Curt Schilling, 1990 Topps #97

Normally when Curt Schilling talks, I tune out, but I have to admit that the anecdote about his major league debut with the Orioles made me laugh. Curt was tabbed as Baltimore's starting pitcher on Wednesday, September 7, 1988 for a home game against the Red Sox. In the pitcher's own words:

The night before the game I stayed at a hotel down the street from Memorial.  The Sox were staying there too – next thing I know, Boggs, Greenwell, and Stanley are buying me beers trying to get me drunk.  I suspected that they were doing that just so they could destroy me the next day."

Fortunately for Schilling, he either exhibited sufficient restraint or had a high tolerance for alcohol. He was a bit wild in his debut, walking five and striking out only two, but he gave up just three runs in seven innings. He left trailing 3-2, but escaped with a no-decision when the Orioles rallied for two runs in the bottom of the ninth against Bob Stanley. The Boston reliever blew the save by allowing a bases-loaded single to Billy Ripken and a run-scoring groundout by Cal Ripken, Jr. Maybe Stanley's the one who should have stayed in his hotel room on Tuesday night.

Juan Bell, 1990 Topps #724

Nothing seems more fitting today than a crappy card of a crappy player from a crappy set. I'm beyond disgusted with the Orioles today. I've been watching them lose and lose and lose for my entire adult life and then some, and somehow this team is on pace to be the worst of the bunch. After drafting and trading for an entire rotation's worth of highly-acclaimed young pitchers, they're no closer to contending. Every pitcher has encountered injuries and/or a startling regression in ability. The pitching stinks. The hitting stinks. The defense stinks. The manager's lineup decisions are often confounding. The general manager spent $25 million on three past-their-prime players (Kevin Gregg, Vladimir Guerrero, and Derrek Lee) that were unwanted elsewhere, and all three have performed below even the rock-bottom expectations that my pessimistic side had for them. Same general manager has waved a white flag when it comes to signing Latin American prospects, essentially widening the talent gap between the Baltimore organization and its rivals. The fan exodus from Camden Yards continues unchecked. Player development is apparently broken as well, given the lack of fruit borne by the farm system and the repeated failures of the few players who do make it to the major leagues. I can't remember ever feeling this hopeless as a baseball fan.

Something has to give. I'm shutting the doors of this blog for the first time in the 44 months since I began posting. I plan to take a week off. No scanning, no writing, no trying to come up with something to say about a team and a franchise that just don't seem to be worth the effort. See you in a week.

Billy Ripken, 1990 Topps #468

I made a foolish purchase today...but I absolutely intended to do so.

've been spending my hard-earned money on lots of not-so-fun things lately. Car repairs, new tires, paint for my bathroom walls. All of that lousy grown-up crap. So today, on the cusp of Christmas, I found myself pushing through the post-work traffic to get to the unholiest of unholies, Walmart. It was a necessary evil, to get a prescription filled for antibiotics to kill the lovely cough/whatever else that came to visit right before the holidays. With 30 minutes to waste before I could pick up my magic pills, I decided that I'd earned a trip across the store to the card aisle. I knew exactly what was waiting for me with its garish siren song:

Surprise! It's garbage!

I've seen this exact Pandora's Blaster Box on my last handful of trips to Wallyworld and each time Mr. Rational Side of the Brain has beaten back the impulses that scream, "Oooh! Shiny! 1950s and 1960s wax! Even if you don't get any of that, there's 16 packs! Try to find a better deal for $20!" Mr. Rational Side of the Brain sees the asterisks that decorate this box like one of Ford Frick's forbidden dreams. He sees the black bar at the bottom that promises that "the majority" of these boxes will contain 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s detritus, and he knows exactly what that means. At least 50% of these packs will be the same damned bundles of cardboard that fill boxes of duplicates in my closet: 1987 Topps. 1989 Topps. Maybe a little 1990 Topps, just because it's so monkeychucking ugly. 1990 Fleer. 1988 Score. If you look closely at the background image for the "16 Baseball Packs" boilerplate, you'll see more truth in advertising: I can make out images of wax packs of 1988, 1991, and 1992 Topps, Triple Play, a 1989 or 1990 Score...yep, this is certain doom.

Did I mention that there was one box left?

That was all the extra motivation that my impulsive side needed. Take the guesswork out of it, never spend the rest of my life lamenting that I chose the wrong box. This one was there for a reason. A side panel broadcasts the "Randomly-Inserted" Throwback Packs: 1961 Fleer Baseball Greats, 1964 Topps Stand Ups, 1965-1967 Topps, 1968 something-or-other, 1969 Topps Baseball Stamps. They even show the 1965 Topps Mickey Mantle, one of the 43 cards I need to complete that set! It's a sign. It was meant to be.

While I waited in line at the Pharmacy to check out, I read the ultra-fine print on the bottom of the box. There are 1:4,000 odds of finding a Throwback Pack, which is in actuality a voucher to be redeemed by mail. Redemptions allow you to be entered in a drawing for that "Big Find", the one and only pack of 1952 Topps High Series. Don't hold your breath, especially since the drawing doesn't take place until "on or around" 1/31/13. But hey, what's two years to wait?

Alright, I've taken you through my tortured thought process enough for one night. Check back tomorrow, and I'll let you know what treasures can be had in a box so cruelly enticing. With any luck, I'll at least get something nifty and forgotten like 2003 Topps Total.

Randy Milligan, 1990 Topps #153

After fifteen years as an Orioles fan, the team that I most identify with is a team that I never followed at all: the 1989 Orioles. That team is a microcosm of everything about baseball that enchants us. A year after hitting rock bottom with a thrown-together mess of aging veterans and underqualified refugees from AAA, a year after losing their first 21 games of the season, firing Cal Ripken, Sr. as manager in April, and finishing dead last with 108 losses, the Orioles spent most of the 1989 season in first place in the American League East. They did it with the old methods of Oriole baseball: pitching and defense, along with some timely hitting. There were different heroes every day, most of them untested rookies and unwanted castoffs from other organizations. In one year, the O's went from laughingstocks to lovable underdogs.

Why Not?

That was the rallying cry of the fans, and the name of a VHS tape made locally to tell the story of the most improbable season in Baltimore baseball history. I own the tape, and try to watch it at least once a year. It's one of my favorite baseball keepsakes, for reasons both genuine and ironic. First, the genuine: it's narrated by Jon Miller, who is still sorely missed in Baltimore. The video is also well-constructed, showing the most pertinent and exciting highlights in chronological order and giving a real sense of the dizzying highs and crushing lows of the entire 162-game season.

As for the ironic, this tape is rife with uninentional comedy and is a perfect time capsule for the late 1980's. Certain points in the season are set up through "letters" the players write to friends and family. You'll see Mike Devereaux scribbling intently on a pad of paper as he also dictates the letter out loud in a stilted voiceover. In a cute touch, Cal Junior even dashes off a letter to former teammate (and at that time pitcher for the rival Blue Jays) Mike Flanagan. The players' hairstyle and fashion choices are also a source of amusement. There's the goofy soundtrack, which includes the over-the-top cheesy "Why Not?" (if you've heard any song explicitly written for your local sports team, you know what I mean), "I Love Mickey" (appropriated for slugging catcher Mickey Tettleton), "Great Balls of Fire", "Wind Beneath My Wings", and Kenny Rogers' "Blaze of Glory". I do have to admit that "Runnin' Down a Dream" was a great choice though.

But the absolute funniest moment in the entire video comes during a highlight of Randy Milligan's dramatic game-tying three run home run off of Boston's Rob Murphy. As footage of the at-bat rolls, we're treated to a voiceover by the burly first baseman, simulating his thoughts as he dug in at the plate. When he gets a hold of the pitch and it soars over the fence at Fenway Park, he lets out a loud, "YEEEAAAAHHHH BOOOOOYYYYYY!". It kills me every time.

Something else happens when I watch this video. I'm transported back in time, twenty years in the past. I find myself smiling as Dave Johnson gets that complete-game win in his Memorial Stadium debut, or Mickey Weston notches his first save in the bigs after eight-plus years in the minor leagues. Above all, I hope against hope that things will be different in the end. Maybe Mark Williamson cleanly fields that Joe Carter bunt. Perhaps the fog lifts just enough for Phil Bradley to find that Ken Phelps fly ball. Maybe, just maybe, Pete Harnisch doesn't step on a nail and miss that last starting assignment in Toronto. After all, they finished just two games back. Two wins away from a worst-to-first season.

Why Not?