We got a shot of 1991 baseball cards over on YouTube this week:
Nothing really surprising or super exciting there, but the mere mention of 1991 baseball cards usually gets me thinking about a particular episode in my card collecting career … one that was pretty silly in retrospect but that had me all worked up at the time.
It was just one of the many instances when I developed some sort of oddball notions about the hobby, though undoubtedly fed by external influences to some extent.
Here are some of those funny ideas, beginning with the star of the show …
1991 Donruss Studio Preview
Promo cards were all the rage back in 1991, thanks in large part to the goodie bags handed out major shows like that summer’s National Convention in Anaheim.
Promos were cards that weren’t widely distributed but that were created a) to celebrate a special occasion or b) to preview an upcoming attraction.
Case in point — Donruss began issuing versions of their factory set in colorful boxes with stickers on the outside proclaiming the inclusion of four “Studio” promos.
The hobby took note of these “very limited” cards, and a minor sensation erupted. Cards of guys like David Justice, Roger Clemens, and Eric Davis were selling for several bucks a pop right out of the pack.
One day, my local country Walmart blossomed with a display of the Donruss sets, Studio promos lurking inside.
This was my ticket — I’d buy the sets for $20 each, cover the costs (and a lot more) by selling the exploding promos, then drink from the gravy of all the extra Phil Plantier rookie cards.
I plopped down my first Andrew Jackson (a huge outlay at the time) for a set, scurried off to my car, and tore into the four-pack of Studios — Doug Drabek, Steve Decker, Tom Foley, Andujar Cedeno.
I became an instant Andujar rooter and held out hopes for years that he’d break out and rescue my “investment.”
Those Studio cards have disappeared into the far reaches of my collection, though I still have the factory set. I could probably sell it for a buck or two on eBay if I really wanted to cash in, but it’s part of my Junk Wax run.
And it’s the only ‘91 Donruss set I ever bought.
1985 Topps Rack Pack Bootstrap
One of my first hobby friends was a kid I met at a show late in 1984 or early in 1985. We were about the same age, both kind of smart (and modest), and had a shared interest in cards.
By the summer of 1985, we’d hatched a plan — we were going to set up as dealers at a show together. And we’d ratchet up our enterprise *during* the show by buying a 1985 Topps rack box (more cards for the money, don’t you know), and selling all the Dwight Goodens, Eric Davises, Alvin Davises, and Oddibe McDowells for an instant profit … that we’d dump into another rack box.
It was a virtuous cycle.
Of course, we didn’t count on rack box prices having escalated with Doc’s and ED’s fortunes.
Or everyone else at the show offering the same cards.
We bought our box, opened it up, sold maybe one card, and went home with a total combined loss on the show of about $50.
Box Bottom Bonanza
After breaking out with a clean, classic design and limited distribution, not to mention THE Don Mattingly rookie card, in 1984, Donruss put the pedal to the metal with an innovative black-bordered design in 1985.
And those glorious box-bottom cards that encouraged us to buy the whole enchilada, or at least to not ditch the boxes.
The panel was pretty popular right from the jump, thanks to the shining stars of Gooden and Ryne Sandberg. The inclusion of Kittle a couple years after his Rookie-of-the-year peak was a bit curious, and the Gehrig was (sorry Lou) sort of a waste of space.
Still, the panels and even hand-cut Sandbergs and Goodens had a strong following.
Like most kids, I schemed to get all of the empty boxes I could — buying full boxes of packs, nearly empty boxes of packs and asking for the container, asking for the empty box at stores, even buying them if I had to.
But I wasn’t content to keep the panels or cut the cards — I had to keep the entire empty boxes, unfolded, because they’d be worth more down the line.
The situation grew to serious proportions in 1986 when Topps joined the box-bottom fry, and my collection of space-eating, dad-frustrating empty boxes spilled all over my room.
Wax Wrapper Riches
You know a kid who keeps empty boxes isn’t just going to toss the wax wrappers, right?
Right.
So, once I got my hobby feet under me, “ripping” wax became pretty much a thing of the past. Instead, I’d unflap each pack and carefully flatten the opened wrapper on top of the growing stack of other opened wrappers.
Thankfully, you could roll these together pretty tightly, and they store more compactly than boxes. And, maybe someday, I’ll find a room to paper with my 200 1986 Topps wrappers.
Stacks and Stacks of Rags
That everything-is-valuable-or-will-be notion carried over to other parts of my collectordom, beyond the cards, boxes, and wrappers.
See …
Back in the mid-1980s and through the early 1990s at least, all of my birthday and Christmas gift requests involved the hobby — cards, card supplies, books, and, yes, magazine subscriptions.
And, of course, the magazines piled up because they had great information, entertaining articles … and they might be worth something some day.
—
These are just a few of my hobby follies.
There have been many more, no doubt, and probably would have been more if not for various guiding hands in my life.
“Don’t get any funny ideas, young man.”
Sorry, mom, even you can’t save a silly kid from himself all the time.
Thanks for reading.
Adam