pencils down

Players: Larry Walker, Darren Daulton
Card: 1993 Fleer #715
Errors: Why aren't investigative reporters looking into the proliferation beer ads on baseball cards? Also, what is the connection between these two players? Marl...Marl...Marl-what?
Comments:
SECTION FOUR: VOCABULARY COMPREHENSION
You will have sixteen (16) minutes to complete the following questions. Each question will have only one correct answer. Be sure to color in the oval completely, without going outside the borders. Proctors cannot answer questions about this section of the exam.
You may begin.

1. Larry Walker's head is to Darren Daulton's head; as a golf ball is to:
a) A tennis ball
b) The Earth
c) A cement block
d) Domingo Ramos

2. Expos are to pterodactyls; as Seattle Pilots are to:
a) Bump Wills
b) The Kingdome
c) Washington (state)
d) The Colt .45's

3. Gold chains are to totally awesome; as Super Star Specials are to:
a) monolithic
b) dudical
c) inaccurate
d) Domingo Ramos

4. Darren Daulton's mullet is to business in the front, party in the back; as Darren Daulton's Robocop jaw is to:
a) I'll be back.
b) Holy cow!
c) The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant!
d) All of the above.

5. Fleer is to gray borders; as MLB logos are to:
a) Script writing
b) Dotting i's with stars
c) Pinstripes do not make you look thinner
d) Misdirected Canadian patriotism

6. Larry Walker is to Darren Daulton; as Bert is to:
a) Ernie
b) Blyleven
c) rubber duckie
d) Domingo Ramos

Scoring: CS1-2

give thanks

Player: Mark Carreon
Card: 1991 Fleer #142
Errors: Players is In Action! Don't forget, card owners, to watch SportsChannel! Do you know why he's running to fast? He's being chased by Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones!
Comments:
Stuff I Am Thankful For
an essay by That Guy in the Circle
I am thankful for baseball, the grand old game. It inspires me and comforts me. It keeps my summers full of happiness and joy. It gives me something to look forward to in the long, cold winters.
I am thankful for the Arizona sun, which keeps my ripped, bodacious body tanned and smoking - something the ladies are very thankful for. Thank you, ladies.
I am thankful for white shorts, which not only show off my buns and my Satchel Paige, but keep me cool and relaxed. Thank you, white shorts.
I am thankful for late inning blowouts in spring training and lazy ushers, who allow me to slip up to the front row, into the $22 seats. Suh-weet. Thank you, ushers.
I am thankful that I was there. I was there to witness Mark Carreon scoring a meaningless spring training run when some not-ready-for-the-big-leagues outfielder momentarily bobbled the ball. Thank you, outfielder.
But, most of all, I am thankful that Fleer hired photographers with deep focus lenses who could perfectly capture This Place, This Event, This Moment. How would my many, many future children believe it happened without you, Fleer photographer? Thank you, future kids.
So, yes, I am thankful for a lot of stuff.
Scoring: 3U

a word from our sponsors

Player: Robin Yount
Card: 1992 Fleer #708
Errors: The player appears in this painting to have the neck of the giraffe, the hair of the lion and the flat brim of the elderly grandfather. Beware, Mr. Yount there are a lot of balls coming your way.
Comments: Ladies and gentlemen, readers of all ages, we here at Uglee Card Industries (subsidiary of Uglee Card Inc., wholly distributed by Uglee LTD.) would like to take you behind the scenes of our operation, so you can know better some of the people who put our fine quality Uglee products, including Uglee mustache combs, Uglee painting kits and Uglee brand hot pants.
Pretty much every Thursday, Uglee readers are treated to some of the best in ugly baseball card analysis, insight and overreaching metaphors. But the finished product that appears magically through the American Internet is actually the end result of an intense, seven-day process of evaluating inventory, plotting scripts and screening for accuracy.
To help you understand the process, some of the Uglee upper management agreed to a behind-the-scenes look at this week's selection of the Robin Yount 1992 Fleer card.
We started at the Uglee World Headquarters, located on a street probably much like your street, in a building probably very much like your building or at least like one you've seen on TV. Just minutes after last week's difficult work on the Len Randle Project was completed, a company-wide meeting was called to scan the Uglee inventory.
From this stock, the 14 project managers each made his or her pitch for next week's feature, outlining the pros and cons.
Line editor Herb Moford was behind a 1980 Topps Gene Richards card - accenting Richards' unusual hair and batting stance. He was ultimately voted down.
"There's a lot of give and take here," Moford said. "Although I haven't gotten a card through since the February John Smiley Edition, my editors encourage me to keep trying. I won't let them down."
By Saturday, the team had narrowed the choices to two promising cards: the Fleer Yount and a 1991 Donruss Carlos Quintana.
Teams were then sent out to research the player's backgrounds, contact former lovers and root through legal records, trying to dig up anything that can be used in the final piece. Design specialist Bob Moorhead was on the Quintana team, which focused primarily on the player's unusual positioning and a chain that dangled out of his jersey.
"This is stressful work, but very rewarding," Moorhead said. "We can get into some pretty nasty fights. But it makes the final product stronger and not just a bunch of jokes about cup size."
Monday morning, managing editor Joe Ginsberg called both teams into the Uglee board room/cafetorium to hear arguments from both teams. Many times, the pitches made at these meetings become the focus for the final product. Other times, they are simply the launching point for more involved oeuvres or homages. Once, there was a pastiche.
This week, Ginsberg ultimately went with the Yount Team.
"They brought a lot more to the table," Ginsberg said from his desk, as he snacked on some Big League Chew provided for free in Uglee vending machines. "The Yount card gave us a lot more to work with. You can go (with the) hippie thing. You can make him part of the first outer space baseball league. We've got room to roam."
The next 48 hours were the most intense for the Uglee Editorial Dept. A round-the-clock team of 18 writers worked tirelessly on drafts of cards. Willard Hunter is the veteran of the group. Hunter, a former Marine and writer for the Caroline in the City, is known affectionately by the other writers as "Cow Butt." But despite the nickname, Hunter is not known to pull punches when it comes to quality. At a recent meeting, he attacked another writer's first draft.
"You call this work!" Hunter screamed. "I could write better Yount material on my death bed! Think, you moron!"
This week's inclusion of a Hall of Fame player left several writers intimidated by the scope and breadth of their project. Still, the best writers seemed to thrive under the adversity. At one point, the power went out in the building and two writers retreated to their cars, using cigarette lighters to power their lap tops.
By Wednesday, a draft was ready to be turned over to the Uglee Standards, Ethics and Quality Department. The copy editors gathered in a room that seems small, but is actually quite large. Here, former New York Times columnists and ex-novelists went over, line by line, each word of the Yount Project. At the same time, in a rather large but tiny room, Uglee ethicists debated the merits of certain aspects of the copy. While it may seem trivial, this can be one of the most crucial parts of the process. In the past, the ethicists were responsible for the controversial, though ultimately successful, no-big-ear-jokes push, which some experts believe may have saved Uglee industries somewhere in the vicinity of $10 billion in just three months.
This week, a heated debate broke out on the Yount Project, centered around the centerfielder's unusual hair. In the end, Chief Ethicist Sammy Taylor argued powerfully that Kant's theories on dependent beauty (which presupposes what beauty should be) validated the basic theory behind the criticism of the card, but not the critique of Yount's hair.
"If we allow ourselves to stick solely to examinations of locks, I feel that we will post nothing but 1970s Atlanta Braves epics and Jeff Reardon tomes," Taylor argued. "We're all better than that, I believe."
Finally, at 11:59 a.m. Thursday, the Yount Project is ready to go to print. A monkey trained by former major leaguer Danny Tartabull pushes the button, and the post is published to the waiting world.
We hope you enjoyed your glimpse behind the curtain at Uglee Card Industries (subsidiary of Uglee Card Inc., wholly distributed by Uglee LTD.). The future seems bright for the company, which hopes to open copyright infringement and proof reading departments in the next six months.
In the meantime, enjoy this week's Uglee card analysis. As they say at the world headquarters: "It may be Uglee, but it's still a home run to us!"
Scoring: PO 8-3

in the event of my demise

Player: Lee Tunnell
Card: 1984 Fleer #268
Errors: I hope that glove is keeping your fingertips warm because it’s certainly not going to help you catch any baseballs. Player got yellow fever; he got it bad. Player is considering renting that gap in his mustache.
Comments:
To whomever finds this missive,
I write this from a prison both metaphorical and physical. More than 497 days ago myself and 24 other men were taken, under duress, by a surprise attack during our national anthem.
We were grabbed, blindfolded and taken far from our homes. Since then, our days have been long. We have sustained ourselves on a diet of tobacco, chewing gum and powdered Gatorade.
Our captors - who wear large hats, earrings and eye patches - forced us to engage in ridiculous and humiliating rituals involving other tribes. First, we are required to wear the costume of the American bumblebee. (The picture included was smuggled out in a rear cavity by a fellow prisoner - a man named Marvell.)
Once we are dressed, we pick up sticks and swat hopelessly at white balls thrown perilously close to our head. This has gone on for months, day and night.
And things are getting worse. Three weeks ago, a prisoner only known to us as “Tekulve” was eaten. Just yesterday, another prisoner, who called himself Rhoden, tried to escape. The guards caught and gave him "The Zimmer." We were too scared to ask what that was - afraid our spirits would break for good.
By the time you read this, I may already be dead, or worse: traded. If I have gone to be with the Great Umpire in the Sky, please know that I leave my collection of black sleeves to my mustachioed patriot, Dale Berra.
If this reaches you, send troops. We are being held in a sports arena at the center of what we can only surmise is a large Midwestern city. Look for the land where three rivers meet and the average temperature is 17 Fahrenheit degrees at night, 28 when the sun is out. If you discover our location, ask for a guard named "Candelaria" who seems to express some sympathy for our cause.
God speed,
Lee Tunnell #CR 567
Scoring: 3-6-1

you make the call

Players: Sid Fernandez, Jerry Don Gleaton
Card: 1990 Fleer #203, 1991 Topps #597
Errors: Jerry Don Gleaton is melting into his pants. Pardon me, would you mind stopping what you're doing, smiling and standing awkwardly while I take a snapshot? GQ says showing your undershirt is a fashion faux-pas.
Comments:
When you came up to the bigs, you didn't have to make these kinds of choices. But, now, alas, the time is here.
You're no longer a dominating pitcher - if you ever were. You never won 20 games or struck out 250 batters. The writers called you "crafty". But everybody knows that means you threw junk and you threw it left-handed. So, you survived. Pitched more years than Sandy Koufax, without one-tenth his stuff.
Your rookie year, you were somewhere between 210 and 230 pounds. And even though that's about 500 donuts ago, that's the weight that stays in the team media guide, forever.
But it couldn't stop you from arriving at this point in your career, a crossroads.
Obviously, the choice may not be entirely your own. You may need to consult a physician, haberdasher or butcher.
Or, more likely, you can just go with your gut.
Either way, you must confront the reality: belt or no belt?
Select a nice blue belt and you're never going to have to worry about the pants falling down. They'll be snug against your sizable posterior, no worries. They're also fashionable without being haughty.
Then again, you could end up in a one-hole's-too-tight, one-hole's-too-loose situation. Belts also put you at risk for an unfortunate buckle incident. Of course, any metal on your uniform could make you vulnerable to the 'ole Pittsburgh magnet trick.
But eschew the belt at your own risk. Sure, the elastic band is classic comfort. Good for bundling newspapers and sucking in a few extra pounds. It can also give you the breathability you need to field a Brett Butler drag bunt.
Of course, everyone knows that elastic has a mind of it's own. In the fifth inning, for no apparent reason, the band can slowly creep past your waist, head straight for your armpits, like an orange-and-black python swallowing you whole. And it's pretty difficult to scuff up a baseball on elastic.
But we all must choose. So, what will you do?
Scoring: 8-2

on the road

Player: Arthur Rhodes
Card: 1993 Fleer #174
Errors: Um, he's not a catcher. Sweet hightops. What's he hiding under that left arm?
Comments:
There is a man. Arthur Rhodes. He's no Tuffy. Just a man.

Not The Man.

A Man.

He is one small crouch for man; one giant leap, leap, leap for mankind.

Crouch, slouch, grouch.
Kill, spill, thrill. Had my fill.
Don't Talk Back to the Pepsi GENeration.
Arthur Rhodes. How many Arthur Rhodes must a man travel down?

we want our Heroes to fit in boxes - even small boxes

Boxes Confine; Boxes Define

Do you have a spine?

Made $31 million. Or did $31 million make, him?

Swapped for Jason Kendall.

Swapped. Flopped. Dropped.

Popped.
Trading men. Traitor men.

Men cannot be traded for ideas, only other men.

Unless we are at war.

Arthur Rhodes. Not The Man. Just a man.
Scoring: CS 1-3

dear john

Player: Darren Holmes
Card: 1993 Fleer #412
Errors: Player was told it was a team picture, only to discover he was alone in the stadium for an intimate afternoon with the photographer. Player's Rockies uniform looks remarkably similar to Milwaukee jersey. Player staying very classy with his sporty V-neck, accompanied by matching long sleeve combo.
Comments:
Dear Darren,
It is very difficult for me to write this. You've been a fairly adequate part of my life for almost six years now. We've had some good to above-average times. Vero Beach. San Antonio. Beloit.
But something seems to have changed with you lately.
I catch you staring off into space.
You shave irregularly - and I mean that both in terms of frequency and coverage of your face. Your posture could be considered weak, at best.
But it's more than that. I didn't realize how I truly felt until I saw your 1993 Fleer card - the guy sitting next to me on the bus was using it as a bookmark for his copy of "Six People You Meet in Hell".
Geez, Darren - you're supposed to be a major league ball player. Someone kids idolize. A hero to grown men. The guy women dream of being with.
1993 Fleer says otherwise.
First of all, did you notice that you're on the Rockies now? Guess what: you got picked in the expansion draft. So what's with the Brewers gear? Grow up, Darren.
I might have forgiven you that. I might have been able to overlook a uniform slip after all our history. But you're holding a bat! A bat? The Brewers are in the American League, for at least four more years! You've never batted once in your entire career! You may as well have picked up a sword or a fireman's hose or a large mouth bass. Ridiculous.
That picture is sort of a symbol of where we went wrong. I want to face reality. You live your half-shaven, dazed, wrong-team life in Fantasyland.
I suppose you know where this is going: I really believe it would be better if we took some time off, split up, saw other people or, preferably, all of the above.
I hope you know how hard this is for me. I'm tearing up inside just trying to write this letter. But we know this is what's best for both of us. Or at least me.
So as we move our separate ways, be assured, it was definitely you, not me.
Love,
Baseball
Scoring: LO4

in the year 3000....

Player: Jerry Augustine
Card: 1982 Fleer #133
Errors: That's either a mirror, or a small ghost player in the haze. There's a finger sticking out of that guy's glove! Cool spacesuit.
Comments: In the future, baseball will be a very different game.
The players will literally float between the bases and can be tagged out, forced out, or beamed up.

There will no more human umpires, only computers that call balls and strikes, safe or out. Also, the computer umpires will have the power to kill.
Women will play alongside men, but only in the National League West.
After Android Bud Selig legalizes all performance enhancing substances except for pancake batter, 14 players die from injecting pancake batter into their arms.
Ads will be digitally superimposed on the hats of all spectators in the first six rows.
Fans will still be allowed to keep foul balls that go into the stands, but anyone who catches a foul ball will be charged a $4.50 recipient's fee by Major League Baseball.
Players will all wear light blue, one-piece space uniforms with tiny yellow belts.
Any celebrity who has a movie coming out with expected box office of more than $300 million (U.S.) will recieve one at-bat during interleague night games.
The home run derby will no longer be a long ball contest. It will literally be players running home, trying to escape the killer robot umpires.
Scoring: FO7

the hunchback of middle infielders

Player: Jeff Treadway

Card: 1991 Fleer #707

Errors: Kids, that's no way to field a grounder - always get in front of the ball. Is he playing baseball in a meadow? Again, thank you Fleer for a set of blindingly yellow posed baseball cards.

Comments:

FULTON COUNTY SHERIFF DEPARTMENT

INCIDENT REPORT 08-AF1543

Incident: Aggravated fielding

Time: 23:11

Date: 7.3.1990

Location: Meadow bordering Chalmers St. and Howell Ave.

Suspect: Jeff Treadway, 1/22/1963, 521 Capitol Ave., Atlanta, GA, m/w, 170 lbs, 5ft11, hair brown, eyes closed, posture poor, wearing blue hat, blue shirt, high gray pants, no tattoos or identifying marks

Summary: At above time and location, I, Offc. John DeMerit #29, was called to the scene of an aggravated fielding incident. Victim Herb Moford (8/6/1928, 12301 Roosevelt Ave, Flushing, NY, m/w, 6'1'', 175, hair brown, eyes hazel with specks of green) reported that he was having a picnic in a meadow near his home when he was approached by suspect Treadway, whom he did not know and was not enemies with.

Suspect Treadway was slumped over, yelling, "I am quasimodo. Throw me a grounder. I am quasimodo! Toss me a little pepper!"

Suspect's comments caused victim Moford to become alarmed and disturbed, as he was with his fiancee and feared for her physical safety.

In a calm manner, Moford gave suspect Treadway verbal instructions to leave the area. Suspect Treadway continued to advance toward picnic area and continued to verbally yell. When he reached picnic, suspect Treadway stepped on victim's fruit salad and silverware. Suspect Treadway then scooped up an orange and threw it at victim Moford, who was able to avoid contact with the projectile. Total loss was estimated at $8.50.

Victim Moford and fiancee fled the area northbound on Howell Ave and contacted authorities from Ken's Dollar Store, 1037 Howell Ave.

When officers arrived, suspect Treadway was slumped over, trying to scoop up ducks in his baseball glove.
At 23:45 hrs, I contacted state's attorney's office. ASA Cliff Cook approved charges of felony aggravated fielding and misdemeanor water fowl harassment within 1000 feet of a school.
Scoring: 7-4

the fire inside

Player: Wade Boggs and Mike Greenwell
Card: 1990 Fleer #632
Errors: Card advertises “Super Star Specials”, yet has Mike Greenwell on it. Look closely - where is Greenwell’s right hand going? Both players coordinated undershirts with batting gloves, which is very cool.
Comments: Mike Greenwell tried to review the events of that day, searching for the moment where it all went wrong.
It had started so innocently.
On a sweltering August night, the Sox had swept a double header from the front-running Orioles. Boston was finally over .500, and within a game of first. Anything seems possible on a night like that.
“Let’s go throw some knives,” Boggs said, as he put on his street clothes.
That was probably when the night changed. That seemed so clear to Greenwell, looking back. But then again, he was a new man now. He had seen so much horror.
Boggs took the collection of knives out of his locker.

"Let's go over to Nick's Place," Boggs suggested.
Within an hour, Greenwell found himself in an alley behind a bar owned by first baseman Nick Esasky, tossing knives with Orioles catcher Mickey Tettleton and Boggs. The high of the double-header was still ringing in Greenwell’s ears. The knives flew like sparrows toward a struggling worm. The booze flowed even faster.
And so it didn’t seem strange when the dares started.
First, Boggs challenged Tettleton to taunt a bear at the Boston Public Zoo. Tettleton did it. He nearly lost a hand, but he did it.
Then Tettleton dared Boggs to stick-up a cabbie. Once Boggs had tossed the driver into the street, all three men piled in.
“Your turn,” Boggs said, turning toward Greenwell. “I dare you to burn down the Boston Tea Party ship.”
Through the long cab ride across town, the men talked about where to get matches, gasoline. Even then, it seemed like a joke - a laugh. Surely, something would intercept them before they could do any real damage. But Boggs was driving at fantastic speeds, and suddenly they were there, on the Congress Street Bridge.
Was it the crazy look in Boggs’ eyes? Was it Tettleton’s constant goading? Why hadn’t Greenwell turned back?

For years, Greenwell had admired Boggs' hitting, his facial hair. Greenwell would look at his own paltry mustache with disgust. Why couldn't he grow a beard?

Later, Greenwell would try to convince himself he had no choice. It was the Boston Tea Party ship or him. But even he didn't believe that. As he lit the first match, Greenwell knew: he was the true monster.
The next morning, Greenwell looked for a place where no one would recognize him. In the ensuing chaos, he had fled the scene. He had avoided any of his teammates the rest of that night, rode alone to Fenway. When he got there, Greenwell scanned the stands. Every fan in sunglasses seemed like a Fed who knew his secret.
Greenwell trudged back to the dugout.
There was Boggs. As he finished off a leg of chicken, there was no indication Boggs was thinking about the ship. Greenwell could think of nothing else.
“Boggsy, Greenie, how about a picture for the press?” yelled a Boston Herald photographer.
Greenwell looked up. The two men shuffled toward each other.
“C’mon guys,” Johnny Newspaper continued. “A little closer together. Let’s make this for A1. I can see the headline now: Boston Igniters.”
Why did he say that?
Neither Greenwell nor Boggs made eye contact. They couldn’t. There would always be too much between them.

The photographer's camera snapped.
Scoring: FO3

i pitched in dodger stadium and all i got was a free baseball

Player: Pedro Astacio
Card: 1993 Fleer #57
Errors: Stadium evacuated before picture taken. Photographer borrowed from Los Angeles County High School. Hat also borrowed.

Comments: LOS ANGELES - A day Pedro Astacio will always remember will go down in Dodger history as a day to forget. Even Vin Scully couldn't smooth this one over.

With the Dodgers uncharacteristically in last place in the National League West - more than 20 games behind the division leading Atlanta Braves - the team decided to thank their fans with a promotion unique in the annals of baseball: Pitcher for a Day.

The Dodgers announced they would hold an open tryout for the fans who attended the Sept. 18 game against the Giants. The winner would pitch the first inning Sunday, the series finale, and earn a one-inning Major League paycheck.

Out of a crew of single moms, retired Navy Seals and high school shortstops "emerged" a 29-year-old Irvine, Calif., accountant. Pedro Astacio was his name.

Astacio told reporters it was no fluke. He informed the assembled media that for the last eight years, he had been a middle reliever for his firm's baseball team - nicknamed the "Acloutants" - in the Southeastern California SubPro League.

At tryouts, Astacio hit high 70s on the radar gun. Twice.

He also hit four other people auditioning and an usher on the way to her car.

But by Saturday, the Dodgers public relations machine was working overtime hours that would have made Astacio's head spin at his day job. He was touted as "the CPA with the low ERA", the "bean counter unafraid of beanball."
Through it all, Astacio was unfazed.
"It's definitely a bigger stage, but we played some huge games in the SeCSPL, so I think I can handle it," he said, while being measured for an awkward-fitting uniform. "(Former major leaguer) Tom Burnansky played a year in the league and he only hit .319 off me. I'm ready."
An hour before the game, Astacio grabbed his lucky accounting belt and went out to warm up, as manager Tommy Lasorda threw up quietly in his office.
Astacio's first pitch was his best of the night: a ball, outside, which catcher Mike Scioscia snagged by diving to his left. It was the last pitch Scioscia caught on the fly.
Astacio got through the first inning, as the promotion had promised. His line: 22 batters, 19 runs (all earned), 10 walks, 6 hit batters, 3 home runs.
Also, 2 Dodgers infielders injured, 1 Giant batter on the 60-day disabled list, 2 fans hit by errants throws and 1 disgusted opposing manager.
"I understand this is supposed to be fun," said Roger Craig, whose team won the game 20-2. "But I got guys getting hurt because this maniac can't hit the side of zeppelin. (Catcher Kurt) Manwaring was scared to go up to the plate. I had to sit him. We're not sure when Willie (McGee) will ever be the same. Doctor said if the pitch had been going more than 50 miles per hour, he'd be dead.
"When Kevin Bass and Cory Snyder are the only guys looking forward to batting, we're in trouble," Craig said. "I offically hate the fans."
After the game, Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda was inconsolable.
"Alston's rolling over his in grave," said the ashen manager. "I lost more weight during this game than six years on SlimFast."
As for Astacio? He was still beaming, six hours after the game.
Wearing his #56 uniform and a free hat, he held up the souvenir baseball the team had given him.
"I plan to hold it in my right hand forever," he said. "My right hand - that's the magic one."
Scoring: L4

eiland's a nice place to visit

Player: David Eiland

Card: 1991 Fleer #661

Errors: Fixated stare. Player appears to be proposing to card's owner. Overabundance of yellow.

Comments: A first glance at David Eiland's career numbers (12 wins, 27 losses, 5.74 ERA) doesn't necessarily blow you away.

In 10 years, he never won more than four games in a single season, and never pitched more than 80 innings.

But David (never Dave!) Eiland's career was defined by one thing: his left leg. It was the only leg he had.

As seen above, David Eiland lost his right leg in a somewhat horrible bumper car accident. Did he let that tragedy stop him from achieving his big league dreams? For the most part, no.

Unfortunately, in 2000, after three seasons with the Devil Rays, Eiland retired. You can play baseball with one hand or one arm, but it's only a matter of time before Joe Girardi instructs every player on his team to bunt on a one-legged pitcher.

Though his time was brief, Americans will always remember his one shining moment in 1992. The country was still trying to come to grips with the difficult emotions that swirled around the acquittal of four officers who were videotaped beating Rodney King. Tensions were high. Hope was em-dashed.

Wearing his specially modified San Diego Padres uniform, David Eiland came up to the plate for the first time...and socked the only home run of his career.

Millions of Americans cried during David Eiland's home-run hop around the bases. We saw the potential in each of us. We learned that true greatness comes from our heart - not from the right ankle, knee cap or calf.

Three cheers to you, David Eiland. While statistics are temporary, one-legged pitchers are forever.

Scoring: E6

this is your pitcher, this is your pitcher on chew

Player: Tommy Greene

Cards: 1993 Topps #291, 1993 Fleer #489, 1993 Score #464

Errors: Cramming giant player onto tiny card. Encouraging kids to chew the non-wacky tabacky.
Comments: Remember how your Little League coach told you chewing tobacco was just not cool?

And remember how you were like, "Don't be such a square, Coach McVeen! Brett Butler chews a pound and half of tobacco a day and he has more bunt base hits than anyone in the major leagues, Coach McVeen! So chewing tobacco must be cool, Coach McVeen!"

Remember that?

Well, turns Coach McVeen was right. Dead right.

Above, are two cards depicting Tommy Greene, the beard-growing, hard-throwing, and chew-chewing pitcher for the Philadelphia Phillies. (Butt circle emphasis added.)

Tommy Greene had it all. He tossed a no-hitter against the Expos. (Still counts.) He was ninth in the National League in strikeouts per nine innings in 1991. And he made a very sweet $255,000 in 1992. He was on top of the world.

But Tommy Greene was hooked on The Chew. He couldn't get away from The Chew. In his sleep, The Chew. At the movies, The Chew. Reading Emily Dickinson poems to elderly people at a local nursing home, The Chew. He took The Chew, everywhere...even to the pitching mound!

Look below and you will see the horrible, disfiguring results of chewing tobacco. Tommy Greene's body: bent and crumpled like a He-Man left in the sun. He's an animal, a freak!

Listen to Coach McVeen - just say no, kids!

Scoring: F7