With due apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Edgar Martinez, I know who the real ancient mariner is — it’s legendary Boston Red Sox outfielder Carl Yastrzemski.

By the time I started collecting baseball cards in earnest in 1983, Yaz was in his final season with the Sawx, which was totally amazing considering that he was 71 years old at the time. So it wasn’t surprising that he was all over the place that summer, from This Week in Baseball to Baseball Cards Magazine to an intriguing 1983 Topps Super Veteran card.

As I devoured every word I could find about the hobby, it became clear that Yaz wasn’t just an elder statesman of the game — he was a future Hall of Famer and a collector favorite.

In fact,  1960 Topps Carl Yastrzemski rookie card was the first rookie card that I can remember being hyped as such. It introduced me to the concept that older cards of a player were more scarce and valuable than his later cards, and they didn’t come much older than Yaz or his horizontal first issue.

I don’t remember exactly how much the card was pulling in that summer, but I do know it was several orders of magnitude greater than any pasteboard I was even considering adding to my own collection. I think it was going for around 50 bucks at local card shows, but it could have been 20 or 100.

Anyway, the images of the hobbling old man in the Red Sox cap at the All-Star Game that summer became intertwined in my collector’s psyche with the shy-looking young man encircled in a whole lot of orange ink on the front of his 1960 rookie card. How could any one player have held on that long?

Thanks to the tens of thousands of words written about Yaz that year, I was eventually able to piece together a big hunk of his story. Born and raised in the Bridgehampton, NY, area surrounded by the sea, Yastrzemski somehow found his way to the ball field instead of a fishing vessel and then found his sweet left-handed swing.

When he was 19, the New England boy was signed by New England’s team — the Red Sox — to a minor league contract

Two years later, he made his Major League debut — and stuck. That would have been 1961 if you’re keeping score at home, which means Topps added Yaz to their set a good year before he ever stepped foot on a Big League diamond.

As it turned out, that was pretty typical of Yastrzemski: doing things that others couldn’t.

There was his ability to step into the left field shoes vacated by Red Sox legend Ted Williams.

There was the Triple Crown in 1967.

There was the 23-year career that seemed like it might never end.

And there was the funny looking rookie card that helped jump start the hobby just as our cardboard dreams were starting to heat up.

Yaz was never my favorite player, but he is forever engrained in my collecting memory, and catching a glimpse of his 1960 Topps rookie card still gives me chills.

(This is Day 10 of our response to Tony L.’s 30-Day Baseball Card Challenge. See all our posts in this series here.)

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How is a Wade Boggs baseball card like a 15th-century refrigerator drawing?

Well …

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to observe some of the world’s great masters in their “natural habitats” — the places where they prepared for and carried out their legendary work?

I mean …

Imagine being able to sneak into Einstein’s chalkboardatorium and observing the master from under a desk …

Or spying on Nikola Tesla from behind a lab bench as he goes all Frankenstein with his magical, flashing arcs …

Or sneaking into a pew to watch Michelangelo finish off the Sistine Chapel …

Or, if you’re a baseball fan, witnessing one the world’s greatest hitters hone his craft in preparation for the on-field battles to come.

Witnessing History from the Backend

One of the beautiful things about baseball — and there are so many! — is that, not only can we go to the ballpark to watch our heroes play, but we can also go there to watch them get ready to play.

If you’re lucky enough to take in a Major League batting practice, then you’re in good company — Einstein’s homework partner, Tesla’s lab partner, Michelangelo’s mother who undoubtedly scolded him daily to stop drawing on the walls and use paper or papyrus or whatever they hung on their fridges back then.

(Yes, she died when he was six, but I’ll bet he was already artsing up the joint by that point.)

They all witnessed the masters practicing their craft, and so have you.

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But not everyone can make it to a Big League park, and almost none of us can make it to a Big League park often enough to slake our thirst for the diamond.

We need a refresher.

We need something permanent to remind us what the game is all about and what our conquering athletes go through to keep their skill sharp and vanquish the enemy from their green cathedrals.

OK, yes, that’s a bit dramatic … but this is baseball we’re talking about here, darn it.

And when it came to hitting a baseball, Wade Boggs belonged to a select group of players who analyzed and squinted and adjusted and planned and tuned every possible aspect of the batting game until it screamed for mercy.

You know, guys like Ty Cobb, Ted Williams, and Tony Gwynn.

They were talented.

They were tough.

They had hawk-like eyesight.

But maybe more than anything else, they had superhuman tenacity.

Not just when they stood in the batter’s box against the best pitchers of their era, though these hitters fought tooth-and-nail to make every plate appearance a productive one.

Most Major Leaguer can hang (pretty) tough for the few minutes it takes to face a pitcher, though.

Where these Hall of Famers really gained their edge was outside the lines — reading scouting reports about the pitchers and teams they’d face, refining their swings, working out, watching video.

And standing in the cage, putting all that together.

Immortalizing the Process

While thousands, maybe millions, of people had the opportunity to see Cobb, Williams, Gwynn, Boggs and other historically great hitters take their hacks in batting practice, many millions more never did or will.

But we always have our baseball cards, and card companies through the decades have delighted us with little swatches of cardboard showing Big Leaguers prepping for games with a netted background (see our batting-cages-on-cards post here).

In 1983, no hitter in baseball was more prepared for his battles with pitchers than Wade Boggs.

After six full seasons in the minor leagues, Boggs had finally made the Boston Red Sox roster in 1982 and batted a whopping .349 over 104 games split mostly between first and third base.

No one really noticed that gaudy figure, though, because Boggs had too few at-bats to qualify for the batting race, which was a three-man scrum between Willie Wilson (.332), Robin Yount (.331 and the AL MVP award), and Al Oliver (.331).

Plus, Boggs only connected for five home runs, not exactly the kind of stuff to send fans or collectors into a froth.

The lack of publicity and hype didn’t slow down Boggs, and he spent the winter and the next spring and every day that summer doing what he always did — preparing.

Practicing.

Hitting the cage.

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Boggs’ obsession paid off in 1983 as he came out of “nowhere” to lead the Majors in batting average with an astounding .361.

Now fans and collectors everywhere took notice, despite the fact that Boggs once again hit just five homers.

That didn’t matter when you were the new Ted Williams, when you were the most disciplined hitter in a generation, when you might be the next guy to hit .400.

We all wanted to know Boggs’ secrets, and reporters peppered him for information about how he was able to do that.

In the midst of all the hoopla that comes watching greatness unfold on the diamond, the card companies were busy preparing for their 1984 issues.

Boggs would be featured prominently in all of them, of course — he was a bona fide superstar, for goodness sake.

But each manufacturer took a different approach when it came time to select photos for those 1984 sets.

Fleer went with a gloved Boggs taking a throw during warm-ups or between innings.

Topps chose a hacking, in-game batting scene that is classic Boggs.

And Donruss?

Well, Donruss decided to give us a peek under the covers, a glimpse through the cracked door of Boggs’ workshop.

Because, there on 1984 Donruss card #151, Wade Anthony Boggs stands with his arms cocked, his head straight ahead, and his eyes locked in on an unseen pitcher.

Behind him, batting cage netting protects onlookers from the foul balls that Boggs probably won’t generate anyway.

Welcome to the Wade Boggs Laboratory of Hitting, where hard work was transformed into baseball magic.

Thanks to your baseball cards, you can visit anytime you want.

1984 Donruss Wade Boggs (#151) Value:

PSA 10: $95-110

PSA 9: $20-30

raw: $1-5

(Check out our other player card posts here.)

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When Babe Ruth was sold by the Boston Red Sox to the Yankees in January of 1920 in a move that changed the game forever, he was already one of the biggest names on the diamond. It’s not surprising, then, that card manufacturers mocked up their first Ruth NY  cards before the cash windfall had fully nestled into BoSox owner Harry Frazee’s bank account.

But which was first?

The answer depends on a muddled chronology of those early sets and also what, exactly, you’re looking for.

1920 Felix Mendelsohn (M101-6)

Felix Mendelsohn was a well-known sports photographer in Chicago during the early years of the 20th Century. Starting in 1917 and running through about 1920, The Sporting News offered a series of his photographs as “cards” through a special offer to their readers.

Although Ruth had already appeared in the set as a member of the Red Sox, TSN and Mendelsohn scrambled to get Ruth on a Yankees card after the big sale. Problem was, they were either too early or otherwise unable to attain a photo of Ruth in New York togs. So, while the card says “C.F. Yankees,” it actually shows Ruth following through on a throw while wearing a Red Sox uniform.

1920 Pathe’ Freres Phonograph

Pathe’ Freres was a French record company who tried to make a name for itself in the United States on the back of a record they called “The Babe Ruth Home Run Story.”

Purported to feature the voice of the “Babe” himself, the record was actually ghost-voiced:

(via @auctionreport)

Nevertheless, the record came with a small Ruth photo that undoubtedly dated to late in the 1920 season, and which definitely shows him in a Yankees uniform.

In the pictures, the Babe is wearing a black armband to honor the memory of Ray Chapman, who was killed on the field that August.

Distribution was limited to those who bought the records, though, and that, coupled with the fact that Ruth was the only subject is enough to cause some dispute over the legitimate “firstness” of this phonograph issue.

1920 W516-1, W516-1-2

The two W516-1 sets were issued as strips of cards, prompting most collectors to cut them apart to get to the individual players. Each of the two sets features colorized artist renderings of 30 players, with the W516-1-2s being mirror images of the W516-1s — each player thus had his handedness reversed!

Babe Ruth was card #1 in each of the two sets, and though he’s listed with the “Yanks,” he’s also listed as a pitcher. His generic white uniform is ambiguous enough that it could belong to just about any team, so it’s hard to say these set depict him in Yankees rags.

1920 W522

The W522 strip set consists of 20 cards, each featuring a black-and-white photo against a pastel background and blank backs. Ruth is set against solid yellow, and the only text on his card is a small #48 and his name along the bottom. While no team is designated, his red belt and pitching motion definitely give the card a Boston feel.

1920 W519

Yet another strip set, W519 consists of 20 cards, with Ruth checking in at #5.
While there is some debate around its date of issue, many hobby vets have settled on 1920 based on the checklist composition.

What is not in doubt is that Ruth appears in Yankees pinstripes and blue cap.

1920 Headin’ Home (Tex Rickard)

Issued to promote the 1920 silent film featuring the Babe and entitled Headin’ Home, the Tex Rickard “set” consisted of three cards showing Ruth in different poses.

Given that the movie was released in 1920 and that Ruth appears in Yankees pinstripes on the cards, it’s hard to argue that the Tex Rickard issue is not a strong candidate for the designation of “first Yankees Ruth card.” The only real knocks on its provenance are the set’s limited distribution and tiny checklist.

1921 American Caramel (E121)

American Caramel was formed by two competitors of Hershey in the late 1800s, and they began issuing baseball cards in their boxes of caramels not long after. While their pasteboard production was curtailed during World War I, American Caramel was back in full force by 1921. That year, their checklist contained 80 different cards, though with variations, that number rises to 120 or more.

Babe Ruth appears in the 82nd slot alphabetically (cards weren’t numbered), complete with three variations:

• Position listed as R.F.
• Position listed as R.F. and first name in quotes (“Babe”)
• Position listed as L.F. and first name as “George” (no quotes)

This last seems to be quite scarce, as PSA has graded less than 10 of the “George” variations.

Alas, while all of these cards purport to show him with “New York Americans,” the photo depicts Babe pitching in a Red Sox uniform.

Mostly, the E121 is included here as a bridge to …

1922 American Caramel (E120)

In 1922, American Caramel ramped up their cardboard efforts as the Roaring Twenties got underway in earnest. The E120 set contains a mammoth (for the time) 240 cards, featuring 15 players from each of the Major League 16 teams.

Babe Ruth made his obligatory appearance, both with the standard card back and with a blank back.

While the E120s were issued more than two years after Ruth moved to the Yanks, the Babe card has two things going for it in this argument.

First, it clearly shows Ruth in not just a Yankee uniform but in the iconic NY pinstripes.

Second, it was the first card of Ruth to depict him in Yankee togs which was widely distributed … sort of like the modern “rookie card” definition arguments.

For some some collectors, this combination of attributes is enough to give E120 the nod as “first Babe Ruth Yankees card.”

1921 Exhibit

Issued by the Exhibit Supply Company, the 1921 Exhibits were the first in a line of “arcade” cards that were sold in vending machines at amusement parks (and elsewhere) for nearly 50 years.

This inaugural edition featured gorgeous black-and-white photography, including a majestic shot of the Babe in profile.

Alas, while the card lists Ruth’s team as “New York, Am.L.,” it’s far from clear which uniform he’s wearing. Is that the classic “NY” on Babe’s cap?

Hard to tell.

1922 National Caramel (E220)

While the E220s are generally listed as a 1921 issue, there is some compelling evidence that they were actually produced in 1922.

Either way, they are at least contemporaries to E120, and the Ruth card features a rousing batting follow-through against a grandstand background — and the pinstripes are on full display, to boot.

With no clearcut “first” among other Ruth contenders, this one merits consideration, too.

1922 American Caramel Series of 120 (E121)

The “series of 120” was a follow-on to the 80 E121 cards issued in 1921.

In 1922 American Caramel expanded the issue by 40 cards, and while there were many near duplicates from the year before, they dedicated three new poses to Ruth: Babe holding a bird, Babe holding a baseball, and a photo montage of Babe.

The best part?

All three show Ruth in Yanks pinstripes.

—

Are there others?

Almost certainly, if you consider postcards, other promos surrounding Headin’ Home, and various minor (very) regional slips of ephemera.

But the checklist presented here gives you plenty to consider as you sort through your own definitions and predilections.

So which is the first Babe Ruth baseball card showing the slugger with the New York Yankees? It’s all a matter of perspective and semantics — in other words, the choice is yours.

(Want to know which was the first baseball card, period? We have the, or at least an, answer right here.)

Here … let me help you out …

The perfect Rickey card would have to include …

• A crouch, if he’s at-bat
• That other crouch, if he’s on the basepaths
• A steely stare
• The vibrant Green & Gold of the Oakland A’s
• The staid navy blue pinstripes of the New York Yankees if you prefer mid-1980s vintage
• A clean, classic card design
• His gaudy numbers on full display on the card back

And … well, this should go without saying, but … the card should spell Henderson’s name correctly. Both of his names.

The good news is that there are plenty of cards that check all those boxes.

His 1980 Topps rookie card is a pretty good example:

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His 1984 Topps card fits the bill, too:

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And this 1983 Topps Record Breaker …

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And his 1985 Fleer card …

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And even his 1989 Topps card …

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But you know which Rickey Henderson card wasn’t quite so perfect? That would be his very first card …

Humble Beginnings

Henderson spent the 1977 season as an 18-year-old prospect with the Single-A Modesto A’s. He did just OK … he hit .345, stole 95 bases, and scored 120 runs.

Pretty pedestrian stuff.

Anyway, a group named Chong Enterprises produced a team set for Modesto that season, and they included a card of Rickey.

And boy, was it a doozy!

Consider …

• The photo was in black-and-white.
• The photo was about half bat.
• The photo was grainy enough that you can’t really see his eyes very well. Maybe he’s glaring?
• The back is blank.
• The card number appears prominently on the card front, in the upper left-hand corner, like so:  “5)”
• There is no card design to speak of.

And, oh my — Rickey’s name is spelled wrong.

So Rickey Henderson’s first-ever baseball card is actually a “Ricky” Henderson baseball card, and it could be a Dave Henderson baseball card for all we can tell from the photo.

Looking at pictures of the card, you also get the feeling it might actually just be an old newspaper clipping.

The thing is, though, looking at pictures of the card may be just about as close as you’re ever going to get to one of these things. You see, the Chong cards are about as rare as a game without Rickey on base.

According to Matthew Glidden, an estimated 500 of the team sets were issued in 1977, at a time before everyone thought every baseball card would be worth a fortune someday. You can be sure that not all of those sets made it through the last 40 years, in other words.

So far, in fact, PSA has graded 29 of the Henderson cards, with none scoring a perfect 10 and only one rating a flat out 9 with no qualifiers.

Click WHERE to Buy One?

As you might imagine, sales of this first Rickey (Ricky) card are pretty unusual, too. According to a PSA post from nearly a decade ago, an off-centered PSA 9 Rickey sold for $1300+ way back in 2007.

The card comes up for auction occasionally these days, but it’s not one you’re likely to find on an eBay whim or at your local card shop or show, and it’s hard telling how much you’d have to pay for an actual copy at the moment. Huggins & Scott auctioned a PSA 7 Henderson for $1400 (11 bids) in October 2014, so today’s price undoubtedly would be north of that.

As Glidden notes in the piece above, Chong reprinted the card, with some modifications, as part of their 1989 Modesto A’s alumni issue. And, considering the *ahem* quality of the originals, it wouldn’t be all that surprising to find counterfeit versions of the 1977 card running around out there (though I haven’t explicitly heard of any).

All told, if you want to own Rickey Henderson’s first baseball card, his 1977 Modesto A’s issue is the only game in town.

You’ll need lots of persistence and good luck to catch one, though — just like Rickey himself.

(Check out the rest of our player-focused posts here.)

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You know the story by now … 74 undigested peanut-butter-and-‘nanner sammiches in his gut … a drug store in his bedroom … embarrassing bathroom scene right there at the end.

But no matter how much “evidence” has been presented over the years, there are plenty of The King’s fans who never really believed he died on that fateful day.

Reports started surfacing not long after his purported death that he was still roaming this earth, and not as a ghost, but as a real, live everyman.

Folks ran into Elvis in greasy-spoon diners across the South.

He’d be spied shopping at a Piggly Wiggly or picking up toilet paper (amen!) at a Winn-Dixie.

Or, very often, he’d be barreling down some long, lonesome highway in this 18-wheeler.

No, Elvis didn’t die on that fateful porcelain-encased night at Graceland … he just pulled back from the limelight, took the money he’d made over 20 years as an American icon, and decided to just live for once!

And the funny thing was, these stories weren’t all just stories. Sure, you might discount your neighbor Carl’s insistence that he ran into The Pelvis in the alley behind the local watering hole late one night as nothing but drunken ramblings, but some of the the accounts were backed up by evidence.

Photographic evidence.

That’s right — every once in awhile, the King-seer in question would have the wherewithal to pull out his or her Polarioid or Kodak flash and snap a picture of Elvis in his natural habitat of the moment. In case you’ve never seen one of those shots, they most often looked about like this:

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Now, I know what you’re thinking here … that’s just a picture of the 1977 Topps Chuck Hartenstein baseball card. And you’re right, officially speaking. But I’m telling you, this is what post-dead (and nearly-dead, for that matter) Elvis looked like through at least the late 1980s.

And consider a couple of pieces of supporting evidence …

First, here is what Hartenstein looked like on his most recent card before 1977, on his 1970s Topps issue:

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Do you really think that’s the same guy?

Second, 1970 was the last time Hartenstein played in the Major Leagues until he showed up with the expansion Blue Jays for the 1977 season. Sure, there were some minor league stops in there, but then weren’t those just the sort of places — minor league stadiums, ratty team buses — you might have found Living Dead Elvis in subsequent years.  Hmmm …

And, third, Hartenstein’s last game came on July 26, 1977 in Toronto, against the Texas Rangers. That was just a few weeks before Elvis supposedly winked out.

So, is it a coincidence that the two disappeared at almost exactly the same time, or is Hartenstein’s Canadian exit somehow tied to the mystery surrounding the death of Elvis Aron (misspelled “Aaron” on his grave!!) Presley.

Look, I’m not saying Elvis and Chuck Hartenstein were or are the same person.

I’m just saying that Elvis and Chuck Hartenstein were or are the same person, maybe.

And that there’s a chance it’s Elvis, not Hartenstein on Chuck’s 1977  Topps baseball card (and his 1977 O-Pee-Chee card, for that matter).

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Who knows? Maybe it was just one last chance for Elvis to wink at his admiring fans before riding off into the sunset.

(This has been Day 45 of my 2019 Spring Training Baseball Card Challenge, wherein I examine a silly card. And, you have to admit, Elvis looked pretty darn silly on these “Chuck Hartenstein” baseball cards!)

Check out the entire series of 2019 Spring Training Challenge posts here.

See, my natural inclination is to turn the old virtual three-ring binder right to the pages with Cincinnati Reds cards and just go to town. But I’ve written plenty about the Reds on this site already and will probably write about them plenty more.

So … you know, balance.

But even back in the beginning of this thing, I knew Day 38 — today — would be a present a special challenge. Today is the day I’m going to look at a card that features a drawing or painting, and there was really only one set that would do — 1976 Linnett Superstars.

Now, they weren’t necessarily the first cards I thought of — I probably loosely had 1953 Topps or 1951 Bowman in mind as I wrote down the challenge.

And the first cards showing artwork I can remember owning were some of the early Donruss Diamond Kings cards.

All great stuff, but a little mundane, and none of them quite trip my nostalgia switch like the Linnetts.

The first time I saw those oversize beauties with the colorful borders was on a trip to our more-or-less local antique/junk shop in the summer of 1984. That was the magical season when I finally latched onto baseball, and baseball cards, for good after years of flirting. It was the summer I knew I was done-for, all-in.

I think we all have a summer like that rattling around in our memories, and when you look back, it’s easy to see the magic of so many moments baking into your heart and soul for the long haul. At the time, we were just having fun, awed by it all.

So anyway, I walked around the end of one dusty aisle of shelves and cases in this dingy old shop, and there were the Linnetts, shining up from their home nestled among stacks of old Life magazines and someone’s long-lost collection of alabaster thimbles.

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The cards were huge …

They were colorful, each with a red, back, blue, green, or white border ..

They were black-and-white — the player images, that is …

They were drawings, for gosh sake …

And … they commemorated the 1975 World Series.

Even at that early point in my fandom, thanks to my dad’s limited knowledge of recent baseball history, I was aware that the 1975 Reds were The Big Red Machine.

And therein lies my problem with The Challenge. Basically, I have no choice but to look at a Linnett card here, but I’m trying to avoid talking about yet another Reds card!

Luckily, though, the Linnetts didn’t focus on just the Reds. In fact, I’d find out later that they were sold in larger perforated sheets, allowing you to collect the Los Angeles Dodgers, Boston Red Sox, or the Reds all in one fell swoop.

So, the Linnetts didn’t really celebrate just the 1975 World Series, but that’s the lasting impression 12-year-old me carried forward from that long-ago day. And I had forgotten there were any Dodgers involved at all until I started putting this piece together.

Doesn’t matter, though.

Because I can pick a dude who was there when the Reds won their first “Machine” Fall Classic without picking an actual Red. So, who am I picking?

There are plenty of good candidates, but I’m going with Luis Tiant.

Tiant was not dominant in 1975 at 34 years of age, but he did win 18 games. And then, in the World Series against the Reds, El Tiante went 2-0 and got a no-decision in that amazing Game 6 — the one where Carlton Fisk waved a ball around the foul pole and into diamond lore.

Then, in 1976, Tiant went 21-12, 3.06 for his last really great season. All in all, Luis went 229-172, with a 3.30 ERA and more than 66 WAR. That leaves him as something like the 52nd best starting pitcher ever and better than some well-known Hall of Famers.

And yet Tiant still sits outside of Cooperstown.

But his card (#108) in the Lineett set is awesome — if bald (receding, at least) — in its green borders. More than good enough for this Challenge.

(And, yes — my dad bought those Linnetts from the junk store for me. Thanks, Dad!)

Check out the entire series of 2019 Spring Training Challenge posts here.

How will the new guys who came to the team over the winter pan out?

Will any new stars emerge between now and Opening Day?

Is there real hope that “we” will contend this year, finally?

They’re all valid questions, but maybe the most emotional and awaited developments each spring revolve around the comeback candidates — those guys who once held lofty positions in the game but, for one reason or another, have fallen on hard times in recent seasons (even if “recent seasons” has thus far been limited to last season).

These days, it seems, we most often watch our comeback candidates trying to catch on with another team rather than reclaiming their status with the clubs that made them what they were, and vice versa. Teams are much more likely as we head into the 2020s to just cut ties with a player whose production tanks than they were in years past.

But, man, in those years past, like 30, 40, 50 years ago, fans lived and died not only with their teams, but with the individual players on their teams. You think Pete Rose fans didn’t follow along with him to the Philadelphia Phillies and then, briefly, the Montreal Expos before he headed back to the Riverfront in 1984?

Pretty sure we did.

And when one of “our” guys fell on hard times in the olden days, we really pined to see him reclaim his former glory. It’s hard to let go of heroes, after all, and there’s always the hope they can pull it all together again. Nowhere does that hope bloom brighter than in Spring Training camps across the land.

So that’s why I knew I had to talk about a comeback player sometime during my 2019 Spring Training Baseball Card Challenge, so that’s what I’m doing here on Day 34.

If you were a Boston Red Sox fan in the 1960s, or really a baseball fan of any sort in the 1960s, a young man named Tony Conigliaro undoubtedly came into your purview. As the BoSox were developing into a solid year-to-year contender in the middle of the decade, Conigliaro was busy busting out as masher in right field.

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The two developments were not coincidental.

In 1964, when the Sox were still dwelling nearer the bottom of the American League standings than the top, Conigliaro logged a rookie season that included 24 home runs and 52 RBI to go along with a .290 average.

The next two seasons brought more power (32 and 28 home runs), and a handful of MVP votes.

As 1967 dawned, Conigliaro was still just 22 years old, and he was poised with teammate Carl Yastrzemski to lead Boston toward baseball’s promised land — a berth in the World Series.

Through 95 games, Conigliaro did his part and more, slamming 20 home runs, driving in 67, and raising his average to .287. Then, on August 18, tragedy struck. In the fourth inning of a game against the California Angels, Conigliaro stepped into the box against Angels starter Jack Hamilton.

It should have been a normal power v. power at-bat, but a Hamilton fastball got away from him and crushed into Conigliaro’s left eye. The young outfielder crumpled to the ground and was rushed to a local hospital.

After copious exams and after the initial swelling and bruising subsided to some degree, a diagnosis began to emerge — broken cheekbone, dislocated jaw, and retinal damage.

Conigliaro was done for 1967, and he missed all of 1968, as well, all in the name of recovering from an incident that went down in a flash.

So, as Red Sox camp opened in 1969, the question that hung in the air like a curveball waiting to be planted over the outfield wall was, can Tony C. come back?

The answer would take several years to unfold.

In the short term, and on the surface, it appeared that Conigliaro indeed would be what had been before, if not more. After 20 homers and 82 RBI over 141 games in 1969, he pumped up the power to 36 and 116 in 1970.

But then in October, Boston sent him along with Ray Jarvis and Jerry Moses to the — why them? — Angels for Doug Griffin, Jarvis Tatum, and Ken Tatum.

Things didn’t go well in Cali, and, with vision problems plaguing him, Tony C. managed just four dingers over 74 games in 1971, and his OPS fell from .822 to .620. The Angels released him in November, and he was done at 26.

Except he wasn’t quite done … hope springs eternal, remember.

In March of 1975, Conigliaro signed on as a free agent with his hometown Sawx and eventually made it into 21 games. But, at age 30, too much time had passed, and not enough healing had gone on in between, and he managed a meager .466 OPS before the Red Sox released him in September.

But, even though things didn’t turn out how anyone thought they might have, Tony Conigliaro made it back — all the way back, for at least a couple of seasons there. And there is some cardboard evidence that’s what was expected of the slugger all along.

Because, not only did Topps keep him in their base set for 1969, when his last season-plus had been a wash, but he also made an appearance in the 1969 Globe Imports set of baseball “playing cards” — an issue of 55 blank-backed cards that you could purchase at gas stations in the southern part of the United States that summer.

The set contained superstars like Yaz and Frank Robinson and Mickey Mantle, but also lesser lights such as Rick Reichart, Bob Aspromonte, and Gene Alley.

And there among the greats and the might-be-goods, Globe Imports placed a bet on Tony Conigliaro with the three of hearts. He might not have won the whole shebang, but he at least turned in a couple more strong hands before it was all said and done.

Check out the entire series of 2019 Spring Training Challenge posts here.

But, man, nothing compares to the electricity that courses through your body when you first step foot into Big League territory.

The sensations are incredible …

The intermingled smells of pretzels, popcorn, beer, and hot dogs (and less savory aromas).

The faint, constant murmur of the crowd that permeates every corner of the place.

The green, green outfield grass.

The bigger-than life physical presence of the players as they take the field for the first time.

The crack of the bat and the pop of leather as teams practice before the game.

The excitement of the first pitch.

Man! I’m ready to head to the ballpark right now!

And that’s one of the reasons why, on this Day 25 of my 2019 Spring Training Baseball Card Challenge, I decided to look at a card showing a stadium where I’ve seen an actual, real-live baseball game.

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Now, the easy route for me here would have been to choose yet another Cincinnati Reds card, with Riverfront Stadium looming in the background.

Thankfully, though, I have other choices. And one of those choices is an all-time classic.

See, when I was just beginning my professional career in the late nineties, my employer at the time sent me to the east coast for a conference … in June.

And by “east coast,” I mean … Boston.

And, the Red Sox just happened to be in town those days.

I had basically no expendable income at that point, but I somehow scraped together enough change to hop on the subway and head toward Yawkey Way.

After getting turned around and making a few poor choices in terms of where to get off the train, I finally landed at whatever stop put me within viewing distance of Fenway Park. I walked the couple of blocks — or however far it was — on a cloud of air and hesitated only briefly when I found out the cheapest ticket I could get at the box office was $28.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime deal, right?

Right.

I felt that old zap of electricity that had buzzed me years before on my first trip to Riverfront, and the history of the place (Fenway) oozed from floors, off the rafters, and down every pole.

And that’s pretty much where my memory stops — behind the pole planted right in front of my seat.

I don’t remember much about the game other than that the Red Sox were there and that the seats were small. Tiny. And I couldn’t see much of the action on the field.

I could see the field, though, and from my position tucked up under some overhang on the first-base side, the Green Monster lurking in left field.

It was not a great overall experience, but I was satisfied — I had stepped into the belly of the legendary beast.

All of that makes the 1975 Topps Mario Guerrero card a perfect choice — for me — to celebrate Spring Training and the stadiums I’ve visited.

Guerrero was a light-hitting middle infielder who made it to the Sawx in 1973 and stayed just two years. He appeared in 66 games in 1973 and 93 in 1974, enough to land his Topps card in ’75.

There, we find Guerrero doing the old “big-bat follow-through” into the camera with the Fenway infield stretched out behind him. He’s standing to the foul side of the first-base line, and the “Buck Printing Co.” sign looms in right, against a beautiful blue sky.

I like to think that, if Guerrero panned to his left just a skosh and looked into the stands, he’d see a younger version of me craning to get a better look.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d wave.

Check out the entire series of 2019 Spring Training Challenge posts here.

• Cartoons on Saturday morning
• A different sugary breakfast cereal for every one of those cartoons
• Video games, first in the arcade, then at home
• Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew books in the school library
• Multiplayer rookie cards in our Topps baseball card sets

That last one — multiplayer rookies — was a gosh darn birthright for Little Leaguers and card collectors of all sort.

And, even if we sometimes would have rather had single cards of the players in question (I’m looking at you, Bill Denehy), the mashed-up rookies gave us something interesting to break up the monotony of the simply wonderful cards around them.

With all that said, we couldn’t really do a proper Spring Training Baseball Card Challenge without including a multiplayer rookie card, now could we? Nah.

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So that’s why I’m here on Day 13, getting ready to talk about the card that started it all — 1962 Topps Rookie Parade Pitchers (#591).

Not only is this a multiplayer rookie card, it’s the first multiplayer rookie card. Before 1962, Topps had given special treatment to their rookies in 1960 with Rookie Star (Carl Yastrzemski) and Rookie All-Star (Willie McCovey) designations, and in 1961 with the first appearance of the Topps All-Star Rookie trophy on “regular” cards (Ron Santo).

But those were all single cards.

In 1962, though, Topps decided to sardine as much talent as they could into their wood-bordered 598-card set, and one way to do that was to showcase more up-and-comers. Sort of like an early version of the modern Bowman concept.

And Topps unveiled their master plan for the first time there on care #591 with five pitchers making up a Rookie Parade of arms that held the hopes and dreams of four franchises in their pitching grips:

• Sam McDowell, Cleveland Indians
• Ron Taylor, Cleveland Indians
• Dick Radatz, Boston Red Sox
• Art Quirk, Baltimore Orioles
• Ron Nischwitz, Detroit Tigers

Of those, McDowell had by far the longest and most distinguished career. Over 15 Major League seasons, Sudden Sam crafted a 141-134 record on the strength of a 3.17 ERA and 2400+ strikeouts, nearly a K per inning.

Taylor and Radatz also had solid, extended stays in the Bigs, while Quirk and Nischwitz saw limited action over a handful of seasons.

But none of that is what’s important. Not really. Not for us. Not today.

More important is to realize that card #591 was just the lead-in to a whole subset in 1962 Topps …

• 591 Rookie Parade Pitchers
• 592 Rookie Parade Pitchers (different pitchers!)
• 593 Rookie Parade Pitchers (different still!)
• 594 Rookie Parade Catchers
• 595 Rookie Parade Infielders
• 596 Rookie Parade Infielders (different #1)
• 597 Rookie Parade Infielders (different #2)
• 598 Rookie Parade Outfielders

And the really important thing to realize is that this subset led to all the rookie subsets to come — the two-player cards, the three-player cards, four-player, Rookie Stars, Future Stars, Prospects, and on and on and on.

So, yeah, maybe Topps would have unleashed this concept on us sooner or later, no matter what happened in 1962. But as far as I can tell based on the evidence, 1962 Topps Rookie Parade Sam McDowell spawned the whole dang rookie card craze.

And even if he didn’t, this is still a pretty cool card to celebrate Spring Training with.

Check out the entire series of 2019 Spring Training Challenge posts here.

But that’s pretty predictable, and I’ve written about Raines on a few occasions in the past. One of my goals for this series is to tap into the stories of guys who don’t get a lot of attention … or at least haven’t gotten much attention here on Wax Pack Gods.

So I went back to the drawing board and began rolling through my mental Rolodex, trolling back through the years. 1990 … 1989 … 1988 … 1987 … 1986 … 1985 … 1984 … bingo!

During the summer of 1984, I made my first visit to Riverfront Stadium to see my Cincinnati Reds play. But the Riverfronts were pretty putrid that year, so I spent much of the hot months watching (and loving) the upstart Chicago Cubs.

I grew very familiar with those purple-block-lettered Cubs cards in the 1984 Topps set, and one of the guys who seemed to pop up all the time was Chuck Rainey.

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I didn’t really realize it at the time, but Rainey had spent the first several years of his career with the Boston Red Sox before they shipped him to the Cubs in exchange for Doug Bird in December of 1982.

The following year was one of his best and the only time he spent all season as a full-time starter. Toiling for a 1983 Cubs team that went 71-91, Rainey posted a 14-13 record with a 4.48 ERA. And much to my chagrin — now, because I didn’t know about it then — Rainey also one-hit the Reds on August 24, with Eddie Milner recording a two-out single in the ninth to break up the thing.

Take that, Mr. Spring Name (although, in truth, I’d have been rooting for the no-hitter at that point).

But with the Cubs off to the races in 1984, and with the addition of eventual Cy Young winner Rick Sutcliffe, Rainey became expendable. So on July 15, general manager Dallas Green sent Rainey and (eventually) Damon Farmar to the Oakland A’s for Davey Lopes.

In Oakland, Rainey posted a 1-1 record with a 6.75 ERA in 16 appearances … and was never heard from again.

Well, not as a professional baseball player, anyway.

Apparently Donruss did not get the memo that Rainey was done, though, and they granted him card #618 in their iconic black-bordered 1985 set.

And so Chuck Rainey pulled off what so many Hall of Famers — including Willie Mays, Bob Gibson, and Mike Schmidt — could not. He got a career-capper card.

No wonder he looks so self-important on that ’85 Donruss A’s card. Or is he challenging us … daring us to flip that card over?

“Go ahead. Take a look. It’s all there.”

And it was. And is.

Which goes to show, no matter how rainy, or Rainey, a Major League career turns out to be, it’s still a Major League career.

And that’s pretty darn sunny in my book.

Check out the entire series of 2019 Spring Training Challenge posts here.