Night Owl Cards

When I was living in Buffalo, there was a radio station or two devoted to what I guess I would call the older, ethnic crowd. Buffalo features a large Polish population, along with many other ethnic groups, and you were always aware of that on Sunday morning when Grandma turned the radio on and the polkas poured out of the speakers fast and furious. I don't think I've heard an accordion since I left Buffalo. But I heard them almost every week back in the late '80s. My grandmother wasn't even Polish. She was a proud Italian. What does this have to do with cards? Nothing. It's the first thing I thought of when I pulled this Jim Fregosi card out of a package sent to me by Greg L. of Nearly Mint . And that's what this post is going to be -- a post featuring the first things I think of when prompted by the featured cards. The previous post was filled with logic and numbers and it made me a little cranky. Especially when the devil's advocate people start w...

We here at Topps/Fleer/Donruss/Upper Deck/Score/etc./etc. have the best interests of you, the player, at heart. (Rusty Staub, swinging and looking absolutely goofy). Our mission is to serve you, the athlete. (Jerry Grote desperately attempting to run out a grounder). With our fine fleet of photographers, we will cast you only in the best light (Jim Fregosi watching as his foul pop up is about to be caught). You are the star of our show. We want to make you look as good as we possibly can. (Jim Wynn hitting one straight up in the air at Candlestick). The kids look at you as heroes, so what purpose would it serve to make you look bad? (Bobby Murcer fouling one off or possibly swinging and missing). You are the most talented players in the game. We want to showcase that talent (Len Randle yelling after taking a bad swing or maybe fouling one off his foot). Rest assured, you are in capable hands (Lou Piniella nearly spinning completely around and saying something like ...

When I arrived in the building where they were holding the card show on Sunday, I wasn't wearing a lab coat. I wasn't carrying a clipboard. I wasn't wearing glasses. And I didn't ask anyone to "tell me how you feel." But I definitely felt like a psychiatrist during my card transactions, because the dealers were in a venting mood. They always seem like the anxious, nervous sort, but they seemed even more anxious-er and nervous-er than usual. One dealer that I always go to totaled up my cards, gave me a price, gave me a bag and then walked away without taking my money. (Don't worry, I flagged him down). One dealer moaned endlessly about the economy and thanked the Lord above that he wasn't relying on his card sales to feed his family. One dealer told me it was the worst October show he'd ever been to in years and years of going to October shows. Then he told me a happy story about getting two flat tires on two separate occasions on the way to one of...