Teach
12-27-2013, 10:39 AM
"I'll give you two Three Musketeer bars for your Mickey Mantle card," my friend said. "Sure," I said, as I handed over the Mantle card to my buddy for his two candy bars.
Yes, baseball cards were a way of life. They were even more than that ---they were a large part of our youth culture.
As young boys growing up in Boston, my friends and I collected hundreds and hundreds of baseball cards (why did my mother have to throw them out!). In addition to baseball cards, we also collected football cards, movie star cards, Hopalong Cassidy cards, Indian cards, even prize fighter cards). We did just about everything with those cards. We talked about them. We traded them. We sold them. We -- as chronicled -- used them as a medium of exchange. Even our conversations centered around baseball cards.
Further, when we rode our bikes we put duplicate and triplicate cards on the spokes of our wheels to make the bike sound like a motorcycle, or was it a helicopter. We even invented baseball card dice-games whereby certain dice outcomes indicated a base-hit or an out. We selected teams (sounds like Rotisserie Baseball), we developed starting lineups and even kept records of hits, homers and RBIs. We went so far as bringing in relief pitchers. Any unsuspecting person who came to one of our houses (we often had two or three games going on at the same time) might well have thought that they had just walked in on a floating craps game.
One of things we did most with our cards was to shoot them against the wall. My friends and I usually had one special card that we taped over with Scotch tape called “The Shooter”. This is the card we'd use to shoot against the wall. I remember that my "shooter" card, for the longest time, was a utility infielder with the Boston Braves named Sibby Sisti (maybe I just liked the euphonic sound of his name). The "Shooter" was never surrendered when you lost. It was sort of the "Queen Bee" in the baseball card hive; the "sine qua non." When we lost at shootings cards, we'd often give up a card we had triples or "quads" (quadruplets) of. I recall winning one shoot in which I ended up with eight Turk Lown and seven Irv Noren cards.
The game itself involved shooting baseball cards like you'd pitch pennies. The object of the game was to get your card ("shooter") as close to the wall as possible. Many a dispute erupted over which card was closest. Some kids used their fingers to try to measure the difference to the wall between two cards. Others went so far as to go into their nearby house and get a ruler. Sometimes it came down to millimeters.
Yet when all was said and done, there was one card-position that topped even those cards that were touching or nearly touching the wall; it was called "a leaner" It was a baseball card that actually leaned against the wall forming a triangle. That was the best possible outcome you could have. No one could top "a leaner," that is unless they themselves could also toss a leaner. In those situations, we had to determine which card stood taller on the wall.
There was one way (besides throwing one yourself) that you could deal with a leaner. It was an act of self-sacrifice. An act of personal courage. You know: Take one for the team. The idea of giving up your individual chances for the benefit of the group. You could try to "take out" the leaner. You could attempt to hit the leaner with your shooter thus knocking it down from the wall. There were, of course, consequences for such a brave act. Not only would you likely take yourself out of the competition, but you could, in the process, damage your "shooter," as well. It took great personal baseball-card valor to put the group's needs ahead of your own.
Yes, not only were we learning geometry by shooting cards, we were also learning physics, as well. There was an aerodynamic aspect to shooting cards in order to get the optimal lift, the optimal glide. There was also the carom factor (doesn't the angle of incidence equal the angle of reflection). Shooting cards was not unlike imparting topspin to golf ball with your driver. It's like an airplane taking off (talk about high pressure and low pressure). In any event, some kids took shooting cards so seriously they'd actually practice for hours. Over and over, they'd twist their wrists and shoot the cards toward the wall. Just like surfers who are looking for that "perfect wave," the baseball card shooter was looking for that perfect release. That exact delivery that would take their card to the edge of the wall.
Yes, as I look back some fifty years, it was a wonderful time. And yes, those baseball cards: Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams, Jackie Robinson and a host of others, were part and parcel of our youth. What wonderful memories!
Now, if I could only find that boyhood friend of mine and see if he'd swap me back my Mickey Mantle card for those Three Musketeer bars.
Yes, baseball cards were a way of life. They were even more than that ---they were a large part of our youth culture.
As young boys growing up in Boston, my friends and I collected hundreds and hundreds of baseball cards (why did my mother have to throw them out!). In addition to baseball cards, we also collected football cards, movie star cards, Hopalong Cassidy cards, Indian cards, even prize fighter cards). We did just about everything with those cards. We talked about them. We traded them. We sold them. We -- as chronicled -- used them as a medium of exchange. Even our conversations centered around baseball cards.
Further, when we rode our bikes we put duplicate and triplicate cards on the spokes of our wheels to make the bike sound like a motorcycle, or was it a helicopter. We even invented baseball card dice-games whereby certain dice outcomes indicated a base-hit or an out. We selected teams (sounds like Rotisserie Baseball), we developed starting lineups and even kept records of hits, homers and RBIs. We went so far as bringing in relief pitchers. Any unsuspecting person who came to one of our houses (we often had two or three games going on at the same time) might well have thought that they had just walked in on a floating craps game.
One of things we did most with our cards was to shoot them against the wall. My friends and I usually had one special card that we taped over with Scotch tape called “The Shooter”. This is the card we'd use to shoot against the wall. I remember that my "shooter" card, for the longest time, was a utility infielder with the Boston Braves named Sibby Sisti (maybe I just liked the euphonic sound of his name). The "Shooter" was never surrendered when you lost. It was sort of the "Queen Bee" in the baseball card hive; the "sine qua non." When we lost at shootings cards, we'd often give up a card we had triples or "quads" (quadruplets) of. I recall winning one shoot in which I ended up with eight Turk Lown and seven Irv Noren cards.
The game itself involved shooting baseball cards like you'd pitch pennies. The object of the game was to get your card ("shooter") as close to the wall as possible. Many a dispute erupted over which card was closest. Some kids used their fingers to try to measure the difference to the wall between two cards. Others went so far as to go into their nearby house and get a ruler. Sometimes it came down to millimeters.
Yet when all was said and done, there was one card-position that topped even those cards that were touching or nearly touching the wall; it was called "a leaner" It was a baseball card that actually leaned against the wall forming a triangle. That was the best possible outcome you could have. No one could top "a leaner," that is unless they themselves could also toss a leaner. In those situations, we had to determine which card stood taller on the wall.
There was one way (besides throwing one yourself) that you could deal with a leaner. It was an act of self-sacrifice. An act of personal courage. You know: Take one for the team. The idea of giving up your individual chances for the benefit of the group. You could try to "take out" the leaner. You could attempt to hit the leaner with your shooter thus knocking it down from the wall. There were, of course, consequences for such a brave act. Not only would you likely take yourself out of the competition, but you could, in the process, damage your "shooter," as well. It took great personal baseball-card valor to put the group's needs ahead of your own.
Yes, not only were we learning geometry by shooting cards, we were also learning physics, as well. There was an aerodynamic aspect to shooting cards in order to get the optimal lift, the optimal glide. There was also the carom factor (doesn't the angle of incidence equal the angle of reflection). Shooting cards was not unlike imparting topspin to golf ball with your driver. It's like an airplane taking off (talk about high pressure and low pressure). In any event, some kids took shooting cards so seriously they'd actually practice for hours. Over and over, they'd twist their wrists and shoot the cards toward the wall. Just like surfers who are looking for that "perfect wave," the baseball card shooter was looking for that perfect release. That exact delivery that would take their card to the edge of the wall.
Yes, as I look back some fifty years, it was a wonderful time. And yes, those baseball cards: Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams, Jackie Robinson and a host of others, were part and parcel of our youth. What wonderful memories!
Now, if I could only find that boyhood friend of mine and see if he'd swap me back my Mickey Mantle card for those Three Musketeer bars.