photos shot from this angle. I just picture a photographer crouching in front of Mark Williamson, his camera trained upward at a severe angle. "That's it, Mark, look natural. Pretend that I'm not even here. Peer out at the field pensively. Chin up, sweetie. Okay, let's take five."

Scott McGregor, 1988 Topps #419

This may be my favorite of the five autographed cards I received from Alan this week. Scott McGregor's 1988 Topps card rekindles a lot of memories; I've owned a copy since childhood, long before I even followed baseball. It's such a unique photo. How often do you see a shot of the pitcher just standing atop the mound to receive the return throw from his catcher? That Scotty's eyes look to be closed makes it stand out all the more. The orange-and-brown color scheme that Topps used for the Orioles in this set complements the picture very well. I think the autograph just adds to the aesthetic: it's very distinct in its own unintelligible way.

In housekeeping news, I will likely be incommunicado blogwise until Monday. My wife and I are spending the weekend visiting her family. See you next week!

John Habyan, 1988 Topps #153

This monster cold/virus/whatphlegmyever is wreaking havoc with my blogging schedule. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. With any luck, I'll be breathing normally some time before November. I was actually willing and able to post to both blogs today, and the latest 1993 Topps subject is Mr. John Habyan. In researching that entry, I discovered that Habyan's first big league win came under unusual circumstances. The date was October 3, 1985, and the O's were hosting the nightcap of a doubleheader with Boston. Despite an early two-run homer from Larry Sheets, the Birds had fallen into a 6-4 hole when the rookie righthander was called upon with the bases loaded and nobody out. (Thank the bullpen dream team of Nate Snell and Brad Havens, who made that mess!) Red Sox batter Marty Barrett greeted Habyan with a run-scoring single to make it 7-4, but the youngster was able to retire the next three hitters to strand three runners. Errors by Tom O'Malley and Cal Ripken in the eighth inning saddled Habyan with an unearned run, giving Boston a four-run edge.

Just when things looked bleak, the Boston bullpen intervened. In the bottom of the eighth, a Floyd Rayford pinch single and a Rick Dempsey two-run homer cut the margin to 8-7 and helped chase Tim Lollar from the mound. Steve Crawford fared no better for the BoSox, loading the bases with an assist from backup third baseman Ed Jurak, who had just come in to give Wade Boggs a breather. Eddie Murray did the rest, clubbing a two-run double to give the O's a 9-8 lead. Don Aase nailed down the save with a perfect ninth, and young John Habyan had his first-ever MLB win. All it took was a five-run rally. Piece of cake.

Jim Dwyer, 1988 Topps #521

Janet and I spent most of the weekend running errands, so when we passed the card aisle in Target yesterday she insisted that I pick up some cards. (As if there were any doubt that she's a keeper...) I couldn't resist the allure of the 250-card mystery repack cube. I don't seem to have gotten any new Orioles cards, but I did get three copies of this classic junk wax Jim Dwyer number. It's got everything you could want in a card: a 37-year-old Pig Pen avoiding eye contact with the camera and sporting the worst, scraggliest mustache this side of Jake Arrieta. He looks as unhappy as someone can look in the shadow of a Florida palm tree. Anyway, I'll add him to the ever-multiplying 1988 Topps pile.

Mike Young, 1988 Topps #11

I made it back from my post-Christmas trip to Charlotte, just like I promised! I'm just in time to mark the fifth anniversary of this silly little blog. On New Year's Day back in 2008, I posted Fred Lynn's card from the 1988 Topps set. Here we are in 2013, and it's now been 25 years since that set was released. Cards that I held in my hand as a child are a quarter-century old. As I try to process that, Mike Young looks up from his resting place behind the batting cage and gives me a sideways glance, as if to say, "Hey, time passes. Deal with it. I hit 28 home runs in 1985. By 1990, I was out of baseball." Mike does not look like the sort of dude I'd want to mess with, so I'll be moving along. Happy New Year, folks.

Eddie Murray, 1988 Topps #4

Look out, New York. The Orioles are coming, and they'll be firing from both barrels. At least I hope so, after sweating out two mostly tense ALDS games in Baltimore. The first contest was tied 2-2 after 8 innings, and Monday night's game was a 3-2 final. It's not likely that the O's bats will bust out against Hiroki Kuroda tonight, but stranger things have happened...you know, like the 93-win Birds needing only a pair of wins in Yankee Stadium to earn a trip to the ALCS. I have a bit more faith in Miguel Gonzalez, the 28-year-old rookie who won 9 of his 13 decisions as a starter and tries to win his third in as many tries in the Bronx. I believe that he and the Orioles will find a way to outlast the Yanks. After all, they've won two out of three in each of their three series in New York this season. They may not have Eddie Murray in the lineup, but I think Mark Reynolds, Adam Jones, and Chris Davis might do in a pinch.

Eddie Murray and Cal Ripken, Jr., 1988 Topps #51

What time is it? Time to celebrate the two greatest Orioles of the past quarter-century. 16 years ago today, Cal Ripken, Jr. played in his 2,131st consecutive game, breaking Lou Gehrig's hallowed record. A year later, Eddie Murray celebrated his return to Baltimore by taking Tigers starter Felipe Lira deep for his 500th career home run. A decade earlier, the teammates posed for this card, which could double as the poster for a buddy cop film. Steady Eddie and the Iron Man are nothin' to mess with.

Mike Hart, 1988 Topps #69

Tonight's entry is all about questions. First: who the devil is Mike Hart? This vaguely sweaty mustache-sportin' guy was a 13th round draft pick of the Mariners in 1979 out of the University of Wisconsin. He had a sleepy but competent minor league career, even putting up a few on base percentages in the low .400s. He finally debuted with the Twins in 1984, getting a 13-game cup of coffee at age 26 and collecting 5 singles in 29 at-bats (.172 AVG). The Orioles traded for him in 1986 and he spent the lion's share of his two years in the organization at AAA Rochester. But with a creaky major league roster showing its age in 1987, Mike got the call in mid-August and started 24 games in center field. His batting average was even worse the second time around (.158), but he did show a minimum of power; half of his 12 hits went for extra bases. On August 31, his fifth-inning home run off of Mike Morgan gave the O's a 2-1 lead in a game they won 4-3 over Seattle. Anyhow, Baltimore released Hart in October and that was it for his career. According to Baseball Reference's Bullpen Wiki, he's coached in high school and college back in Wisconsin in the years since. There's your Mike Hart tutorial.

Now I hope you can answer a few questions for me. I was one of those slackers who waited until the 11th hour to order the cards that I wanted shipped from Topps as part of their 2010 Million Card Giveaway. Specifically, I put in my order on February 28, one day before the cutoff. Two-plus weeks later, my cards ain't on my doorstep. I recall other bloggers reporting that they'd received their MCG cards in quick and painless fashion. So:

1) Did anyone else order cards from Topps in the last few days of the Million Card Giveaway?

b) If so, have you received your shipment yet?

No, I didn't pay for insurance or delivery confirmation, and I went with USPS. I requested shipping on 22 cards total, so I was trying to keep it as cheapo as possible. I'll probably contact customer service if nothing turns up in the next few days, but I figured I'd give them the benefit of the doubt in the event that like-minded procrastinators like me slammed them at the end of February and they're dealing with a backlog. So keep me posted - no pun intended.

Tom Niedenfuer, 1988 Topps #242

What do you think are the odds that Tom Niedenfuer was actually playing long toss when this photo was taken? I'd like to think that he was. His expression and pose are almost too goofy to be faked. Were the Orioles playing in Tiger Stadium that day? I'm not a stadium expert, but it fits my hazy memories of the old ballpark in Detroit. I'm full of questions, so I'll leave you with one more. Do you know any of the fans in the stands who are visible in the background? Andy asked previously on his '88 Topps blog, but no one stepped forward. I'd like to shake V-Neck with Red Sleeves Guy's hand; I like his style. Though Blond Perm and Aviator Shades Guy (bottom right) is no pushover.

Ken Gerhart, 1988 Topps #271

Ah, the eternal question: what to do with all this junk wax?

I've been more or less settled at my house for two months now, but one room in particular is half-finished. I'm using the spare bedroom as something of a hobby room, where my books and sports memorabilia will all be stored and displayed. Because it doesn't get as much traffic and doesn't serve an essential day-to-day purpose, I've dragged my feet on hanging and framing the photos and posters and organizing the baseball cards in a more efficient manner. I'm slowly getting around to it, and I do have the luxury of having an entire modest two-story home to myself, so space is not at an absolute premium. But it just kind of bugs me that I have boxes upon boxes of leftover duplicate (and triplicate and occasionally quadruplicate) cards, oh so many of them spanning the years 1986-1993. By now, anybody who would actually want to trade for them has already done so. I could give them to Goodwill, as I intended to originally, but that seems like a cop-out.

I want to do something creative. Junk wax has gotten a bad name from collectors. Even when we come across cards from that era of overproduction that we don't already own, many of us dismiss it out of hand. It's bland, primitive, derivative. But there must be some greater purpose for all of this 20-year-old cardboard moldering away in shoeboxes, under beds and on shelves and locked away in storage facilities. I want to find that purpose. What could it be? I just don't know. I have vague notions of modern art - mosaics or sculptures or Randy Ready knows what - but nothing concrete.

I'm going to open this up to all of my readers - all seven of you. What should I do with all of my duplicate junk wax? Leave a suggestion, or multiple suggestions, in the comments. Whoever comes up with the best idea, in terms of creativity and feasibility, will get to choose one of the following relic cards: Edgar Martinez, Trevor Hoffman, and Chase Utley (or Yadier Molina, if anyone actually wants him). Solid, star-type guys. Tell your friends, link to this post on your blogs, I want to see what the Card Blogging Universe Hive Mind can concoct. Have a little fun.

Lee Lacy, 1988 Topps #598

When my roommate Mikey and I used to work together, we'd take the train to Washington, D.C. every morning. From day to day, we'd see a lot of the same people along for the ride. There were certain folks that we'd identify (not to their faces, of course) with a certain public figure that they resembled. One middle-aged gentleman with thin gray hair and a neatly trimmed black beard was known as Michael Gross, the actor who played Michael J. Fox's father on Family Ties. A particularly unfortunate woman with short auburn hair came to be linked with Michigan State University men's basketball coach Tom Izzo. But our favorite psuedo-celebrity was one that involved a little creativity. There was a burly, light-skinned African American man with close-cropped hair and an equally short beard. He also had small, light wire-rimmed glasses. He seemed stern and stoic. We called him "Papa Stu", the implication being that he was the father of SportsCenter anchor Stuart Scott. We thoroughly entertained ourselves with imagined stories of Papa Stu's feats of strength and prowess and gave each other knowing glances on the occasions that he was seated nearby on the train. It was all the more entertaining to us because we assumed that if he ever caught us looking at him sideways, he would crush us with the mighty paws that he called hands.

After a few months of sharing our commute, Mikey got a new job and began driving to work on his own. I continued my daily commute, and to this day I still see Papa Stu on the train from time to time. Once he even sat next to me, and I fortunately kept my cool. I did happen to catch a glimpse of his I.D. badge, which contained the answer to an ancient and mystical secret: his real name. For the sake of his privacy (and my own safety), I won't divulge it here, but I will tell you that it's one of the most appropriate names I've ever encountered in my life. This name was truly meant for its owner, and I almost wonder if he had it legally changed to better suit him. You know, like the episode of The Simpsons where Homer becomes Max Power. As soon as I got home, I told Mikey what I had learned. I just couldn't resist.

Last summer, I was with Mikey and his girlfriend in Washington, D.C. on a Sunday evening. We'd seen our friend John's one-man show and then accompanied him to dinner and a movie, and now we were taking the Metro back home. As the subway car pulled into the station where we waited, my roommate and I noticed a familiar face sitting inside. We very carefully pointed him to Mikey's girlfriend, whispering and stealing furtive glances as we entered the car and took our seats on the opposite end. We almost got a fit of the giggles, which certainly would have been the end of our shallow little lives, but somehow we made it back in one piece, disembarking at the same station as Papa Stu. I wondered if he had recognized us as well; maybe he even had goofy nicknames for us. After all, I probably look like at least a dozen lanky, gawky white guys with bad facial hair who dot the current landscape of pop culture. In my more self-referential moments, I've even compared myself to professional wrestler Austin Aries (though he's much more manscaped and toned than I'll ever be, naturally). Maybe someday I'll ask him about it.

Maybe someday I will look at this Lee Lacy card and I will be able to think about something other than his uncanny resemblance to Martin Lawrence. I doubt it, though.

Fred Lynn, 1988 Topps #707

New year, new blog. Why the heck not? I thought Freddie Lynn was a good place to start. My dad took me to my first baseball game at Memorial Stadium back in 1987, when I was five. I remember very little about the game, as I wouldn't become a baseball fan for several more years. The Orioles were hosting the Milwaukee Brewers. My father bribed me into sitting still by promising a trip to the concession stand in the fifth inning. So I sat transfixed, watching the big scoreboard in the outfield, waiting for the magical concept of the Fifth Inning. After all these years, only one actual play from the game stands out: A Milwaukee batter hit a deep drive to center field, and Fred Lynn made a spectacular play, leaving his feet and crashing into the fence to make the grab.

I didn't make it to the end of the game. As Dad and I walked back through one of the adjacent neighborhoods towards our car, we passed by another man who must have asked if we'd been at the game. "He got tired," my father explained.

I'm not the only one who got tired. Fred Lynn's best days were behind him when he arrived in Baltimore in 1985. He'd burst onto the scene as a fresh-faced youngster with the Red Sox in the mid-'70s, but a dozen years in the big leagues seem to have taken their toll by the time the photo was snapped in 1987. Something about his tousled hair, his creased face, and his five o' clock shadow, and his squinting, somewhat silly grin have always reminded me of Al Bundy, that dysfunctional everyman who made his TV debut in...1987. Go figure. Taking a closer look at the card as I write this entry, I notice for the first time that Fred's jersey is unbuttoned. He's a weary veteran who can't be bothered with the niceties of the baseball card photo shoot any more. He'll grin and bear it, but don't think he's shaving and putting on his full uniform just for you.