BBCR History: 1981 Topps - The Charlie Leibrandt Incident

What:  1981 Topps – #126 Charlie Leibrandt – Cincinnati Reds
When:  Sometime in 1981
Where:  Second floor of 4024 Risa Court, Tierrasanta, CA

As my three older sisters and older brother will attest, I was a holy terror from the ages of 3 to 6.  In one instance, I ran out the front door while my sister E was babysitting.  She was on the phone at the time, saw me run out the door, chased me and slammed her foot into a steamer trunk, thus breaking her toe.  The said steamer trunk was for a trip to England I believe, so I was the culprit in sending a teenage girl on a once in a lifetime trip with a broken bone.

In another incident, I fancied myself as Indiana Jones.  I donned my best corduroys and vest, put on my holster and cap pistol, affixed my plastic Bowie knife to my belt and adorned my new found whip.  A whip that was incidentally my mother’s clothes line, which I had cut down.  I strutted around our cul-de-sac, acting the part, waiting for an adventure.  Soon enough, an older kid came by and gave me the business.  I pulled my whip out, reared back and SNAP, popped the kid right in the forehead.  He went home crying, and with no doubt, I was crying a few hours later.

Now that you get a feel for the terror I was as a child, I unfortunately did not hold back on my older brother, J.  On one day in 1981, something transpired between my brother and me.  I believe it had something to do with me going through his baseball cards, and if memory serves me correct, it was his New York Mets.  What I did or why I got the reaction I got is lost to the ages, but my brothers response was to storm into my room, grab my shoebox and pull out my Cincinnati Reds.  At this point, I know I was hysterically screaming. 

He snapped off the rubber band, and threw my Reds all over my room.  As the cards rained down, I was frantically whining for our mom to end the carnage.  Before my mom arrived, my brother reached down, and grabbed a 1981 Topps Charlie Leibrandt.  He then stood up and tore it right in half.  I’m sure I lost it at that moment.  That card remained in my collection until around the turn of the millennium.  I think I finally found a replacement card and decided to trash The Leibrandt Halves.
 

Should have kept the original for posterity

Soon our mother was there, and likely took my side, since I was the baby.  I remember her making my brother pick up all the cards and place a rubber band around them before placing them back in my shoebox.

In retrospect, I don’t know why it happened, but I can almost guarantee that it was my fault.

Bip Slip

 

So far I have been fortunate enough to have avoided the dreaded "bipping," and that is most likely due to only one blogger out there has my actual mailing address.  Thank goodness for that, and if he ever gets the notion to bip me, he or his chosen recipient will receive the mother of all bippings.  I will say that while I was going through a box of 89 Topps, I found an inordinate amount of cards from a chap from Flint, Michigan.  Even weirder, these cards were slightly larger than the standard 89 Topps by about an 1/8th of an inch, which is why it caught my attention.  They are either some special printing or counterfeits.

Be warned. 

Topps Cards That Never Were - 1991 Jerry Reuss

As many of you are aware, the card blogosphere has been abuzz from Jerry Reuss' interaction on Night Owl's post about one of his childhood heroes, Jerry Reuss!  To me, it was extremely exciting to see a great former big league pitcher actually acknowledge that someone, anyone, besides us reads what we are doing.  I immediately felt like a 12 year old boy again, saving my lawn mowing money to buy some 1989 Topps wax packs at the local pharmacy.  It brought back a lot of good memories, so thank you Night Owl and Mr. Reuss.

Those who have followed this blog know that I like to make Topps cards of players that for some inexplicable reason were never made.  After yesterday's activity, I thought it would be a nice homage to feature Mr. Reuss on a 1991 Topps card in a Pirates uniform.  His actual last Topps card is a 1990 Brewers, but to me it didn't feel right letting him go out into the cardboard sunset in a Brewers uni.  It has to be a Pirate!

Mr. Reuss was nice enough to post his website and his flickr photostream for us to enjoy.  Using one of his flickr pictures, which is from his last major league appearance, I created the following.

Photo courtesy of: Jerry Reuss' Flickr Photostream

This card may not be reproduced for sale, and shall only be used for online enjoyment.

Thank you for all the excitement you've created, and your great career, Mr. Reuss.

Here are Reuss' stats from 1990 at the age of 41:

Year	Club	G	IP	W	L	R	ER	SO	BB	ERA
1990	Pirates	4	7.2	0	0	3	3	1	3	3.52

A Tale of Two Fellers

A Tale of Two Fellers
by
Doc T

    In the spring of 1953, identical twins were born in the New York borough of Brooklyn.  Immediately they were separated at birth and sent to different orphanages, one in Paris, Tennessee and the other to Cleveland, Ohio.  I will tell you now that this is a tragic story.  One of these twins lived a short life, and the other, through the aid of good luck, fortune, science and technology may quite well live forever.

    The first twin did not stay long in the Cleveland orphanage.  One summer day, he and five of his friends were adopted.  His new home was warm, inviting, and full of laughter and love.  His new father played with him constantly, and took the young lad wherever he went.  His father took him to baseball games, the zoo, his new great-grandparents house, and they even slept in the same room because his father could not bear to have him out of his sight.  His father even taught him the proper way to ride a bike, and how to play the “flip” game.  He was loved, loved so much that even his father’s friends wanted to adopt him, but his father would never part with him.

    Eventually, all the activity began to wear down the young child.  The bike rides and games began to take their toll on him causing breaks and tears, but the father seemed to love him more because of these flaws.  His father even took great lengths to ensure that every scratch on his body was quickly mended using whatever household item the father could find.  The child was despondent over how quickly his body was failing him, but his father’s love reassured him that everything was fine.

    All was perfect in this young boy’s world until August of 1956 during a fishing trip with his father and grandpa on Beyer’s Pond.  While on the pond, the canoe capsized and all three fell into the murky water.  The father tried frantically to hold onto his son, but lost his grip.  The father dived underwater, feeling, searching, clawing in vain to find his son, but the water was too murky.  Heartbroken, the father had to give up his search and help the grandfather.  For a long time the father mourned the loss of his son, but knew his son was loved more than any other during his brief life.

**************************************************

    The other twin was not as fortunate to be immediately adopted.  He spent countless years in a cramped sickly sweet smelling room within a drafty and cold orphanage.  For all he knew, he was trapped in what felt like a barn or basement, deprived of love and contact.  For ages he never saw the sun, or any adults, only his peers.

    Then after what seemed like eons, he saw the light of day.  Someone had finally come to adopt him.  His new father was old, much older than he thought he would be and seemed very cold, calculating.  He was balding and had a permanent smirk.

    His father did not play with him, and treated him as if he were sick.  The father even went as far to wear gloves when touching him.  There were no sports, no bike rides, no trips.  The child was again locked away; in order to protect his body from the world is what his adoptive father said.

    After witnessing his father’s odd behavior, the child began to think that he was ill, stricken with some contagious disease.  His fears were soon realized when one day he was quarantined to an acid free polypropylene containment unit.  Hopeless, the child submitted to his fate and began waiting for a cure that surely would come.
       
    And came it did.  His father was sending him to a doctor in Dallas, Texas.  The child was ecstatic to finally have a chance at a real life.  Upon arrival at the clinic, the child was examined under a microscope and put through all the requisite tests.  The doctor exclaimed that he was a wonderful specimen and in top grade condition.  The child was relieved and ready to play, but then the unthinkable happened.  He was permanently encased in a rigid, air-free cell, and sent back to his father in Montvale, New Jersey.  His disease must be incurable the child thought.

    When he returned to his father, he exclaimed “What have you done to me?”  To which the father replied that the child had been given a chance at immortality thanks to his financial resources and that he should be grateful for this opportunity.  The child was skeptical and wanted to be freed to play.  Damn the disease, he didn’t care if he died outside of his bubble, but the father would not budge.  The child began to resent his father, and the father must have known this, for one day he gave up on his son, selling him to another man.

    Hopeful of a brighter future, the child was not saddened to have his original adoptive father out of his life.  The child was overjoyed to go to his new home, and was ready to play.  Yet, he remained in his cell, urging to play, yet he waited, and waited, and waited…

Now, you tell me who had the more tragic life?

A Trip to the Local Brick and Mortar

I was on my way to the post office this morning to mail yesterday’s Amazon sales, when I realized that I needed some 600 count boxes for the mailing the trades I am preparing.  Luckily, just around the corner from the post office is my local card shop, which is enticingly only two blocks from my office.  Having not been to a card shop in eight years, and having scoured the internet for deals, which usually mean mass bulk, I thought I’d check out their prices.

Now, my last trip to a card shop in 2002 was a complete disaster.  The shop was located in a mall (bad sign), and since we were already cruising the mall, I stopped in for a peek.  The first thing that caught my eye were three 3,200 count boxes full of the easily recognizable ’90 Donruss.  I had just finished hand collated sets from ’73 through ’85 over the previous two years, so I thought it might be fun to do a cheapo set (I already had about 50%) before I began tackling 1971 Topps.

Before I went home and dusted off the want lists, I asked the owner how much the ’90 Donruss commons were and he coolly replied 25 cents each.  I couldn’t believe it.  Maybe 25 cards for 25 cents, but surely not a quarter of a dollar per.  I laughed at him, turned around and walked out.  That was my last visit to a card store, until today.

As I walked to store front, I looked at the door and saw the posted hours as 11 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Tuesday through Friday.  Not exactly the best window timeframe, as I’m sure the dreaded Out to Lunch sign gets posted quite often, but thankfully it was 11:05, so I was in luck.  As soon as I walked in, the door chimed and the owner looked up at not the door, but the chimer, as if he thought is was malfunctioning.  I reckon business is slow.

I said “hello” and then he finally looked at me standing in the doorway.  I expected a “Holy cow, a customer” greeting, but only got a muted “Hey,” thus setting the mood perfectly.  The owner went back to the computer (probably eBay, as I cannot fathom how he manages to keep the store open with such short hours), and I began my search for supplies. 

While looking, I noticed the place was lined on three sides with display cases, had a massive 5-shelf double sided storage/book case in the middle of the room, offshoot tables with old wax, and the obligatory wobbly book shelves behind the display cases.  Immediately I knew this dude was a lifer, so maybe there was something worth finding in there besides supplies. 

Eventually I found the boxes and noticed they were all $1.25 from the 100 count to the 800 count.  Go figure that one out.  So I picked up 8 of them, and then began perusing the cases.  My eyes focused on the vintage and then the prices, which were surprisingly low, until I realized it was ALL Heritage crap.  Frustrated, I looked through all the cases and found nothing prior to ’70.

Keep in mind, the entire time I was talking to the owner, trying to engage him and get a feel.  I was trying to establish that long lost dealer/collector bond I had from when I was a kid.  Nothing there, he was too busy watching The View now.

However, I still kept on.  As he checked me out, I noticed some nice vintage early 80s wax.  Most of it was Donruss, but still nice to see the pre-87 wax.  He even had some late 70s, early 80s Hockey wax, but the prices were outrageous for those ($15 to $20 per pack, prior to the Gretzky era).  Anyways, I remarked on how nice it was to see the older wax, and got a blank stare in return.

By this time, I could not figure this dude out.  He was my age or a little older, so he has to have to some sort of feeling about The Cards, but I still got little feedback.  Again, I turned to the massive bookcases in the middle of the room lined with tons of 3,200 count boxes jammed pack.  I grimaced, then asked him “Don’t mind me asking, but what sort of system do you have for your boxes?”  He replied “Oh, those? Those are common cards I buy off of people when they bring them in, and there not in any type of order, but you may find a brick of one year in there.”  Not likely, I thought.

The commons were completely mixed up and therefore useless.  I saw some 25 to 50 card bricks of 88 Fleer, 92 Donruss, etc., but nothing worth searching through.  My stance is if the cards are not organized by year and maker, how in the world can you expect someone to search your common boxes to fill want lists? 

So, I paid my $10 for the boxes, gave him my unrequited thanks and left.  And no, I did not ask him how much the commons were for fear of the “25-cent reply.”

I hope it isn’t another 8 years before I enter a brick and mortar.

Topps Cards That Never Were Gallery

I thought it was high time I actually collected the custom Topps Cards That Never Were I've made into one place.  A few of these have not been shared in individual posts, yet (i.e., Musial and Hunter).  I hope you enjoy them as much as I do, and as always I am taking requests.  And finally, Topps if for some bizarre reason you see this, insert set...

Topps Cards That Never Were: 1981 Willie McCovey

The third and final Willie to get his just due on a final Topps cards is here.  It is none other than the great Willie McCovey.

Willie broke into The Show back in 1959, and went 4 for 4 against fellow Hall of Famer, Robin Roberts, in his debut.  Amazingly, Willie won the ROY in '59 while only playing in 52 games.  Willie Mac continued to be an amazing power hitting 1B for the Giants and made a great tandem with Willie Mays.

For a two year stretch from '64 to '65, McCovey was part of a little unknown historical fact.  Those Giants were one of 3 teams to field five BBWAA HOFers at the same time.  Those Giants teams included: Mays, McCovey, Marichal, Gaylord Perry and Duke Snider (64) / Warren Spahn (65).  If you throw in Orlando "Baby Bull" Cepeda from the Veterans Committee, that makes six hall of famers on one field for one team.  Awesome.

McCovey went on to hit 521 home runs and is tied with Frank Thomas and Ted Williams.  McCovey also had a two and half season stop over in San Diego (yay!) and a brief stint with the Oakland A's.

Willie also wore number 44 in honor of Hank Aaron, who is a fellow Mobile native.

The Original Big Mac

Here are Stretch's stats from 1980:

YEAR	CLUB	G	AB	R	H	2B	3B	HR	RBI	AVG
1980	Giants	48	113	8	23	8	0	1	16	.204