August 23, 2007
I Hate Barry Bonds a Little Less Today
Collecting autographs was pretty easy when I was a kid.
I bought a mailing list of home addresses of retired baseball stars, sent 'em a blank index card, an SASE and a hand-written request for their signature. I'd wait anywhere from six days to six months and — voila! — I'd get an envelope addressed to me from Stan Musial or Phil Rizzuto with the card signed and my day made.
The process was a little different for current ballplayers. I didn't have to send blank index cards, because I had their real baseball cards in my possession. I also sent to the budding stars before they got too popular and deluged in requests. Such was the case with Barry Bonds.
I came across this autographed 1986 Fleer Update Barry Bonds rookie card in my collection just a few days ago. I'd forgotten I'd even had it. I must've sent the card to Barry around that time, and he must've sent it back signed. Try doing that today.
There have long been stories of clubhouse staff signing autographs in the names of stars, but a few things lead me to believe this is Barry's real signature:
1. He wasn't a big star then.
2. The sig is clean but I see where the ink streaks some. It's not a stamp, nor a sloppy fake.
3. Most importantly, it matches authenticated Barry Bonds autographs for sale online.
In a day when there are tiers of high prices at autograph signings — to the point where it costs $140 to get Bart Starr to sign a mini-helmet and $70 to take a photo with Eric Dickerson — it's nice to find a remnant from a simpler collecting era.
I attended last week's East Coast National sports card show in White Plains, N.Y., where an autograph-authentication service told me it would cost $30 to certify my Bonds signature as real. Thirty bucks to learn that my free autograph is real. Or to hear that it's not!
Maybe someday I'll get it authenticated. But what the certification will always leave out is how I got it: not by paying $150 on eBay, but by sending a note to a promising ballplayer who made time to answer his fan mail in a Pittsburgh clubhouse.
August 14, 2007
Farewell, Scooter. Phil Rizzuto Dead at 89
When I think of Phil Rizzuto, who died Tuesday at 89, I think of him almost giving me a heart attack in August 1985. The Yankees were hosting the Blue Jays in a crucial series. The Bombers were down by two runs late, with two runners on, and I took my eyes off the screen to collate another paper for my local route the next day. Rizzuto screamed, "HIT DEEP TO RIGHT!"
I freaked. Then I re-focused on the tube and saw a harmless fly ball land into the right fielder's glove.
That huckleberry. He got me again.
I was 12 years old then. Same year I saw Rizzuto have his #10 retired on Aug. 4, the same day Tom Seaver spoiled by winning his 300th game at the Stadium. (Still have the ticket stubs 22 years later.) Same year I bought my first Don Mattingly shirt and, like a pussy, juuuuust about started to cry before Butch Wynegar saved the Yankees from playoff elimination (albeit for only a day) with a ninth-inning home run in Toronto. Same year I probably played 1,000 hours of stickball and Intellivision, while coming to realize that girls weren't too awful to hang out with ... even if they couldn't hit a lick.
It was a nice time. Going to Yankee Stadium with my family a couple of times a year was an amazing treat. If I could have been there every day, I would have. On days I couldn't go, I watched with Phil. He told me what he thought was going on. Some of the time he was correct. Like me, he was a huge Yankees fan. And he seemed to have a lot of friends with summer birthdays.
Last night I was at Yankee Stadium, watching a future Hall of Fame shortstop single in the winning run in the ninth inning. Scooter sure did pick a nice time to leave. I'm sure his old teammates have a cannoli waiting for him.
Related: Rizzuto's Wikipedia entry | Rizzuto on baseball-reference.com
August 5, 2007
How I'd Look if I Lived in Springfield
Unfortunately, they offer Simpsons guest spots only to well-known persons. So I guess I'd better get started on that double-homicide of Kevin Brown and Javy Vazquez.
August 1, 2007
Not Exactly How I Remember Neil O'Donnell
It's clean-up time at Chez PK.com and that means finding random shit I've been hanging onto for years, like that WWF trading card of Koko B. Ware's bird, Frankie, and the magazine that marked Sports Illustrated's landmark moment in homoeroticism.
This week I came across the pictured card of quarterback Neil O'Donnell, then just signed with the Jets in 1996. The photog must've taken dozens of portraits of O'Donnell before saying, "OK, now just do something retarded."
The ball represents the hopes of Steelers fans, whom O'Donnell crushed by throwing two of the most abominable interceptions in Super Bowl history, thus making Barry Switzer a (gulp) Super Bowl-winning coach. Still, the card back descibes O'Donnell as "very cool in the pocket." Guess the people at Score trading cards aren't into watching Super Bowls.
Value of the card, in case you're wondering, is minus-3 cents. Which is about normal for mid-90s collectibles, which are pretty much worthless.