Night Owl Cards

I'm getting to that age where I start losing memories of entire years. That sounds like something is terribly wrong with me, but I think it's just me getting old. For example, 1993. I remember where I was living, where my job was, and some people I knew at the time. I remember that I became immersed in alternative rock music of the time -- Smashing Pumpkins, Cracker, the Breeders, Belly, etc. I remember Mitch Williams' gopher ball to Joe Carter. And I remember it was the year I changed my card habits in a major way and shunned all other brands for Upper Deck. As for the rest of the year, I'd have to do some research and look through some pictures. But I fear the small moments and nuances from the year, which I have down to sight, taste and smell for, say, 1977, are probably lost forever. That means I have to guess on some stuff that I actually lived through, llike why is Dave Fleming the cover boy on 1993 Pinnacle? Isn't that the same high-hat Mariner tha...

Today is the one day out of the year that I feel like a hen in the fox house. No, I do not have a vote in the Baseball Hall of Fame balloting. But, yes, I am a sportswriter and editor, and I don't enjoy seeing my profession bashed as often as it is on this day. I don't enjoy listening to critics accuse writers of being elitist and sanctimonious and passing judgment, while they also judge. Last night on Twitter, someone who supposedly knows a lot insinuated that people who choose to write for newspapers for a living are stupid. And I thought, "How come there's never relentless insults of plumbers or accountants or hotel maids in my timeline? How come it's always sportswriters?" The fact is, the arguments that arise from the Hall of Fame vote are too divisive and too personal. It's so over-the-top. All of the critics' efforts, biases and prejudices are being invested into a museum in a southeast corner of New York state. That's all it is. It...