The photographer's life

One of the reasons I'm fascinated by the photographs on my cards is that there's so much mystery attached to them.

I know the names of thousands of baseball players, but not one baseball card photographer. This seems wrong to me. Who are these mysterious people who've captured the moments pored over by thousands and thousands of collectors? What's the decision process on choosing which photos make the cut, and which ones get left behind? And why is Jason Standridge wearing a sumo suit on this minor league card I'd somehow never seen before, and, more interestingly, how did this image end up on a baseball card?

I'm scoobied on each and every one of those questions, but at the very least I'm glad Bob of "The Best Bubble" blog decided to send this wacky piece of minor league history my way -- Jason was a late invite to my Halloween party. 

I often wish cards would give some sort of photographer's credit on the back or something, just so I'd know who to thank for wonderful, perfectly captured stills like these.

Between floating baseballs and Ferris wheels, I feel like photographers deserve a lot of the credit for the joy I get out of my collection.

I don't know who started the trend of putting double plays or shots of guys signing autographs on baseball cards, but I owe my mini-collecting fanaticism to them.

Bob's been sending me cards for a while now, and one of the trends I've noticed with his packages is that he's always trying to get me hooked on new mini-collections.

Don't know about you, but I sensed a fungo bat-themed subliminal message here.

Again, I wish I could thank whatever photographer came up with the concept of putting superhero-like multiple-exposure shots on baseball cards, and I'd like to implore card companies to please make more of these.

Of course, I don't usually show basketball cards on the blog, but a card of a guy playing a (five-string?) bass is just too darn cool -- did an Upper Deck photographer just happen to be in the audience that night, or did UD specifically send someone to take that picture?

Bunch of terrific oddball randoms from Bob -- not every day you find a Japanese TCMA in a trade package (and of a gaijin!).

Like any true snob, I love owning cards of guys before they were famous.

Most of my trade posts inevitably get sprinkled with Cubs, and here were are.

Famous Cubs!

Shiny Cubs!

Autographed Cubs!

I've never been much of a TTM/IP auto guy, but these were certainly unexpected treats from Bob, and way cool.

Ah, Pacific...how I miss you.

A numbered Ernie Banks and a stop-action Kenny Lofton are further proof that Bob is really spoiling me.

More cards that have nothing in common aside from pure greatness.

I don't know much about Dick Donovan, but when someone sends you a '56 Topps out of the blue, you don't ask questions.

I do, however, wonder about the people responsible for the images on beautiful, landmark sets like this one. I feel like they deserve our dearest gratitude, because we all know the photographic grandeur of '56 Topps, yes? Topps may have designed the cards, issued them -- but it was the photographers who brought them to life. A baseball card, of course, is nothing without a photograph.

Thus it seems like a great tragedy that we know almost nothing about these photographers, their lives a mystery to us, lost in the negatives. 

A treatise on the 2020 baseball season

I'm a cynic by nature, and when MLB announced it was going forward with an abbreviated 2020 season, I just laughed and shook my head.

I didn't think baseball could -- or, more importantly, should -- try to put teams on the field this year. The risk of putting more cracks in this already broken world, I thought, far outweighed the seemingly insignificant reward. And when both the Marlins and Cardinals had outbreaks within the first couple weeks of the season, it started to look like the cynic in me was right again. See, I knew baseball in 2020 was a bad idea. [shakes head, facepalms]

Baseball, like the world around it, was heading for a disaster so easily avoided. But while it may not have been the prettiest sight in the world -- seven-inning doubleheaders and playoff bubbles abound -- MLB somehow righted the ship and actually pulled off a 60-game season with few further complications, a season that felt authentic, or whatever passes for authentic these days. And what most surprised me was that I was into it. 

I fully expected to let the season roll by with little to no interest, grumbling at the empty seats and the pumped-in crowd noise -- but no, as the weeks went by, I watched baseball with the same investment and excitement as any other year.

There's no denying this season was...weird.

Lots of fairly notable names understandably sat out the season and didn't play at all -- resulting in what may well turn into a new category of "zero-year" cards: the "opt-outs" like Felix Hernandez and David Price. And while I'm not a regular attendee of ballgames -- I go to maybe one or two a year -- it still felt strange to not have the option of watching a game from the upper deck at Wrigley this season. 

A lot of the usual joys of a baseball season seemed roped off, caged behind a mysterious lock without a key.

Despite my surprising interest, I was never able to fully ignore the oddity of this strange 2020 season, and it never quite lapsed into normalcy for me.

And while no one's crying for millionaire ballplayers, a part of me did genuinely feel bad for a few guys who obviously lost part of their mojo without the routine of a regular baseball season. Anyone who's watched Javier Baez knows how much he feeds off the crowd (and vice versa), so it made sense that he struggled playing in front of empty seats. Dude went from an MVP candidate in 2019 to a Mendoza-Line hitter in 2020 (he finished at .203). 

It was almost sad to see superstars like Baez not playing to their full potential -- and, worse yet, having it be so obvious why they weren't playing to their full potential.

I didn't exactly love everything that went on with baseball this year, but at the same time, there were things I thought I'd hate a lot more than I actually did.

I don't care what anyone says: I like watching pitchers hit. I get the arguments about wanting more offense in the game, which doesn't happen with pitchers who hit .092, but I've always believed it's just part of the game, and thus never wanted to see a universal DH. There was, of course, a universal DH in 2020. No, I didn't like it, and yes, I hope NL pitchers get to hit again in the future. But as I watched more and more games it got to be less and less of a thorn in my side. The baseball was still good, and the universal DH didn't change that.

Same goes for the three-batter minimum, and the 16-team playoff bracket -- not anything I personally endorsed, but not as bad as I imagined it to be in my head.

Going into the 2020 season, I worried that any banner moments that happened would get watered down and/or forgotten in the overall mess of the world.

But fact is I saw a lot of special things in baseball this year, and nothing is gonna change that. I saw not one, but two no-hitters in real time -- the only ones thrown all year. I saw exactly one no-hitter live on TV in the entirety of my baseball life before 2020 (Roy Halladay's no-no in the 2010 playoffs). But this year I saw Lucas Giolito's dominating no-hitter at a friend's house, and saw former waiver claim Alec Mills throw his magical no-no for my beloved Cubs on a sunny afternoon in my living room.

Don't think I'll be forgetting those anytime soon.

The twists and turns of the baseball calendar are like no other in sport, and despite its truncated length, the 2020 season still managed to produce new surprises, new heroes.

Sure, the Cubs and Sox both laid an egg in the playoffs -- namely the Cubs, who I'm worried might be MIA from the postseason for a while after this. But overall there were a lot of great storylines this year and just generally exciting matchups in the playoffs. I learned who Randy Arozarena was, and subsequently raided my boxes of extra 2020 singles to see if I had any cards of him to add to my binders (I did!). The World Series produced one of the best ballgames I've ever seen in 20-plus years of watching the game -- Game 4 is gonna be one I remember for a lifetime or two. It was all there.

This season had those frozen moments in time that only baseball can produce.

And while I kinda found myself rooting for the Rays (sorry Dodger fans!), I'm ecstatic to see one of the best players and overall good dudes of my generation finally get a ring.

Congrats, Mr. Kershaw -- the 2020 season might've been a marathon like no other, but, as much as I may have thought otherwise at the beginning of the year, your ring isn't watered down or asterisked one bit. Nor was 2020 baseball as a whole, at least not to me. It deserves its place in the history books as much as any year before it.

Baseball still has a lot of hoops to jump through. The demise of the minor leagues hurts my soul, and the way things are going in the commissioner's office just seem to be a trainwreck so far. I still don't love launch-angle baseball, or seeing dominant starters pulled in the fifth inning. I hesitate to talk about a 2021 season, because there's absolutely no guarantee that's gonna happen. Being a cynic and all, I'm always hesitant to hope.

But if the 2020 baseball season showed me anything, it's that the cynic in me was wrong once, and very well could be again.

I threw a costume party for my baseball cards

I've never been a big Halloween nut, but I decided to throw a costume party for my baseball cards this year.

Thankfully, a few big names decided to put in an appearance -- no one was sure why Lance Berkman dressed up in a giant sumo suit, or why Tim Lincecum came as Woody Allen, but they got the party started regardless.

A few guys stuck to the ballplayer theme -- Kevin Brown came as a fake old-timey dude in a fake old-timey uniform (hope that mustache isn't permanent marker!).

Trevor Hoffman dressed up as a catcher, for some reason.

Some guys, however, were just sick and tired of dressing up as ballplayers every day, and wanted to extend the olive branch to other sports.

Other greats, both past and present, tried to go with a couple leisurely costumes, but it just didn't work out.

Billy Wagner was a fireman, and apparently none too thrilled about it.

Tony Gwynn just sat at a desk lecturing everyone about past participles and gerunds.

Big Papi kept yelling YEAH BOYEEEE! all night.

Everyone thought Orel Hershiser was supposed to be Gilbert from Revenge of the Nerds, but turns out that wasn't a costume -- he didn't even know there was a party going on.

Then, of course, some dude in a vest showed up with an acoustic guitar -- he looked a lot like Jack McDowell -- guess there's one at every party...

Not sure if Big Mac was dressing up as Jake or Elwood Blues, but he seems more like a Jake to me, for some reason.

Groundskeeper Jose was popular.

But I think the simplest costume was the one that won everyone over -- while others spent a fortune on their Halloween garb, all Pat Neshek needed was the shades to become Lowell Palmer (of course), and he's never looked cooler.

So who won the Halloween costume contest? I'm not sure, but everyone said the party was a big hit, and word is they're already looking forward to having another one next year -- albeit without the dude with the acoustic guitar.

(A very happy early Halloween to you all!)

Only a team collector

I've said it a million times before: I am not a team collector.

My goal as a collector has never been to hoard every Cubs card ever made. I suppose that aligns in some ways with how I enjoy baseball as a whole -- as much as I like the Cubs, I get just as much enjoyment out of following specific players, even if said players never wore/will never wear a Cubs uniform. So, then, I guess you could say my binders are basically one big universe of player collections.

But while I'm not consciously pulled by the temptation of team collecting, I've noticed certain features of my collection that could pretty much only exist in the binders of a team collector.

First off is the simple fact that people send me a lot of Cubs cards -- as shown by the big flat-rate box of (mostly) Cubs that John of "Johnny's Trading Spot" dumped on me recently.

I may not specifically collect Cubs, but I easily got more enjoyment out of a big box of Cubs than I would out of a big box of, say, Giants cards or something. I follow the Cubs more, so I'm more immersed in their history, and their players. Pulling a Cub from a pack of cards, or seeing a Cub I need pop out of a trade package, always supplies a smidge more joy than most other non-Cubs I collect. I simply want them more.

Wait -- isn't that something a team collector would say?

With the exception of Jody Davis, all of these one-time Cubs are probably better known on other teams.

But because of my bias, I tend to think of them more as Cubs, and often get more enjoyment out of their Cubs cards (especially OPCs!) -- only a team collector would do that.

Only a team collector would have a weird sort of nostalgia for failed prospects of their youth.

Corey Patterson is perhaps the biggest bust in Cubs history -- impressive considering their woeful track record -- but he's oddly always had a place in my "good" binder of Cubs dudes. And people like John sure like to supply me with Corey Patterson cards, probably because they're so anxious to get rid of 'em.

So send me your Corey Patterson cards, I guess, because for some reason I'm willing to give them a home.

Even beyond Corey Patterson, the Cubs are the only team whose failed prospects and/or forgotten names still manage to excite me.

I don't really collect any failed Marlins prospects, mainly because I don't know any of them -- but for some reason Brett Jackson(?!) occupies almost two whole pages in one of my Cubs binders.

Only a team collector would happily take these strange Honus Bonus cards from a few years ago that seemed to banished to obscurity the day they came out (is Honus Bonus even around anymore?).

It's no coincidence that two of my biggest player collections are longtime Cubs -- Mark Grace and Anthony Rizzo occupy almost an entire binder on my shelf by themsevles.

John did manage to send me a few cards to break out of my I'm not a team collector, I'm not a team collector mantra -- because, hey, I collect Jim Abbott and John Olerud, and they never played for the Cubs!

My adoration for mini-collection hits certainly isn't limited to just Cubs.

Other non-Cubs I collect, including a terrific A&G Negro League card I'm thrilled to add to my binders.

But yeah, I'd say a good 95 percent of the cards in this box were all Cubs -- and while I only needed a fraction of them, it was still a blast to dig through stack after stack of hometown greats, past and present.

When taken on average, I simply get more joy out of Cubs cards than any other team, and that sounds like something a team collector would say.

This is my 148th different Cubs card of Carlos Zambrano -- I own more of his cards than any other pitcher in Cubs history, which oddly sounds like a very team-collector thing to say.

The section of pitchers in my Cubs binder isn't led by more obvious names like Fergie Jenkins, or Greg Maddux -- no, Carlos Zambrano is the first guy you see, staring out at you when you pull the cover back. Like most Cubs fans, I think, I had kind of mixed feelings about Zambrano during his time here, but somehow I've managed to hoard a huge stack of his cards over the years. Or maybe they've hoarded me. I don't know. Like most team collectors, I'm often surprised at the amount of Cubs cards I own, even though they're right there in plain sight in my room, a few shelves over from where I'm sitting at this moment. They just kind of appeared.

I'm going to stop here because it's really starting to sound like I'm a team collector right about now.

Top Five: Whitey Ford

Whitey Ford, one of the last surviving members of the '50s and '60s Yankee dynasties, died earlier this week at the age of 91.

I don't know if it's my imagination or not, but it's always seemed to me that there's long been a huge discrepancy between Whitey's fame and the amount of attention his baseball cards get, perhaps more than any other household name. I rarely see him mentioned anywhere in collecting circles. Unlike other Yankee greats of his era like Mantle and Maris, I couldn't tell you what some of his late '50s/early '60s cards look like, because I'm not sure I've ever seen them.

As is always (sadly) the case when a legend passes away, I made a deeper dive into my Whitey Ford collection recently, and I figured it's a good enough excuse to revive my long-defunct Top Five theme around here, which I've been wanting to do for a while. The concept is simple enough: I pick a player and post my five favorite cards of said player, good for easy posts since I haven't had a lot of time or energy to devote to the blog lately.

Even if it's just in my head, I figured it's high time Whitey's cards got some attention, so here's my Top Five list in honor of the late Yankee great.

#5 -- 1967 Topps #5 Whitey Ford

Whitey's sunset card, and one of the first big final tributes I added to my collection -- a beautiful card even with the crease.

I guess someone at Topps must've really liked the way Whitey looked in that faux-follow through pose -- arm extended with middle and index fingers poking out a la Moe Howard -- because they used it on each of his last two cards.

#4 -- 2016 Stadium Club #50 Whitey Ford

It's darn near impossible to find night cards of '50s Golden Age greats like Whitey, so this beauty from Stadium Club (of course) is truly a godsend.

#3 -- 1962 Topps #315 Whitey Ford IA

This '62 Topps in-action subset is a lot like Whitey's cardboard catalog, in that I feel it's unfairly overlooked most of the time.

These are fantastic, and very much unlike anything else issued in packs of baseball cards at the time -- plus they predate the more famous '72 Topps In Actions by a full decade.

#2 -- 1954 Topps #37 Whitey Ford

I don't think I ever posted about it on the blog, but Dad surprised me with this gargantuan find last year, which I think he bought through an auction site he randomly stumbled upon.

This is a full five years older than the next-oldest Whitey I own, and while I've never been a huge fan of '54 Topps, that takes nothing away from the joy I get out of this card.

#1 -- 1960 Topps #35 Whitey Ford

I never really put it together before, but Dad's had a mighty impact on my Whitey Ford collection, because he's the reason I own this card, too...albeit under far more fascinating circumstances.

I've told this story on the blog a few times before, but I'll tell it again because I think it's a fun tale. I don't recall exactly how old I was at the time (probably 5th or 6th grade), but I remember my dad getting home from work one day and handing me a stack of random cards out of nowhere. From what he said, a few kids in town had set up a lemonade stand, and for whatever reason, they were selling baseball cards on the side for a few extra pennies. My dad rounded up a stack he thought I'd like, and paid a whole two dollars for it.

This 1960 Topps Whitey Ford was in that stack of cards(!). I wasn't too hip to card values and such at the time, but even then I knew it was out of the ordinary, and definitely something special. Over time that story has grown into a kind of legendary chapter in my collecting history, and because of that, this creased, taped, and mangled Whitey Ford would definitely be a member of my personal cardboard Mount Rushmore. 

Now that I think of it, maybe Ford's cards feel ignored to me because of how big of a role they've played in my own collecting history -- either way, rest easy, Whitey.