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Showing posts from October, 2011

Awesome night card, pt. 127

I wouldn't be a proper night owl if I didn't post a night card of a terrified-looking Ernie Johnson on Halloween. I'm not sure what's happening to Johnson's batterymate during this particular moment, but it seems really heinous. This artful '55 Bowman item arrived from dayf , of course. He's the only I know who has cards like this just lying around that he can send. The card is so phenomenal that it's uprooting the status quo: 1. If I'm going to alter the header on the blog a little, does EJ deserve a coveted spot up there? 2. If the card is going in the night card binder, I'm going to have to find an 8-pocket page. I'll have to think about No. 1. I'm not sure who I'd boot off to add the Johnson card. I'll address No. 2 at the end of the post. The greatness of '55 Bowmans does not end with the card fronts as the card back countdown taught us. Ernie's little story about the greatest hitter he's ever seen giv

Orange cards ... that's Halloweenish, right?

This year is the first year that my daughter will not be trick-or-treating since she was a baby. And there goes my only reason for recognizing Halloween. I do like the holiday, mostly because I really should be 499 pounds and I dearly love chocolate. I also like seeing the little kids running around in their costumes and orange glow-in-the-dark flashlights. I live in a neighborhood that is a trick-or-treating mecca. People practically bus kids in from the country to go trick-or-treating where I live. There are rugrats everywhere. But that's about the extent of my holiday revelry. I haven't dressed up in a costume since I was 12 (I don't count what passed for clothing in the '80s). And I don't get horror films. I am never in the mood to be freaked out or repulsed. So that just wastes my time. Without a kid to shuffle from house to house on the only day when it's socially acceptable to beg for food, I'll just head to work, where you wipe away the holida

A banner day

Perhaps you've noticed. I've changed my banner. Or header. Or whatever you call the image that leads off one's blog. Good gosh the thing is big, isn't it? I don't know if I want to keep it that way. I kind of like that it's the FIRST THING that people see when they hop on the blog. But it's a tad alarming. If anyone knows how I get the image to be like it was before -- a little smaller and subdued -- please let me know. Aside from that, I like the card arrangement. I've been meaning to change it for awhile. I finally got the chance, what with the family out of the house, baseball done for the season, and no cash to blow. So let's move on to the agonizing breakdown of why I chose the cards that I did: 1. Fernando Valenzuela, 1981 Topps Traded: One of the first cards I ever pined over. It took me decades to land it, too. 2. Mr. Met, 2011 Opening Day: I had to get a night card up in the banner. It was one of the old banner's greatest fla

'56 of the month: Max Surkont

Max Surkont accomplished a number of things in his 64 years on earth that I would like to achieve. But I never will. He played major league baseball from 1949-57. He struck out eight straight Cincinnati Reds in a game in 1953 to hold a major league record for 17 years until Tom Seaver struck out 10 straight Padres in 1970. After his retirement, he ran a restaurant/bar in his native Rhode Island called, aptly, "Max Surkont's Cafe." All of this sounds very appealing to me, although I've been told -- about both playing baseball and running a restaurant for a living -- that each occupation is all-consuming. But Surkont's achievements, and my consequential envy, weren't what attracted me to his card. It was his name. And his face. Take a look and give a read of what's on the card. Max. Surkont. He looks like a Max. He looks like a Surkont. But he does not look like a baseball player. Max Surkont has a name and a face that seem like they belong in

A rack pack break in honor of the best World Series in a decade

Thanks to our English language, "best" can be interpreted in a number of ways. This wasn't the "best" World Series in terms of quality of play. Too much "Oh no" for that. This wasn't the "best" in terms of the winner. The Cardinals inspire as much thoughts of "dynasty" as the Giants did last year. Even less so. But in terms of drama, excitement, stuff of which World Series Are Judged, then, yeah, this is the best World Series I have seen in 10 years, since Luis Gonzalez's barely there flair against Mariano Rivera in 2001. In fact, after a quick run through my brain of all the World Series I've witnessed since I started actively watching them in 1976, this series is in the top 10, easily. After the insanity of Game 6, which we can rank up there with Game 6's from 1975, 1985, 1986, 1991, 1992, 1993 (and 1981, if I get very biased), I settled in for Game 7 hoping to break a rack pack of 2011 Topps Update here on t

There is no Game 8

This is not 1919. There are no nine-game World Series anymore. So later tonight (or early Saturday morning), we will experience the final day of the baseball season. Thanks to David Freese, I will be able to witness Game 7 of a World Series for the first time since, well, the last one, in 2002. I was off on that night, too. But since I don't have a huge rooting interest to distract me, I will spend too much of the game mourning the fact that this is the last major league baseball game I will see for five months. We are about to enter the less happy portion of the year. Big fat bummer. As usual, I have a baseball card connection for this bittersweet experience. It is called "the last card in the set." The last card of any set -- well, any traditionally large set -- is the final chapter in a novel that you never want to end. The greatest baseball card sets are epic in nature, colorful and fascinating from beginning to end. When you turn to the final page -- or re