Gustavo Molina, 2007 Topps '52 Rookies #118

I know that Topps has flogged their iconic 1952 card design to death with numerous tributes, reprints, and retro sets. Still, the '52 Rookies issues of 2006 and 2007 had some charm simply because they shone a spotlight on a bunch of underwhelming minor league veterans who had the good fortune to play a few games in the majors during those seasons. Take Gustavo Molina, who despite his surname and his status as a catcher, is not a part of the famed Molina brotherhood. The Venezuelan native signed with the White Sox as an amateur free agent in 2000, but didn't debut with Chicago until his eighth pro season. Injuries left the Pale Hose shorthanded behind the plate, and he saw action in 10 games early in 2007. Unfortunately he started 0-for-16 before singling off of Chien-Ming Wang in his final game for the White Sox. The Orioles claimed him off of waivers in July, and summoned him to the big league roster in September. He fared a bit better, going 2-for-9 to leave his final batting line at a mighty .111/.138/.148. That was enough to get him on this card, complete with a hastily Photoshopped oriole bird in place of what was presumably a "SOX" insignia.

Gustavo continues to drift through the ranks of MLB and its affiliates, going 1-for-7 in a 2008 cup of coffee with the Mets and doing the same in 2010 with the Red Sox. This past April, he found himself on the Yankees roster and had a double in six at-bats. Yesterday the Yanks designated him for assignment, dropping him from the 40-man roster to clear a spot for pitcher Aaron Laffey, who they'd claimed off waivers from Seattle. It's all part of baseball's circle of life.

Cory Doyne, 2007 Topps '52 Rookies #111

When regular reader Bob pointed out that I had featured two bespectacled (or in the case of Chris Sabo, begoggled) players in a three-day span, I decided to spin it off into a theme week. We're still a month away from spring training, so I'm all about generating easy content. There's no better way to continue Four-Eyes Week than with this stupendously goofy card. This would be Cory Doyne's only major-brand baseball card, if not for a 2003 Bowman pre-rookie issue. What a shame.

So much to absorb from one 2 and 1/2" x 3 and 1/2" piece of cardboard. The oddly colored glove, almost assuredly meant to mimic the red stitches on a white baseball. The half-unbuttoned shirt, as though Cory knows his chances of making the team (and by extension, getting his own card) are slim and none, so why should he bother looking spiffy? The terrible and baseball-player-ubiquitous soul patch, which for some reason seems to be exempt from the Orioles' stuffy no-beard policy. And of course, the state-of-the-art prescription eyewear made famous by pitchers such as Brendan Donnelly, Eric Gagne, and new Orioles reliever Kevin Gregg.

I remember Cory Doyne's brief and ignominious major league career. He was nearly 26 and a veteran of eight professional seasons when the O's promoted him to the bigs on June 16. He mopped up in a loss against the Diamondbacks, walking Conor Jackson before retiring Orlando Hudson on a grounder to second. He'd been a placeholder, and was sent back to Norfolk immediately. But the former eighth-round draft pick of the Astros was gaining momentum as a lights-out closer for the Tides: he would finish the season with a 2.23 ERA, nearly 10 strikeouts per nine innings pitched, and a franchise-record 29 saves. So when the Birds learned in late July that Chris Ray would need elbow surgery, they brought back Cory for a longer look. But after a scoreless eighth inning against the Rays in his first game back, the wheels came off.

The O's put Doyne in on July 26 for a second straight game. It was the ninth inning, they were up 10-5, it was a textbook low-leverage situation for an inexperienced pitcher. But he was shaky, allowing a couple of runs on two singles and a walk to make manager Dave Trembley squirm a little. Still he got through it, collecting the necessary three outs for a 10-7 Orioles win. Two nights later, he was called upon in practically the same situation, with much worse results. Thanks to an uncharacteristically well-pitched game by Brian Burres and some rare success against Roger Clemens, the O's had cruised to a 7-1 ninth-inning lead over the hated Yankees. It was Cory time, in a manner of speaking. Hideki Matsui greeted him with a single, and Jorge Posada followed with a two-run homer to tighten the margin. It took Robinson Cano just two pitches two rip a double, and Bronx legend Andy Phillips singled on the first pitch he saw. Still looking for the first out of the inning, Doyne instead surrendered an RBI single to Melky Cabrera. Trembley had finally seen enough and put the rookie out of his misery. He sent in Jamie Walker to blunt the New York rally with the tying run suddenly standing at home plate.

Walker (back before he fell apart) coaxed a double play out of Johnny Damon, but Derek Jeter closed the book on poor Cory with a weak grounder that he Derek Jetered through the hole to score Phillips. The final line for the first-year reliever: five batters faced, five hits, four earned runs, 16 painful pitches. I was screaming at my television like a lunatic, swearing oaths upon the name of Cory Doyne as my Yankee fan roommate wisely bit his tongue. Walker ended the anguish and earned a save by striking out Bobby Abreu to lock in the final score at 7-5.

Cory appeared once more in an Orioles uniform, battling through a scoreless 1.1 innings in a loss to the Red Sox, but the writing was on the wall. On August 3, he was returned to Norfolk, his place taken by Kurt Birkins. The vision-impaired righty endured an injury-abbreviated 2008 season in the O's farm system before signing with the Nationals in 2009. Washington released him that July, and he briefly pitched for the unaffiliated Long Island Ducks. Doyne did not play professionally last year, and his career may be over. If so, his final major league stats are as follows: 3.2 IP in 5 games, 6 earned runs allowed on seven hits, three walks, and a hit batter. His WHIP was 2.73, and his ERA 14.73. Yikes.

But in this odd-looking card, Cory Doyne has left an enduring legacy.

Scott Moore, 2007 Topps '52 Rookies #194

Pitchers and catchers don't report to spring training for another month yet, but the benefits of the Orioles' move from Fort Lauderdale to Sarasota all already becoming clear. Earlier this week, the O's announced their list of Spring Training invites: twelve players in all, including injury-prone third baseman Scott Moore.

In past years, the O's had to cram their major league camp with as many warm bodies as possible; the minor league facility was 200 miles away in Sarasota. Since they couldn't just walk across the street and grab a few spare players for a split-squad game or a long road trip to Jupiter, the big league camp was packed with a rogue's gallery of has-beens, never-will-bes, and whosits. Last year, the O's had 71 guys in Fort Lauderdale. As in a 40-man roster plus 31. Yikes.

So now we don't have to scramble to figure out who the heck Scott Chiasson and Craig Brazell are (yes, they were actually non-roster invitees in 2009), nor do we have to worry that they'll go north with the team due to some horrible clerical error. Welcome to Ed Smith Stadium, you crazy Orioles.

Garrett Olson, 2007 Topps '52 Rookies #131

Sweet relief! Yesterday, the Orioles won for the first time in their last sixteen Sunday games, breaking a run at historic futility. Amazingly, the O's hadn't ended their weekend with a win since the first week of the season, when they topped Seattle on April 6. During the losing streak, they were outscored 83-43. The Birds' Sunday record now stands at 2-15; they're 47-40 from Monday through Saturday, which is enough to drive a fan crazy with "wouldas" and "shouldas".

As the Seventh-Day Skein slogged on through the summer, the players, coaches, and even the organization at large tried everything. The Orioles attempted to draw weary fans to the park on two consecutive Sundays by promising free tickets to any future game if the team won that day; instead, those who were enticed by the offers sat through losses fourteen and fifteen. Jay Payton suggested (with tongue planted firmly in cheek) that the team should resort to ritualistic animal sacrifices. Manager Dave Trembley flat out guaranteed a win on July 20 vs. the Tigers, and attempted to shake things up by having the O's wear their orange batting practice jerseys on that day. Instead, they were shut down by Justin Verlander. Yesterday, first baseman Kevin Millar gathered the team in the clubhouse before the game and performed some sort of mysterious ritual that was not divulged to the outside world. Whatever it was, it must have finally done the trick.

Of course, some skillful pitching by Garrett Olson didn't hurt either. The green southpaw slammed the door on a miserable four-start stretch in which his ERA had risen by nearly a run and a half. He allowed only two runs to an Angels lineup that had battered the Orioles for seventeen runs in the first two games of their series, and more importantly, he allowed the bullpen to sit easy until the seventh inning. Olson has an impressive minor league resume, and had shown flashes of that talent during the early portion of this season, winning five of his first six decisions before seeming to hit the wall. One of his problems is a reluctance to challenge hitters, pitching around opposing bats. It's hard to imagine that the sneering, bad-ass mamma jamma pictured above would ever be tentative. Just looking at this card gives me confidence in Garrett Olson. Maybe he needs to give it a look before each start, as a reminder that he's the baddest young lefty in the majors, straight from the mean streets of Fresno. He'll take what he wants, and there's no one that's going to stop him.

Heck, maybe he looked at this card yesterday afternoon. Whatever it takes.

Brian Burres, 2007 Topps '52 Rookies #119

In Brian Burres' major league debut, he left the mound with a nose bleed. Sure, that's pretty embarrassing, but who among us hasn't had a few humiliating moments ourselves? Sure, ours may not have happened with 36,000 people in attendance, but at the end of the day it still makes a good story.

One of my favorite stories to tell involves a weekend trip to New York with my high school cross country team, the Archbishop Curley Friars. I was a sophomore at the time, and it was my first year with the team. We were running in the Foot Locker Invitational in Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx. I remember looking forward to these trips, mostly because we got out of classes for a day or two, but also because it was nice to travel a bit and see a new part of the country. This would be an especially interesting trip, as the girls from Catholic High's team (the sister school to our own all-boys' Catholic high school) would be following us up in their own school van.

Since the social pecking order of high school was still in full effect, the primary concern on the lengthy van ride from Baltimore to New York was hotel room assignments. There would be four boys to a room, and if you snoozed, you'd get stuck with the freshmen or the one or two especially weird upperclassmen. So at my first opportunity, I had a quick word with Steve (one of my closest acquaintances on the team) and made sure that I'd be in his room. It would be the two of us, another sophomore named Tim, and a junior named Paul. When we got to the hotel, Coach Hoffman asked for the room assignments. The last room to be announced was ours. Paul took the honors, saying the names of himself, Tim, Steve, and then...it seemed as if he froze for a split second. He stuttered, and the name that spilled out of his mouth was that of Adam, the aforementioned weird upperclassman. I was stunned. When I pressed him about it later, Paul claimed that he had blanked and said the first name that came to him. I took him at his word because...if you knew Adam, no one in their right mind would choose him as a roommate.

With that, Coach Hoffman turned around and said, "Now which one of you doesn't have any friends?" He glanced at me and grinned. "Kevin! Okay, you're with me."

I have to explain that one of my favorite things about track and cross country was the coach. Our teams in those years were mostly subpar, and he spent most of his time belittling us and talking about how good his teams were in the Eighties. It was inexplicably hilarious. The angrier he got, the more we were entertained. One of his more motivational speeches was: "There are six words to describe this team. Suck, suck, suck, suck, suck, and suck!" Sure, Coach Hoffman's dyspeptic, middle-aged ranting was a riot, but that didn't mean that I wanted to share a room with him.

But as my new roomie wisely said, "Screw them, you get your own bed."

Saturday night, I settled into bed and listened to my portable CD player (I believe it was Local H's As Good As Dead) while Coach Hoffman watched some cheesy action movie. I knew that we had to be out of the hotel by 8:00 the next morning before the race, but I didn't worry about setting an alarm. "I'm sharing a room with the coach; he'll wake me up." The next thing I heard was:

"We're leaving in FIVE MINUTES!"

Somehow, I scrambled out of bed, got dressed, and washed up in record time (no shower, of course). Still, I wasn't quite fast enough to satisfy Coach Hoffman. I'll let my friend Jessica, who was on the Catholic High team, tell the rest of the story:

"All of a sudden, we see the Curley van start moving and this one Curley guy comes running out of the hotel, jumps up, and grabs onto the door as it pulls away...everyone felt really sorry for you. They were like, 'Awww.'"

Awww indeed. That's why you don't leave your morning routine at the mercy of a grouchy balding man in a jogging suit.