reach out and touch someone

Players: (left to right) Tony Fernandez, Cal Ripken Jr., Alan Trammell
Card: 1988 Score #651
Errors: Good thing you mentioned that's Ripken Jr. - I thought it was his dad. What, no love for Kurt Stillwell? Alan Trammell's hand appears to be both behind and in front of Ripken - defying the laws of physics. Where's Tony Fernandez's left hand headed?
Comments:
CV for Joe Pignatno
Objective
To integrate consumers' passion for America's past time with "underground" advertising that will increase exposure for high-quality brands with profit margins greater than 23 percent or a annual revenue projection in the top 14 percent of U.S. companies
Work experience
Integrated product technician, Score Baseball Card Co., 1987-1989
- As part of the design team, I helped to coordinate and select the set's trademark random color scheme which led collectors to increase time spent with each card by 45 percent in the first 3 months. Design also encouraged cross collecting that manifested in a 1.2 percent increase in pack sales.
- Assisted with the developed Score's "Super" collection which included multiple stars on one card (a 300 percent increase), with players posed in random manner that was non-threatening to consumers.
- Worked on Score's bubble gum transition team that moved the company from sugar-based inserts to small, collectible cards that included trivia and subliminal messages, leading to a 73.4 percent increase in sales to ADA-backed vendors.
- Implemented a lucrative contract with several Fortune 500 advertisers to sell space behind the heads of Major League baseball players. Ads reached target audiences with long-term growth potential and led to an 2.3 percent increase in brand visibility within the first 18 months.
- Served as lead negotiator with Winston Salem Tobacco Co., Budweiser and Hilltop Machine Gun Co., to integrate product messaging onto cards, increasing brand awareness by 16 percent in target demographic, young males 4-12.
- Other duties as assigned.

Unemployed 1986-1987
- Working on novel about Spanish American War's impact on the immigration of the American Tern. (unpublished)

High-value target interrogator, CIA, 1983-1985
- Worked to elicit information from individuals identified by the American government as enemy combatants.
- Assigned to Private Sector Partnering Team that infused pamphlets dropped on foreign soil with brand-based suggestions.
- Other duties as assigned.

Eastern Illinois University, lab assistant, 1982-1983
- Worked in English Composition tutoring labs, with a focus on 16th French poetry and the works of Emily Dickinson.

References available upon request.
Scoring: F6

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

the stuff righties are made of

Player: Daniel Cabrera
Card: 2007 Topps #54
Errors: Statuesque. Player may be hiding secret government information in glove clutched to his chest. Player allowed 5-year-old son to sign Major League Baseball card.
Comments: The dame walked into my office like a gumball machine spilling on an ice rink, chewy bits dashing all over the room. Of course, I knew she was trouble. What I didn’t know was how much trouble was paying today.
“Are you a detective, mister….”
“Pignatano,” I answered, coolly chewing a piece of licorice so red it would have made the Pope whistle. “Detective Joe Pignatano is what it says on the door - right below 'fire escape'. Can I help you?"
The dame wore a hat so high it nearly scratched the ceiling and blouse cut so low, it nearly touched the Devil. She leaned in like a cat toying with a wounded frog. Or so I imagined.
“Well, you see detective,” she said, lighting a pipe. “It’s my boyfriend, Danny. He’s a baseball player. But he’s got a little trouble.”
There was only two reasons a dame with a high hat and low standards comes in talking about her boyfriend. To kill him or to kill me. And that’s one more option than I can handle on a Tuesday.
“Boyfriend, huh? Well, what’s the trouble with the big lug?” I asked, trying not to look directly at the booger that was dangling from her nostril like a mountain climber clinging to Matterhorn. “Can’t find his way around the bases anymore?”
She started to cry and I almost felt bad about the wisecrack. Almost.
“It’s just that, well, he took some pills because we were having some problems, you see?”
I saw.
“And the pills,” she said, pausing to dab her face with a quilt so big it could have covered the third Hawaiian island. “Well, they didn’t work quite right. And now his arm has been erect for more than four weeks. He's just standing there, staring off into space, immobile. He can't drive. He can't go to the movies. He can’t even sign his name - he had to use his toes to cash his check. We couldn't consult a physician. So we came to you.”
She paused and looked me over like a parrot stalks a cheese doodle. I didn’t budge.
“So, can you help?” she asked.
Sure, I could. But what was in it for me? A few laughs? A quick thrill? A trip to a non-descript spring training field where only the light posts grow higher than the palm trees?
Then, she reached into her purse and pulled out $2,500 cash, like a druggist unwrapping cyanide pills.
Suddenly, it became clear. If this guy was gonna be slipped a Mickey, I was the bloodhound for the job.
“Okay, dame, I’ll take your case. Under one condition: I drive.”
Dames. They drive like a chocolate syrup on a pack of cigarettes. If you catch my drift.
Scoring: E9