see attached affidavit

Player: Fernando Valenzuela

Card: 1989 Upper Deck #656

Errors: Elvis lives! Is that a windshield on your face, or are you just happy to have corrected vision?

Comments:

Count one: From on or about April 1989 to October 1989, the defendant FERNANDO VALENZUELA, did conspire to participate in a scheme to spread Fernandomania through means of Interstate Traffic, in violation of U.S. Codes 1345, 1886

Count two: From on or about April 1989 to October 1989, the defendant FERNANDO VALENZUELA did conspire or collude to highlight his package by wearing tighter than necessary pants, in violation of U.S. Code 36

Count three: From on or about April 1989 to October 1989, the defendant FERNANDO VALENZUELA attempted to received benefits of more than $13.88 in exchange for performing neighborhood acts including - but not limited to - performing as a Michael Jackson impersonator, rockin' the sweatband hardcore and Air Guitar tribute band, in violation of many, many U.S. Codes

AFFIDAVIT IN SUPPORT OF APPLICATION

I, Carl Willey, being a trained detective for the Federal Bureau of Baseball Card Investigations swear the following is a true and accurate depiction of events, as captured in a federal overhear.

On April 23, 1989, in a recorded conversation, VALENZUELA spoke with Dodgers Second Baseman 3 about the team's pitching rotation, which VALENZUELA was concerned about losing his spot on. VALENZUELA was concerned that he might be sent to the minor leagues or "some totally [redacted]-up [redacted] like that." Dodger Second Baseman 3 asked VALENZUELA how far he was willing to go secure his spot in the rotation. VALENZUELA assured Dodger Second Baseman 3 he would "not hesitate to [redacted] drop a [redacted]ing [redacted] bomb on his [redacted] [redacted] [redacted]."

In the background, Valenzuela Wife 3 can be heard, "[redacted] that (Dodger Manager 1). He's dead. [Redacted]ing dead."

Later in the conversation, VALENZUELA threatens to release a "can of Fernandomania" in Dodger stadium during the Air Guitar finals which he plans to compete in later that night. VALENZUELA said he knows that Dodger Manager 1 wants Minor Leaguer 8 for the spot in the rotation and he is upset because the team "is not willing to give me anything but appreciation. I believe this to be a supreme injustice after all that I have done for this organization through the years. It is simply unfair. Oh yes, and also [redacted] [redacted] [redacted]."

Scoring: 1-2

concede nothing

Player: Roy Oswalt
Card: 2003 Donruss Studio #133

Errors: I hate to tell you this Roy, but there's a train driving through your head. Is that a baseball offering? Is the baseball too hot too handle? Furthermore, player appears to be a giant.

Comments:

Thank you. Thank you.

(Pause)

I want to thank all of you for coming out here tonight and waiting in what appears to be some sort of train depot in the sky. Folks, I'm sad to tell you we have reached the end of our journey tonight. My teammates have spoken and they have spoken clearly - they would rather keep this Rawlings baseball on the team than me. I have been sent packing.

But let me assure you all tonight, that it was not me who failed. It was you, mainly. And the liberal media, a bit. But mostly you kept me down. Staying home to watch SportsCenter rather than knocking on a few more doors; creating your own campaign literature that said "Vote Roy, if you aren't busy with more important things." You just weren't good enough.

Please, please. Booing's not necessary. Unless you're saying "Rooooooy." Are you saying "Roooooy?" No? Oh, OK.

A few minutes ago, I called Rawlings baseball and offered my congratulations. Shortly after dialing, I was told by my aides that Rawlings had blocked my calls and text messages. But had I been able to speak to this inanimate object, I surely would have told it of my great admiration for all it's work and fine stitching.

Rawlings baseball ran an honorable campaign. Although Rawlings was unable to hold conversations, never brought beer to any of the team parties, never purchased Rolexes for the infielders and never gave up the good parking spot, it's clear my teammates have chosen to keep this baseball. What's not clear is why. At least I have opposable thumbs, as you can see.

There are so many people to thank - the train engineers, the coal shovelers, the necklace makers. But I want to be sure to thank this woman standing next to me. I just met her, but she seems like a fantastic lady and she's a soccer fan, so that's great.

I also want to make mention of all the young people who got involved. Johnny the bat boy, I thought your vote should have counted. Don't give up that spirit. You are the future, even if you're not worth a hoot right now.

Well, folks, I will continue the fight to have fewer Rawlings baseballs on the team. In our time ahead, I hope Rawlings and I can work together to decrease the number of foul balls in the stands. In the meantime, I have filed an injunction to challenge the vote totals.

Who's with me?

Scoring: 8-5-2

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

body of evidence

Player: Mike Rossiter
Card: 1992 Topps #474
Errors: Player sent in senior picture for Major League baseball card. Player's attention was diverted from camera by some suh-weet honies walking by.
Comments:

Baseball card autopsy 1992-474. Starting time of card autopsy is 19:34. Card autopsy performed at Alameda County Medical Examiner's Office. Card autopsy conducted by Alameda County assistant deputy coroner Ken Mackenzie, badge #456TR89.
The card is that of a 1992 Mike Rossiter, an unbent regular edition card weighing 2 ounces and measuring 3.5 inches in height.
The card is dull, with a nondescript "Draft Pick" label that fails to indicate which round he was selected or by what team.
Card is cool to the touch, almost too cool. Card features player wearing a totally rad multi-colored shirt made fashionable by Miami Vice villains and the homeless.
The statistics on the back are symmetrical and show no masses or injuries. The trachea is in the midline. The hips are symmetrical and are free of scars. The lower extremities show no evidence of trauma.
The back has a significant abnormality. Two branches of a tree, possibly oak or elm, have sprouted from the back, about seven inches below the shoulder line.
In this medical examiner’s opinion, card's cause of death is attributed to a horrid fashion sense complicated by dense foliage growing from player’s back.
Scoring: FO2

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

thanks a million

Player: Jeff Montgomery
Card: 1991 Topps #371
Errors: Player is lodged, jammed, trapped and caught squarely in the 1980s. Player is wearing Kansas City Royals apparel without the express written consent of Major League Baseball. Player - hands at the ready - is standing guard, protecting empty stadium from first base foul line.
Comments:
Dear Mike and Joan,
Sorry this has taken to so long! Between the honeymoon and the new house, we fell too far behind on sending out thank yous to all the people who blessed us with wonderful and generous gifts!
Jeff and I absolutely adore the visor and Walkman! Jeff has not taken them off since our wedding day! Can you believe that?!
Just other day, Jeff was commenting on how much he values the visor. Of course, since Jeff plays in the major leagues, the team supplies him with most of the equipment that he needs, including hats, light blue shirts with numbers on the shoulder, sliding pants and a MLB-endorsed belt. However, one thing the team trainer did not hand out is a visor! It’s great for Jeff to have a hat with no roof - it helps keep his head cool in tight spots, like facing Kelly Gruber in the bottom of the ninth! Jeff loves how the visor includes stylish blue E-Z breath vents on the left and right sides. Jeff says they mop up the sweat, just like he mops up games! And of course, it has the Royals logo - precious! Jeff claims he is going to petition the league so he can wear it during games! Who knows if he's kidding?!
Even when he's on the road, Jeff likes to have a little bit of home and the bright yellow Walkman sure helps! Many times I will record inspirational messages for Jeff to listen to as he goes to sleep, or when he’s warming up in the bullpen. It's amazing! Once, when the Royals were facing the Red Sox, the manager tried to call Jeff in to the game, but he didn’t hear it because he still had the Walkman on! Can you believe that?! He really loves that Walkman!
Sadly, our dog Brett ate both the visor and the Walkman when someone - probably the maid - left them in the backyard. Enclosed, is a picture of Jeff cherishing both items before they were eaten.
Again, there is nothing we would have wanted more than to have all the people we love and cherish with us on the day Jeff and I started our life together. Sadly, our church had limited seating.
Still, we can’t thank you enough for your thoughtful generosity. Hope to see you again.
Love,
Jeff and Tina
Scoring: 9-5-2

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

regular and extra strength

Player: Joey McLaughlin
Card: 1984 Topps #556
Errors: Player woke up late, wore his light blue pajamas to the game. Player may have stolen Tom Henke's glasses. The promotion for tonight's game: all blurry fans half price. Player has a finger sticking out of his glove!
Comments: Fellas, how often have you gotten drunk, shaved your head, then had to show up bald at the construction site for six weeks? Ladies, that bad perm you got at a discount salon - should it really take two months before you can straighten your bangs again?

For years, men and women have suffered with slow growing hair. Well, never again with Insta-Shag!

Hair help has arrived and it's fast!
Insta-Shag guarantees to grow your hair 4,000% faster than normal. Using our patented microfibers and the latest in biomedical chemistry engineering we can have you hairy in less than an hour. It's that fast!
How do we do it? Our scientists worked for almost a month to find the perfect blend of natural ingredients and powerful chemicals. It uses the most innovative follicle acceleration compounds allowed under international treaties. Just rub Insta-Shag onto any area that needs growth, then wait for the hair to pour out. (Warning: wear gloves or your palms will be too hairy to hide! It's just that powerful!)
Don't believe us? Maybe you'll take the word of Major League pitcher Joey McLaughlin:
"On May 30, we had a big game against the Detroit. We were tied for first place and needed a win. (Manager) Bobby Cox called on me in the eighth inning, with the team up 2-0. I pitched great, striking out Herndon, Parrish and Wilson. When we scored two more runs in the top of the ninth, coach took me out. Everyone thought we had the game clinched!
But the Tigers scored four in the bottom of the ninth to tie up the game! Coach was stuck because we had no pitchers left. Dave Stieb was at his daughter's communion. Doyle Alexander had pitched the night before. Jim Acker had been attacked by a bear two nights earlier, and the trainers weren't ready to test his arm.
That's when I remembered I had some Insta-Shag in my locker. I ran into the clubhouse, rubbed some on and within three minutes I had a fully grown beard! Cox put me in again, telling the umpire my name was Moe JaGaughlin. Thanks to Insta-Shag they never knew the difference! Whitaker popped out, then after walking Gibson, I got Herndon and Cabell to ground out. The ball that Cabell hit was so covered in hair, it barely cleared the pitcher's mound!

We were in first place. I got the win, but Insta-Shag gets the save! Thanks Insta-Shag!"
Still don't believe us? Try Insta-Shag for three months and if you're not completely satisfied will send you another month's supply - absolutely free! Where else will you find that?

Insta-Shag can also be used to grow hair on dogs, turtles, Corvettes or bicycle racks. It is available in most Oscos, CVS stores and Hallmarks.
You'll soon be able to try Un-Shag, our hair growth inhibitor, which puts a burn so severe into the first three layers of skin you'll never grow hair again! (Use only under doctor's supervision. May cause death in rare instances.)
Scoring: 9-6-2

there once was a pitcher in new york

Player: Jon Matlack
Card: 1973 Topps #55
Errors: Player reached for the Golden Chalice of Topps All-Star Rookie-ness, but failed to grasp it. Player has batting-coach-shaped tumor growing out of left butt cheek-al region. Player may have laid two glove-shaped eggs on the field. Simon says touch right elbow to left knee - you too shadow player in the corner!
Comments:
OFFICIAL RESULTS - Bethpage Limerick Contest
Bronze medal ($5 gift card to Carvel)
Joe Christopher, Kramer Lane Elementary

There once was pitcher from West Chester P-A,
He threw for the Mets every fifth day.
But in between starts,
He had really bad farts.
And used his blue glove to subtly fan them away.

Judge’s notes: Good form, questionable use of ‘farts’, good rhyming.

Silver Medal (Two weekday passes to Science Museum of Long Island)
Rick Herrscher, Charles Campagne Elementary
Jon Matlack only pitched from the grass,
And his teammates thought this was a gas,
Until the manger stepped in,
And said with a grin,
If you do that again, I’ll kick your rear.

Judge's notes: Teacher’s editing of the poem cleans up improper language, but takes away some rhyming. Overall, nice effort.

Gold Medal (Family pass to Old Bethpage Restoration Village, plus $15 in Bethpage bucks)
Sammy Drake, John F. Kennedy Elementary

Jon Matlack was impossible to hit,
His mound tricks gave each batter a fit.
But one stunt truly shocked,
If his colon wasn’t blocked.
Matlack leaned over and pooped out a mitt.
Judge's notes: We are concerned about the number of entries that discuss bodily functions. Still, this entrant shows a mastery of the a-a-b-b-a structure of the classic limerick. Bravo!

Scoring: 8-5

a coat of harms

Player: Dave Lemanczyk
Card: 1978 Topps #33
Errors: Player is sporting the extremely fierce and intimidating baby blue, iron-on Jays uniform. Was it cold on picture day? He paused and a brief shadow crossed his face as he considered his own mortality.
Comments:
Dearest mothur and fathur!
When or if you find this Ill alreedy be gone. I can’t say where I am but its probably passed the corner. Maybe all the way to Coach Hartsfields house. I can’t say! (DON’T LOOk at Coach Hartsfields house, or in his backyard.)
As punichment for being the wurst parents of all time you’ll probubly never see me agian! I hope your happy! YOU MADE ME SOOOO MAD!!!
It’s not fare! I told you that it was a bright sunny day out. All the other players got to where there regular uniforms! Jerry Garvin + Steve Staggs + EVEN PHIL ROOF WHO NEVER PLAYS all woar the regular uniforms. But Mom kept saying it was too cold even tho there was no fans and it was very very very very very sunny. And Dad said zip it all the way up even tho I threw 252 innings and I kNOW HOW TO WEAR A UNIFORM! I threw 11 complete games and I dont need help getting dresst!
I DID NOT WANT TO WHERE A JACkET! I LOOK LIKES A DORk!
You are the wurst parents in the entire Earth and universe. I am so mad and Bobby Bailor said I was a Momma’s Boy.
So I had to leaf. I hope your happy. YOU WILL NEVER SEE ME AGIAN!!!!!
Davey
p.s. Please remember to feed Scraps. Also, can you bring over my light blue pajamas? Leave them on the porch and I will get them.

p.p.s. Goodby forEVER!!!!
Scoring: CS 3-5

man's best friend

Player: Bob Keegan
Card: 1957 Topps #99
Errors: The players has finished his pitching motion, but is still clutching the baseball for some reason. Player appears to be standing in fair territory, but he's pitching from the outfield.
Comments:
We have gathered here in the presence of God and American League president William Harridge to witness the joining of Bob Keegan and his baseball. If anyone knows of any reason that Bob and his baseball should be parted, speak now, or at least give the bunt sign to the ushers.
Seeing none, I will proceed.
Do you, Bob Keegan, take this baseball to be your constant companion; to have and hold from this windup forward; for pictures and for game situations; for blowouts, for no hitters; in first place and in last; to love and to cherish on the tips of your fingers; from this day forward until your right arms falls off?
"I do."
And do you, Rawlings Official Major League Baseball, take Bob to have and be held by; from this windup forward; for fastball grips and split fingers; for curves, for knucklers; in foul territory and fair; to love and to cherish; even when he holds you long after the pitch should have already been thrown?
"I do."
Then, by the power vested in me by the false leg of Bill Veeck, I now pronounce you man and ball. You may now kiss the ball, although it will be ruled a balk and the groomsmen can advance.
Scoring: 4-5-6-5-6-2

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

long haired freaky people need not apply

Players: Pascual and Melido Perez
Cards: 1990 Fleer #358, 1990 Donruss #BC-13
Errors: Since his hair is unable to be contained by MLB hat, Pascual has also chosen to wear standard-issue white T and a jacket sized for little leaguer. Furthermore, he steals pens.
According to numbering, Melido's no hitter took place 13 years before the birth of Jesus. Also, apparently the 1990 baseball season contained no highlights greater than a rain-shortened 6-inning no hitter.
Comments: Attention. Ahem. Attention. Graduates, please. Take your seats. Sir! That squirt gun will be confiscated!
I'd like to welcome you all to the 2008 Uglee Cards Salute!...to hair graduation ceremony. It's been a long month and there were trying times. I can only thank Vidal Sassoon that we didn't see Jeff Parrett's chest hair.
We've gathered here today to honor all of you: Dave. Steve. Dickie. What you accomplished on the field is surpassed only by the vociferous hair-related endorsement contracts you have earned.
All we can say is: Thank you.
To honor your work, we've invited two very important people to this afternoon's ceremony.
They come to us straight from the Dominican Republic's House of Style.
Of course, they are brothers to each other. But I think during this long month they have also become brothers to much of the staff here. I know just the other day Dr. Ashburn remarked: "I'd no sooner jab a pen in his side than my own brother."
So, before they deliver their synchronized commencement addresses, I'd like to say a few words about Pascual and Melido Perez. And their hair.
Pascual, your scowl at fans stupefied and dumbfounded us at first. We wanted to ask: why the hatred while you're writing a number on your glove? But, as fast as we could ask, you'd answer: "This is not even my glove."
Well, done sir. Well done. You are so wise. Your hanging hair of Bablyon has given you many brain muscles.
Melido, your flowing, but somewhat sticky, locks dazzled the Yankees for six hitless innings. We can only imagine the various illegal substances you hid in plain sight, causing the ball to dip, dive and curve with a well-groomed panache.
Although the official scorers later disqualified your feat, you can be sure you've earned a place in our hearts, and hopefully the alumni donation book.
So, without further ado, on this beautiful and historic day, I present Melido and Pascual Perez.
Wild applause...
Scoring: 5-4-2

live from the rusty spikes

Player: Dave Schmidt
Card: 1985 Topps #313
Errors: Pants are slowly swallowing player - hat is already partially digested. Two of the fans at the game passed away before first pitch. Photo was taken shortly before player was hoisted up the flag pole for Star Spangled Banner.
Comments: Hey, welcome to the Rusty Spikes. I’m Johnny. Thank you, thank you. The regularly scheduled stand-up comedian was, uh, suddenly taken ill. He’s been vomiting all day. Really terrible, awful stuff. Nasty. But that’s not the worst news. The worst news is you're still in the audience!
Whoa! Seriously. Whoa!
OK, we’re all here to raise a little money for Uglee Card’s 2008 Salute! … to hair. And hey, what’s with this Uglee Card anyway? Can’t this guy write something normal? Why’s it always gotta be some exotic fish recipe or shampoo instructions or B-movie script? So the player’s a tubbo. Just say it already! Enough with the obtusity!
Am I right? Hello? Anybody there? Whoa!
Anyhow, all right. So we got this Dave Schmidt. What’s not to like about this guy? I gotta say: maybe he took the Bring Your Chia Pet To The Park promotion a little too seriously, right? Whoa!
I mean, is that a jheri curl? Did he accidentally start using Gary Ward's locker? Maybe he was Charlie Houghing some paint in the back. Do you feel me? Whoa!
That’s not right. That’s just not right!
Hey, Schmidt - the drum major from the Get Along Gang Marching Band called. He wants his pants back! Whoa! Is there a pantless clown running around? Whoa!
Am I right? Is this mic working? Or is the audience broken? Whoa!
Hey, I don’t come to your work and fall asleep, do I? Whoa!
And Dave Schmidt, buddy, I gotta say it. Wonder Woman’s missing her belt. What’s the story there, right? Whoa! Hey!
OK, OK, you’ve been great. Just kidding - you were terrible. I was amazing! Whoa!
Scoring: 7-5-2

flow it, show it, long as god can grow it

Player: Steve Trout
Card: 1981 Topps #552
Errors: Player may have caught Tom Henke Disease. Despite Major League pedigree, player has rookie-ball haircut. At least one fan (right, in yellow) decided to flee stadium rather than face hair/eyewear combo.
Comments: Welcome to Uglee Card's 2008 Salute!...to hair.
This month we will be celebrating the Hairy Scarys of MLB.
Making fun of a guy's height, his nose, his parents? Not cool. There's nothing he could do about that stuff; he was born into it.
But we can all go to the barber. Or, at least, lend our sister a pair of scissors.
Because when you make it to The Show, it's time for a Major League Buzz.
But Steve Trout never had a Crash Davis to teach him that. Instead, we're left with this candid picture, captured as Steve watched a hot dog vendor fall from the upper deck. In this graphic image, you can see all Trout's hair-related emotions: The embarrassment. The shame. The horror.
Or...um...at least you could see those feelings in his eyes. You know, if he wasn't wearing high-tech Sun Blocker 6000 glasses.
Well, 1981 Steve Trout, we here at Uglee Card salute you.
You are hereby awarded our first annual honorary: "Dave Coulier Shaggy Dog 'Do" Plaque. Wear it with pride, buddy.
Scoring: FO2

it's gold, jerry, gold!

Player: DeWayne Buice
Card: 1988 Donruss #58
Errors: Player could only afford half a sweatshirt. In lieu of belt, player given multi-colored elastic band. Background of card borrowed from Tron.
Comments: DeWayne stared at the letter. He allowed each word to burn. He let the hurt simmer and overflow. He was beyond pain.
"Dear Mr. Buice: Thank you for submitting your gold necklaces. While you show great talent, we regret to inform you that we are not hiring additional artisans at the present time. We will keep your letter on file. We have returned your work, as requested. Thank you and best of luck with your job search. Sincerely, Newton Designs, Inc."
DeWayne could only shrug. He had given up so much for his craft. He walked away from his parents during the rainy season, leaving them without his bamboo expertise. For three years, he had eaten only Ramen and corn flakes, saving up for his carving tools. He had stripped his own car to get metal for the DeWayne "UnDeNiable" collection. And Sharon. Poor Sharon.
What was the point?
Maybe even Sharon's death in the horrible smelting accident - it was an accident, dammit! - might mean something if a gallery would just give him a chance.
Instead, the rejection letters piled up like broken dreams printed on 8-1/2 by 11 pink slips. Bracelets would never find wrists; earrings would never dangle; necklaces would never highlight a nape.
"I have talent and desire," DeWayne thought to himself. "I need marketing. I need exposure."
Suddenly, DeWayne remembered that he could throw a fastball 93 miles per hour. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner?
DeWayne would play baseball.
There, in stadiums filled with thousands of people with expendable incomes, he would showcase his true love: jewelry.
Over the next 10 years, DeWayne underwent intense physical and psychological training.
In each game, he'd pitch his heart out - necklaces prominently displayed.
In Great Falls and Cedar Rapids, DeWayne dazzled. Fresno, West Haven. He always requested V-neck jerseys.
Of course, there were still nights when DeWayne would hold his necklaces and cry out Sharon's name. Why hadn't he checked the pressurization valve?!
DeWayne trudged on: Tacoma. Nuevo Laredo. Midland. Edmonton.
Then, finally, the big show. On April 25, 1987, Willie Fraser was struggling. Gene Mauch looked down his bench and his eye caught the glimmer of a 18K gold necklace, byzantine in style with a clasp in the back.
"Buice! Warm up!"
DeWayne took the mound against the Minnesota Twins, with 51,717 potential customers in the stands.
He pitched 2-2/3 innings that day, giving up just one run. Although the Twins would win when Gary Gaetti singled in the ninth, it was a short-term defeat for DeWayne. Later that night, he'd discover that his answering machine contained 16 new orders for the UnDeNiable necklace, all from people who were at the game.
But even that was secondary to what happened when DeWayne walked out of the Metrodome.
"Hey, nice necklace," a woman shouted from the sidewalk.
DeWayne looked over. It was Sharon's identical sister - the one who hadn't been killed in a horrible smelting accident. Things were beginning to look up for DeWayne Buice.
UnDeNiably.
Scoring: 3-1

paint by win-loss numbers

Player: Dave LaPoint
Card: 1988 Topps #334
Errors: High school yearbook photo used on Major League baseball card. Topps hired 12 photographers, but 13 painters. Player is being kept in some sort of cage.
Comments: LC: Good evening, and welcome to Card Chatter. I'm you're host Larry Chiti. Today we're going to be talking with David Throneberry, a "field recreation artist" with Topps. Do I have that title right?
DT: Yes, or field recreationist for short. I'm honored to be here. I just hope that my work - my passion, really - can bring a little bit of insight into the art of cards for your readers, viewers and listeners. Really, I'm here to learn as much as give.
LC: Okay, well, we're glad you could make it. I guess I'd like to start with your latest work. You call it DAVE LaPOINT WHITE SOX. It's...well, I'll let you describe it.
DT: Thank you for asking that vital question about what I think is a vibrant piece of art. I guess I should start by telling you how I work. For that particular piece, I spent days interviewing the friends, relatives and former lovers of Mr. LaPOINT. I was careful never to speak with the player himself. In this way, I kept neutrality in my work. If I had met him and we had become friends - traded MySpace addresses, talked about fishing - then I may not have been able to see the DAVE LaPOINT as the world sees him.
And, Lawrence, that's the point of a baseball card, isn't it? To hold a mirror up to the game, then let it reflect on the bleachers and the sky boxes?
LC: Well, okay. It's just that...well, I want to show our audience another card from the 1988 Topps oeuvre. It's a Greg Walker card from the same year. It's not one of yours, but I think it shows an interesting counterpoint. Can the audience see that there?
Audience: Yes! We! Can! Wooo!
LC: Good, good. Well, I guess my point in showing this Walker card is...well, take a look at the uniform Walker is wearing. It's the home uniform, but it serves my point. Notice where the "White Sox" is positioned. Right about nipple level.
But on your recreation - one where you were detailed enough to add a prominent button - you put the "Chicago" very high on the player's chest. We can't see it here, but the 'O' would have been on his shoulder.
DT: Thank you. Thank you.
Honestly, that's all I can say - thank you.
Finally, someone who understands. That arrangement came about because of a little anecdote I picked up from LaPOINT's high school baseball coach. In talking to this man, I understood how much LaPOINT's success meant to him. So, the button represents that small-town-boy-makes-good-while-wearing-the-town's-hopes-on-his-chest-and-doesn't-lose-touch-with-his-roots-no-matter-how-big-the-stadium-is feel. There's a post-World War II life in the card.
LC: But it looks nothing like the real White Sox jersey. The hat is well-recreated, but the jersey adds details in distorted ways.
DT: Exactly. That's the challenge behind the card. That's the mystery behind playing Major League baseball. This man was traded for Rollie Fingers AND Matt Nokes. Trading men. Imagine. But through it all, LaPOINT wasn't forgotten by Glen Falls, New York, Raging Rapids head baseball coach John Cocroft. And he wasn't forgotten by Katie Williams, the Glen Falls, New York, soda girl with pink nail polish. This recreation says that. All of it. Plus some. The audience sees that in their hearts.
LC: Wow. That's all the time we have. That's all the time we'll ever have.
Scoring: 6-5

he slices, he dices

Player: Jerry Reuss
Card: 1989 Upper Deck #151
Errors: Pants number. Is that ear hair? Picture taken during mass evacuation of stadium. Baseball player completing karate chop.
Comments: The fact that Jerry Reuss (pronounced "mil-ler") pitched for more than 20 years in the big leagues is a testament to his durability, attention to detail and strict fish-head diet. Though frequently overshadowed even on his own team, Reuss was a steady presence in the rotation, earning appearances in two All-Star games and tossing a no-hitter in 1980. Plus, he was the second pitcher ever to win 200 games without winning 20 in a single season.
Despite that success, tragically, Reuss will always be best remembered for 1988, when he put together one of the most unusual statistical seasons in Major League history.
While baseball historians and Billy Crystal have debated for years what led to this bizarre anomaly - Alignment of the stars? Weak minor league development skill programs combined with a gradual expansion of the left-side strike zone? Too much steak? - it's probably best to let the stats speak for themselves. Then you, the fans, can be the final judge.
1988
JERRY REUSS * P * WHITE SOX
h: 6-5 * w: 227 * h: L * t: L
b: 6-19-49 St. Louis, Mo.
Wins: 13
Losses: 9
Earned run average: 3.44
Games: 32
Complete games: 2
Wood boards: 6,575
Bricks: 876
Shut outs: 0
Sleeper holds: 18
International spy assassinations: 1
Saves: 0
Innings pitched: 183
Runs: 79
Put him in a body bag: Yeah, Johnny, yeah!
Earned runs: 70
Subscriptions sold to Teen Kick, the magazine for young ninjas: 7
Hits: 183
Wild pitches: 3
Viper strikes: 5
Hit by pitch: 3
Belts: red, mauve, black
Walks: 43
Strikeouts: 73
Scoring: 2-1