Card: 1991 Topps #182
Errors: Player put tape on hairy arms - that is going to hurt coming off. Player appears to be wearing McDonald's brand batting gloves. That can't be a real Major League uniform. Player not making eye contact with autograph recipient.
"Mister! Mister! Can you sign my scorecard?"
"Sure kid, no problem."
My first autograph request! Five years in the show and finally a break!
OK, stay calm. Focus, Junior. You can do this. Fear is not an option in the bigs. You are a champion. A lion.
C'mon! Your wrists are taped, you got on the suuh-weet uni and you're a pro athlete. You can do anything that you set your mind to, Junior. Mind over matter. If you don't mind, it don't matter.
OK, here we go...Wait.
What should I sign? Junior Noboa? J. Noboa? J.N. 4eva? That's stupid. How about my real name: Milciades Arturo Diaz Noboa. Yeah, and then maybe put Junior in the middle, with some quotation marks. This kid will love it! You da man, Junior. You're a tiger, a puma.
Wait. Maybe I should do a little more. Anybody can just sign their name. Heck, this dumb, ugly could kid probably could have signed my name. He'd probably even spell it right. I got to do something a little special. OK, how about: Milciades Arturo Diaz "Junior" Noboa, 2B, Expos.
Ugh. Why would I write that? He knows what position I play! He's got the damn scorecard in his hand! Pathetic. C'mon Junior, pull it together. Write something inspirational.
Stay in school. Don't do drugs. Never take a wooden nickel. Nice - that's it. Kids today probably don't even know about wooden nickels anymore. OK. "Milciades Arturo Diaz "Junior" Noboa, 2B, Expos. Don't take any wooden nickels." Yeah, real smooth.
Wait. That makes no sense. How can I tell this kid about nickels when I make thousands of dollars and he probably had to scrape together a week's pay - maybe even kill a man - just to get his tickets. It's like I'm rubbing my wealth in the kid's face. He'll probably be so mad, he'll kill again. Then I'll be an accessory to murder. Great. Going to prison.
Damn, why did I tell this kid I would sign his scorecard? Let's see, maybe...
"Hey, mister? Mister? Never mind, mister. I mean...um, thanks for trying and all, but I gotta go. But not because you're taking so long. Uh, no, that's not it. It's just that Tim Wallach looks really lonely over there and, well, nobody likes a lonely Wallach. So, you see, that's why I have to leave. See ya."
Scoring: WP, WP, WP, WP
Scoring: WP, WP, WP, WP