Jack Voigt, 1995 Donruss Press Proof #327

Oh, mid-1990s Donruss. You're so precious, with your specially-stamped parallels of base cards. I guess we're just supposed to take your word for it that this Jack Voigt card was one of the very first 2,000 Jack Voigt cards to come tumbling off the printing press, since there's no authentication provided. Not even a serial number to be found. This isn't just any Jack Voigt card, it's a very limited and super-special Jack Voigt card, unlike the rest (give or take 1,999). We might as well operate under the honor system, because a card company would never manufacture scarcity to drive interest in its product, right?

Naturally, I type with tongue placed firmly in cheek. "Press Proofs" are incredibly tame when compared to the Monopoly Holder's short-printed base card variations and Internet-only, $100-a-pop Heritage update sets. Which reminds me: Nearly three months into 2013, I have not bought a single Topps retail product. I don't even really miss it. Well done, guys.

Jack Voigt, 1994 Fleer Ultra #10

I still love seeing the distinctive 1993 All-Star Game sleeve patch on Orioles cards from that era. It especially stands out on the black alternate jersey that Jack Voigt is modeling. This seems timely, since the O's have thrown their hat in the ring to be considered as host to the 2016 All-Star Game. They want to celebrate the 25th season of Oriole Park at Camden Yards in style that year. They've got to have a pretty good chance, since I think Major League Baseball will have run out of shiny new taxpayer-funded stadiums to show off by then. Of course, we'll just have to play the waiting game for now, if we can stand it.

Jack Voigt, 1994 Score #580

This has not been an ideal blogging week, but for the most part it's because I've been "good" busy. There was no post here last night because I left the house at 6:40 AM and came home at midnight. In between, I picked my sister up from work and we spent the evening in downtown Baltimore to celebrate her birthday...which was actually last month, but I did give her the concert tickets on the actual day. Anyway, we had dinner at the California Tortilla across the street from Oriole Park, and then wandered down to Rams Head Live in the Inner Harbor for the Jack's Mannequin show. I'd never been to Rams Head, but it's a great little venue. There's a small stage on the ground level, and two levels of balconies, and of course, a handful of bars situated around the premises. Liz and I promptly staked out a table on the middle level, because a) there were bunches of teen-aged girls all over the stage floor, and that's not really our scene and 2) we're weary twentysomethings who worked all day and just wanted to sit down. Them's the facts.

The opening act was Erin McCarley, a talented singer/songwriter who confided in us that she was still stretching out her legs after a seven-hour bus trip from Syracuse. That made me feel a bit better about my commute. I wasn't familiar with her music, but apparently her song "Love, Save the Empty" is currently on VH1's Top 20 Music Countdown. She also did a pretty strong cover of the Suzanne Vega hit "Tom's Diner", although she sardonically noted that that would probably be the song from her set that most of us would want to have, and it was the only one not on her album.

Next was Matt Nathanson, whose music you might have heard on Scrubs and elsewhere. He's absolutely hilarious live. Among other things, he told us that he hailed from San Francisco - "the Baltimore of California", read racy passages from a romance novel, ranted about 24-7 cable news being "the worst thing that ever happened to the country" because of around-the-clock coverage of some bad bootleg of an awful John Mayer song (he's not a fan), and broke into impromptu covers of Enrique Iglesias' "Escape" and Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl". Oh, and he played some nifty music as well.

Finally, after a half-hour wait (it was nearly 10 PM and us old fogies were getting antsy), Jack's Mannequin took the stage. They're one of my sister's favorite groups, and lead singer Andrew McMahon has been affiliated with about a half-dozen other groups that she likes, so this gift was a pretty safe bet. I like all four of their songs that I've heard, so naturally they only played one of them ("Kill the Messenger") during the set. But the rest of their songs were great, even if I didn't get that extra thrill from hearing something familiar. One of the most entertaining things for me was just watching the other people on the balcony, most of them much bigger fans than I. There were the young frat-guy types who were singing along to every song and practically climbing the railing (and each other) in in their euphoria. Or the middle-aged woman who spent the entire concert dancing like she was alone in her living room. I was in awe of the young female bartender who had to squeeze by her every couple minutes - and managed to do it without once making physical contact. I also took notice as my sister clapped delightedly during the introductions of several featured songs. She's not the climb the railing type, you know. The evening even had a great closing note for me - the last song of the encore was "La La Lie", another of the few songs I already knew.

Oh, I almost forgot! Making small talk between songs, McMahon mentioned that he and the band had spent a few days soaking in the full Baltimore experience (he didn't mention whether that included Tuesday's water main break a few streets over). He and the rest of Jack's Mannequin were in attendance at Tuesday night's Orioles-Angels game. The mere mention of it elicited a loud cheer from the crowd, and he quipped that we "must not be fans, since they lost". Of course, it would be hard to root for the O's if you weren't prepared for losses, but that's neither here nor there. McMahon mocked some of his fellow musicians for sitting in the ritzy seats while he and a few bandmates sat "with the crowd", for the more authentic feel. As a result, he ended up appearing on the JumboTron, which he described as a legitimate thrill.

I bet you didn't think I'd be able to tie the Orioles into this half-cocked concert review, huh?

Jack Voigt, 1994 Fleer #23

Continued from Mark Smith and Scott Klingenbeck

Before I talk about the actual result of the game, I want to go into more detail about our experience in the bleachers. At the time, they were some of the cheapest seats in the park, going for $4. In hindsight, this both blows my mind and makes me feel prematurely old. (These tickets now cost $15 each; $23 for "Prime" games like the Yankees and Sawx.) At such rock-bottom prices, the bleachers attracted the more colorful and authentic O's fans, to say the least.

A few rows behind us there sat a couple robust gentlemen who, emboldened by the warming rays of the sun and the malted hops in their bellies, struck up a one-sided conversation with Tigers right fielder Junior Felix, a journeyman who had a little power and a little speed, but evidently not enough of either to get comfortable anywhere. Detroit was his fourth team in six major league seasons, and his third in three years. As he stood stock-still a few feet in front of the warning track, he was showered with catcalls by Charm City's third-rate answer to Statler and Waldorf. Among their greatest hits:

When a hot dog wrapper blew onto the field: "Hey Junior, why don't you pick up that piece of trash! Ya gotta do something to earn that money!"

As the Tiger pitcher ran into trouble: "Hey, Junior, can you pitch?"

The old classic: "JUUUUNNNIIIOOOORRRR! JUUUUNNNIIIOOOORRRR!"

And my personal favorite: "Hey, Junior, where did the rest of your legs go?" (At 5'11" Junior wasn't exactly a Smurf, but I do recall him having noticably short lower legs that ended abruptly after the calves.)

Junior seemed to be a fairly good sport about the heckling. The fans never got profane or violent, to their credit. At one point, he even turned around and acknowledged them with a wave.

The Oriole right fielder, on the other hand, was not so lucky.

Getting a rare start that day was longtime minor leaguer and utility player Jack Voigt. He had performed above expectations as a rookie in 1993, hitting .296 with an OPS (on-base-plus-slugging percentage) of .895. He struggled as a sophomore, though, and was hitting .240 as play started on June 2. Though he walked twice and drove in a run with a sacrifice fly, some fans were harder to please than others.

Two such discriminating fans wandered down to the bleachers in the late innings. They were a pair of young boys, somewhere around my age. The duo perched in an open spot in the front row and started riding Jack Voigt hard, trying to get a rise out of him.

"Hey Jack, you suck!"

Nothing.

"You suck, Jack! You stink!"

Not very original. No wonder he paid them no mind.

"We want Jeff!"

They were going for the low blow. Jeffrey Hammonds was the Great Hope in Baltimore, the fourth overall pick in the first round of the 1992 draft. He'd made it to Camden Yards one year later, and dazzled fans with his strong bat and his glove. However, he also struggled to stay on the field, and at the time of this particular game, was sidelined by a knee injury. Jeffrey Hammonds was everything Jack Voigt wasn't, a flashy five-tool player with an Olympic pedigree and a big signing bonus who was only briefly detained in the minor leagues. Voigt was 27 when he finally got a tenuous grasp on the big leagues, having spent six long and dusty years in the Orioles organization.

That was the last straw...Jack turned around, threw his arms up and gave them a dirty look. His body language seemed to say, "C'mon! What do you want from me? I'm just trying to do a job here!"

Jack's still plugging away at his job - or jobs, rather. He works in real estate in Florida when he's not serving as the hitting coach for the New Orleans Zephyrs, the AAA affiliate of the New York Mets. I remember reading an article during his playing days that suggested that Jack Voigt would make a good manager some day. Let's hope that he gets his shot. That would show those mouthy kids what's what.

To be concluded tomorrow.