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

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