Five cards that sum up Larry Walker if I actually knew Larry Walker

I'm about seven major sports stories behind with this post, but, hey, I make the decisions around here. Sometimes I'm on top of the news and sometimes I ain't.

Plus it's Larry Walker Week in Colorado this week. (I knew I could make this timely).

Last week, Walker and that guy who will be clogging traffic all over the Mohawk Valley in late July were announced as the latest selections to the Baseball Hall of Fame. I'll be adding to my Most Hall of Famers set totals for Walker, Jeter and Ted Simmons at some future point, but I wanted to quickly address Walker first.

Walker has always been a fan favorite. He was so popular he should have been included in Topps' Fan Favorite series from 2003-05 even though he was still playing at the time.

I enjoyed his skill and personality and that's saying something because Walker played for the Dodgers' rivals (Expos, Rockies and Cardinals) and his most famous moment for St. Louis might have been the two home runs he hit in Game 1 of the 2004 NLDS against the Dodgers.

There was something about him that seemed relatable, despite that five-tool ability. He didn't hype himself, gravitate toward celebrities or even look all that other-worldly when he was on the baseball field, despite doing other-worldy things.

Sitting far away, watching on my TV, Walker seemed kind of eccentric -- an eccentric who didn't let it get in the way of hitting 49 home runs in a season anyway. He gave a baseball to a fan in the stands after thinking he had recorded the third out, even though it was just the second and there was a runner on base!

He famously switched from a left-handed batter to a right-handed batter -- and turned his batting helmet around -- after Randy Johnson sailed a pitch far over his head during the 1997 All-Star Game.

He was wearing a Spongbob Squarepants shirt when he took the call that he had made the Hall of Fame and was listening to Rush the night before the announcement.

Yeah, I like this guy. He seems like a regular guy to me. He seemed real. Not that I actually know him.

Look at that face. If Bill Murray didn't exist and Larry Walker could act and be a comedian, I think history would be different.

To pay tribute, I tried to find 5 Walker cards in my collection that were somewhat eccentric -- or at least showed Walker as a "regular guy," a regular guy with a big league career anyway. No hero shots. No prodigious swings. Just regular stuff.

It wasn't easy.

Hey, I'm not an Expos or Rockies fan. I own only 19 cards of Walker. And baseball cards are in the market of making the players they show look like heroes.

So here are five cards in my collection that sum up Larry Walker, if I knew Larry Walker:

If I was a regular guy in the major leagues, I'd seek out all the equipment I could get, to compensate for whatever I didn't possess in ability.

Walker possessed it all. But he seems like a regular guy surrounded by what appears to be all the helmets, bats and batting gloves in the world.

Again, Larry Walker owned a throwing arm with enough power to shame many a 1990s outfielder. But here?

Here, Walker seems like he just avoided running into his own teammate, scraped up his uniform leg, and is sinking into the turf -- how high did they cut the grass at Wrigley anyway? -- in a desperate attempt to throw back to the infield.

My favorite Larry Walker card. In fact, it's the card I showed when I named Stadium Club as the best set of 1992 several months ago.

Walker could steal bases, too, even though he suffered knee problems early in his career. But as thrilling as this scene in Candlestick Park appears, Walker also seems to have ventured much to far into no-man's land. In one of the very best "Oh shit ..." moments on a baseball card, it's possible he never advanced to second -- or even got back to first.

That happens to regular guys sometimes. Even ones who play in the major leagues.

Regular guys foul off pitches. And look a little dopey doing it.

But the best "One of Us" of the Larry Walker cards in my collection is this one.

Can't think of something that is more relatable than a guy with a dog. And, look, the dog is even playing with a baseball. (If that's actually Walker's sofa, nice work picking a sofa -- or dog -- that somewhat hides the dog hairs -- wish I thought of that).

When I ran a fantasy baseball league team in the mid-1990s, Larry Walker was one of my starting outfielders. I started him day after day and he always performed, even as my team struggled year after year.

He will be the only member of my former fantasy team to become a Hall of Famer, unless Dante Bichette or, uh, Rusty Meacham ever gets the call (Kirby Puckett, upon hearing that I drafted him for my team in 1996, immediately went on the DL with glaucoma and retired four months later).

Many people argued that Walker shouldn't be voted into the Hall of Fame. They said Coors Field inflated his numbers. The critics thought he was a regular, "very good" major leaguer and nothing more.

Walker had them all fooled. Them, me, everyone.

He's a Hall of Famer. Part of one of the most select groups in history. No one in the Hall is "regular."

But I appreciate Walker at least keeping it real. For us regular guys.