Buck Herzog sits coolly together with his fluffy sweater buttoned throughout his chest. His arms resting throughout his knees. The pink rimmed collar folded down comfortable round his neck. Eyes gazing throughout the sphere as if one thing scrumptious is ready for him there. The pale blue background contrasting with the pink piping of his outfit. A big pink “B” the place in actuality an “NY” really sat. Completely cropped. An actual Rustler.
Jim Stephens catches a toss together with his overstuffed glove the dimensions of a watermelon. His belt pulled tightly round his dishevelled flowing wool pants. His brown hat in opposition to the inexperienced grass and sundown yellow sky. His proper arm blocking the “S” so solely the “L” reveals for “Louis” or “Awful” or “Loathsome” perhaps? Regardless of, he performed within the league for six years and I didn’t.
Leering and smirking, Billy Campbell stares out from the sphere close to the truthful. The flags circulate within the night breeze in opposition to the sundown. His uniform blue sufficient to be a plumber. Collar turned up just like the dandy he’s, he is aware of darn properly you ain’t hitting this splitter, or spitter, or no matter slime ball he’s sending you. Go discover a funnel cake.
Dave Mind’s stern, straight ahead stare, his small priestly collar buttoned tight. Small hat tipped again in opposition to the royal blue background. The “B” stands for Buffalo, and who the satan needs to reside in Buffalo? I might stare grumpily too.
Skinny and pale, Lena Blackburne stretches out greedy to make a catch. The grass and sky darkish and ominous. The wind flips his collar up. Windfall. He’ll want it if his is ever to remembered.
Wrinkles streak throughout Harry Lord’s chest. His bat is damaged by a crease. He glares into the far distance because the ball he simply smashed disappears into the ether. He performs for Boston, and he performs properly. He didn’t want that prime nook anyway.
Rucker, his head splitting crease runs all the best way down into his elbow. His corners hold by threads. Soiled, pale, and torn, he’s in want of his title, a “Nap.” However when rolled over, he’s particular. The most effective scrap tobacco within the land, he’s a Polar Bear. He’s now, at all times has been, and at all times will probably be.
Though Frank Smith it lacking chunk of his cheek, it doesn’t impact his grin. The grass is inexperienced, the sky is yellow with the fireplace of sundown, he performs ball for the Sox. He retains his hat pulled low or else the wind will fling it away. His uniform is darker blue than Campbell’s and that’s sufficient for him. The letters on his chest very practically spell “Magic.”
And that’s what baseball playing cards are, or could be… magic. At all times there when the world is squeezing in, the sky is falling, your coronary heart is hurting, and also you simply want some peace. Small magical portals that you just maintain in your hand, or place within the museum behind the door.
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