After two “warm-up” years in 1984 and 1985, The Rocket had streaked across the baseball firmament in 1986 with a 24-4 record, 2.48 ERA, and 238 strikeouts. He followed up that Cy Young and MVP award-winning season with another Cy Young in 1987 and a top-notch campaign in 1988.

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Then, his booster rocket fell off in 1989 and his ERA “ballooned” all the way to 3.13 while his record fell to a “paltry” 17-11. Clemens, always a polarizing figure in the hobby, bounded up the “Cold List” in the old Beckett Baseball Monthly while also clinging to the lower regions of the “Hot List.”

It was an odd combination of adoration and disdain that’s reserved for the sport’s elite because a player must, at some point, be good enough to be “hot” before anyone cares enough to mark him “cold.”

That Hot/Cold pairing almost always meant softening card prices, too, and those dreaded “down arrows” began appearing next to the vaunted Clemens cardboard.

Clemens rebounded in 1990 and, of course, went on to a storied career that, if you leave aside his extra-curricular activities, ranks as one of the best we’ve ever seen from the mound.

More than 25 years later, though, it’s interesting to note that a card issued during that dim period between Roger’s first stumble and his baseball resurrection would be among the few pasteboards issued during the “junk wax” era to hold much value on the secondary market today.

Food, Folks, and Fun — and Big Plans

At the dawn of a new decade, the world was caught in a kind of cultural limbo, almost ready to let loose of the leg-warming, Cyndi Lauper excess of the 80s but not quite ready to embrace the Jerry Springer, Too-Legit-to-Quit excess of the 90s.

Something we were always prepared for was more fast food, especially if it slid out from beneath a pair of Golden Arches. Never mind that, in 1990, McDonald’s seemed to be torn between Pee Wee Herman and The Little Mermaid with its advertising campaigns:

Creepy?

Maybe a bit, but it was undoubtedly truthful.

You had your food (allegedly): Big Macs, French Fries, Fried Apple Fritter Critters.

You had your folks, who were almost always the ones to take you to Mickey D’s.

And you had your fun: Happy Meals, heartburn, indoor playgrounds, Ronald.

And if you lived in a particular corner of the Pacific Northwest during a particular three-week window in the Spring of 1990?

Well, then you had more fun at McDonald’s than even the rest of the nation did, especially if you were a baseball fan.

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Because, as teams and owners finally came to an agreement that sprung Spring training after a 32-day lockout that would ultimately push back the start of the season by a full week, Score and McDonald’s teamed up on a 25-set of some of baseball’s biggest stars.

If you were lucky enough to find yourself at one of 11 (select) McDonald’s restaurants in rural Oregon and Idaho as winter retreated into the mountains, your order of fries and a soft drink would have netted you a four-pack of the blue-bordered beauties and a chance to win a trip the 1990 World Series, which suggests that the two companies might have had bigger, broader plans in the works.

You also had a chance to pull, among others, Rickey Henderson, Ryne Sandberg, or Robin Yount.

Or … Roger Clemens.

Rocket Fuel?

Knowing what we do now about Clemens’ propensity for physical fitness and healthy eating, it’s a bit jarring to see the red and yellow arches blazed just above The Rocket’s powerful right arm on his 1990 Score McDonald’s card.

Aside from that bit of dissonance, the Clemens card feels very much like a Score product and is similar to his base 1990 Score card in layout and pose, with border color, uniform (home v. away), and photo angle being the main differentiators.

The back of the McDonald’s card also is very Score-esque, with a full-color headshot, complete stats, and a biographical writeup.

Of course, the main difference between Clemens’ 1990 Score card and his 1990 McDonald’s Score card is availability.

While the base set was sold in packs across the nation for a buck or less ALL season long, the McDonald’s cards were available for less than a month in 11 restaurants in bucolic climes.

Not surprisingly, the Arches card far surpasses the regular Score card in value today. While you can pick up the latter all day long for well under $1, that McDonald’s pasteboard will set you back at least $10 and more like $100 if you’re looking for a really high-grade slabbed copy.

So, not only is the 1990 Score McDonald’s Rocket scarce and condition-scarce, it’s actually among that rarest of cardboard slices — a 1990-ish Roger Clemens baseball card that has retained (and added to) its value over the years.

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It must have been really tough to be a San Diego Padres fan in late 1973 and early 1974.

Not only had the team just finished off their third 100-loss season in five years of existence, but they were headed out of town.

After watching his team draw fewer than 2.5 million fans total in their first four years in the sunshine, owner C. Arnholt Smith, a local banker, had had enough and put the team on the auction block in 1973. The winning bidder was a group from Washington, D.C., headed by Joseph Danzansky, who intended to move the Pads to the nation’s capital for the 1974 season.

Dark days, indeed.

Now, there were a couple of bright spots.

First, of course, real fans could revel in the memories of a, um, glorious tenure by the sea.

And then there were the homegrown stars that had come up through the Padres system — Fred Kendall, Dave Roberts, Randy Jones, and Bill Greif all looked like they might develop into something special, and all were at least partially developed under San Diego tutelage.

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Topping all of that, though, was the unbridled potential that nearly everyone saw in young Dave Winfield, who made his Major League debut on June 19, 1973, without the benefit of even one day spent in the minor leagues.

Winfield was huge, powerful, athletic, and polished, a great college athlete at the University of Minnesota, where he starred in both basketball and baseball. When he was done as a Golden Gopher, Winfield was drafted by the Padres, yes, but also by the Atlanta Hawks of the NBA and the Utah Stars of the ABA. And, even though he never touched a college football, the Minnesota Vikings picked him in the 17th round of the 1973 NFL Draft.

Winfield was destined for greatness, in whichever sport he chose, and he chose baseball.

San Diego fans got to witness the genesis of that diamond greatness when big Dave batted .277 in 154 plate appearances over 56 games that last summer.

And, as 1974 dawned, it was clear to all involved that 1973 had been the last season for MLB in San Diego, at least for the time being.

In fact, Topps was so sure of the move that they commemorated the even in their 1974 set, even though no one knew what the new team would be called once it made its way to Washington. So, before the baseball card manufacturer fired up the presses for what would be their first-ever all-at-once major issue, they did some handiwork on the Padres cards. Here is what Jones’ cardboard looked like:

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But just as the Padres were loading up the moving trucks and were about to scratch out “Padres” on their uniforms and use magic markers to write in “Nat’l Lea.s” — hey, if it was good enough for Topps, it was good enough for this team — the unhappenable happened.

See, just as the calendar flipped to 1974, local businessman Ray Kroc retired from his day job.

And, on the off chance you’re not familiar with Kroc, you should know that “businessman” in this vernacular is akin to “mammoth tycoon” in modern parlance, and that day job entailed running the McDonald’s empire that he helped turn into an American phenomenon starting in the 1950s.

With plenty of time on his hands all of the sudden and sitting on something like half a billion dollars, Kroc — a lifelong baseball fan — needed something to do.

A challenge.

And what could be more challenging than resurrecting a baseball team that …

• Was terrible?
• Had always been terrible?
• Couldn’t draw any fans?
• Was being sold to someone else?
• Was leading off first and ready to break for D.C.?

Not much that I can think of.

Kroc was apparently of the same mind because he called up Smith and inquired about the possibility of buying the Padres.

It was one of those, “just suppose” moments in history that changed history even when everyone else thought the future had already been writ.

Because, in fact, the deal with Danzansky’s group was not yet complete. There were contingencies and challenges, and the whole thing was basically tied up in a knot.

Kroc made it easy, though. He had $12 million to drop, free and clear, and he could drop it immediately. And, he was going to keep the team in San Diego.

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That made the new deal an easy one for the rest of the owners to approve, because (for one thing) it’s always bad form to cut bait on an expansion franchise just five years in.

So the Pads canceled the trucks, put the caps on the markers, and headed back to San Diego Stadium to prepare for the new season.

Kroc started pumping more money into the team and would eventually loosen the purse strings enough for the Padres to land some decent free agents.

And fans came back. Maybe they were dazed by the flurry of activity, or maybe they thought the stadium had been converted into one big McDonald’s restaurant, but they came back in (relative) droves. By the end of that 1974 season, more than 1 million fan(nies) had clicked the turnstiles.

Everyone was happy.

Well … except for maybe Topps.

With an untold tonnage of “Washington Nat’l. Lea.” cardboard already pouring off the printing presses and out the doors, Topps was caught between two impossible choices — continue with the “wrong” cards or correct them and admit they jumped the gun.

They chose the latter, and created one of the greatest error/corrected runs in baseball card history.

Here is what the “right” Randy Jones card looked like:

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Overall, the gaffe affected 15 cards, including 13 players, the manager card, and the team card, and the more scarce error cards became objects of desire. Even in that “less sophisticated” hobby era.

But the funny thing is that not all Padres cards were affected.

Indeed, the 1974 Topps Padres card made it through unscathed. That would be the Dave Winfield rookie card, if you’re scoring at home:

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That card, of course, became almost as iconic as Winfield himself and remains one of the most sought-after and valuable hunks of cardboard from the 1970s.

Imagine what a short-printed “Washington Nat’l. Lea.” Winfield rookie might have done to the hobby!

And the hysteria might well have begun that very summer, when Winfield garnered steady playing time split between the three outfield positions. While the excitement of the near-franchise-move and last-minute save by Kroc undoubtedly accounted for much or the attendance bump, Winfield’s emergence didn’t hurt, either.

By season’s end, the 22-year-old had smacked 20 home runs and driven in 75 runs while batting .265. Those were big numbers in San Diego back then, especially for a youngster.

Add in the presence of future Hall of Fame slugger Willie McCovey, who hit 22 home runs in his first season with the Padres, and local fans had reason to cheer — and to show up.

The team owner was appreciative, too.

Never one to miss a promotional opportunity, Kroc (or someone in his posse) came up with the perfect marriage of his two loves for a stadium giveaway on July 30, 1974.

That night, about 24,000 fans saw the Los Angeles Dodgers demolish the Padres, 8-0, but at least a good hunk of them received Kroc’s consolation prize: a plastic baseball emblazoned with the Pads’ friar logo atop a McDonald’s base. That contraption opened up to hold a set of 14 notched player discs and a team schedule.

The promotion also came with a five-card (disc) starter pack, with instructions that you could buy the rest of the cards at local McDonald’s restaurants.

It was genius, especially when you consider the checklist:

Matty Alou
Glenn Beckert
Nate Colbert
Bill Greif
John Grubb
Enzo Hernandez
Randy Jones
Fred Kendall
Willie McCovey
John McNamara
Dave Roberts
Bobby Tolan
Dave Winfield
Ronald McDonald
Padres Home Schedule

Not only did you get five cards free, setting up an existential need to finish the set …

Not only was there a McCovey card …

Not only was there a Ronald McDonald card …

… but there was a Dave Winfield rookie card.

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It would have been a dream come true for any kid who fell in love with Dave’s powerful wing that summer and pined for something more than “just” that one, solitary Topps card.

And it might have been a nightmare for parents dealing with the constant pleas to hit the Golden Arches again in search of whichever cards little Tommy was still missing.

But it would have been pretty hard to resist, right?

I mean, the discs were awfully good looking.

Also, this was little Tommy, and he really wanted the cards.

And, well, these were the same Padres who almost weren’t the Padres anymore at all. It was a miracle that the team was still there, playing in the endless sunshine.

So …

If you had been a collector or a fan or, especially, a parent back then and back there, wouldn’t you have chased these cards, too?

I sure would have, and the McDonald’s slogan from that year would have played in my head the whole way …

McDonald’s sure is good to have around.

Ray Kroc sure is good to have around.

The Padres sure are good to have around.

Dave Winfield sure is good to have around.

And the good news for us is that these relics still are good to have around. Even today, you can find most individual discs on eBay (affiliate link) for a couple bucks each, with even the Winfield checking in at less than $20.

Guess that’s what the combined power of billions and billions of hamburgers can do for you!

(Check out our other player card posts here.)

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(This is Day 25 of our response to Tony L.’s 30-Day Baseball Card Challenge. See all our posts in this series here.)

Everyone knows about McDonald’s Happy Meals and how they changed the fast food dining experience for children — and parents — forever when they debuted in 1979.

But children of the 1970s and baseball cards collectors from that era know the truth: the Happy Meal is little more than a knockoff of the Funmeal that the now dearly departed Burger Chef introduced in 1973.

What’s more, the Funmeal was arguably a lot more “Fun” than the Happy Meal is “Happy,” and it was certainly more innovative.

How Fun Was the Funmeal?

The Funmeal consisted of a hamburger, french fries, soft drink, and dessert all served in a tray made from thin cardboard. That’s where the fun began, because Burger Chef made parts of their tray — often the tops of food “holes” — interactive.

The disc covering the drink holder, for instance, would often feature a company character like “Jeff.” Kids could remove the disc and play with it or pocket it as a keepsake of their visit.

Other pieces were similarly removable, and there was usually a backdrop that would stand up behind the tray so that the thing looked like a colorful laptop before we even knew what those were.

Burger Chef used all that real estate to treat kids to magic shows, monster lineups, Star Wars oragami-ish toys, and … wait for it … baseball cards.

Hidden Hobby Origins

Until I started researching this piece, I was under the general impression that I acquired my first baseball card in 1981 when my mom brought some home from the store.

But this is Day 25 of the 30-Day Baseball Card Challenge, which meant that I’d be writing about “A favorite oddball card from the 1970s.”

There were a few fitting choices in that category, including 1971 Topps coins, 1977 Topps Cloth Stickers, and 1979 Burger King, but the whole exercise brought childhood memories flooding back.

The choice was clear.

My favorite oddball set from the 1970s is the series of discs issued by Burger Chef on their boxes in 1977.

Burger Chef was the best …

They had these funny little hats that my dad or grandmother would fit over my head.

They had hamburgers wrapped in shiny, transparent cellophane that would make the buns soft and steamy. Yummmmm!

And, of course, they had those irresistible and undeniably fun Funmeals.

Back in those days, if my parents gave me a choice between McDonald’s and Burger Chef, the BC would win every time. Eating out was a treat, so I had to make my limited opportunities count.

And I can clearly remember sitting at a Burger Chef in Indianapolis with my parents on a hot summer day, Mom laying my food out in front of me. I could hardly contain my excitement as I struggled to see what kind of shenanigans awaited me on the Funmeal tray.

Define Baseball

“What are those?” I said, or something like it.

My dad craned his neck and turned the box to get a better look.

“They look like baseball cards,” he said, and kept eating.

“What’s baseball?” I wanted to know.

I don’t remember exactly what Dad said, but it was probably something to divert my attention. Baseball was a froufrou sport, and not worthy of much discussion. Would have been a different story had I uncovered a tray full of football cards.

It didn’t matter much to me, though, because I had some good food to pound down and some colorful new “toys” to explore.

I remember that Jeff and his friends made an appearance here and there on the discs and on the box. And I remember that the “cards” featured black-and-white photographs inside a baseball shape that was mostly white but had two colored panels: pink, orange, blue, green.

I know now that the cards were produced by MSA, who didn’t have an MLB license and so had to airbrush out team logos.

Nevertheless, the cards were issued by team, so there were boxes for the Cincinnati Reds, the Detroit Tigers, the California Angels, etc.

How many of the baseball Funmeals I ate that summer, I couldn’t say. I’m sure it was just a handful, so I didn’t have many of the cards.

And they may have gotten thrown away before we even left the restaurant. The thin stock and diversionary nature of the Funmeal boxes made them trash once the meal was over in the eyes of most parents.

I do know that I added several of these cards through proper hobby channels later on, probably a flea market buy. I had some discs that were in pretty rough shape, and those could well have been held over from my summer culinary adventures in 1977.

Early Hero

Among these cards, Dan Driessen is one of my favorites because he was one of my favorite players when I picked up the game and the hobby in 1983.

He’s also the first player I remember seeing in person when my parents took me to a game at Riverfront Stadium in 1984. Driessen was taking fielding practice at first base when we arrived, and the sound of the ball hitting his glove is one that will stay with me forever.

The ease with which he tossed the ball across the field and his joyful demeanor also struck me and sucked me into the experience all the deeper. The fact that he went 1-for-4 that night did little to dampen my enthusiasm.

Did I really pull a Driessen disc on one of my 1977 Funmeal boxes? The odds say it’s unlikely, but it’s fun to imagine.

Fun … that’s what Funmeals and the 1977 Burger Chef baseball discs were all about.