Welcome to the Cardboard Millennial

Friday, July 20, 1990.

I’m three and a half years old.

At 10:30 am Eastern Daylight Time in Rochester, NY, a new cry breaks forth onto the ears of the world. My sister is born. 

At 5 pm Central Daylight Time in Kansas City, Rookie Kevin Appier takes the mound in the first game of a Friday night doubleheader, the start to what will be a three-hit complete game shutout for him in front of the home crowd, just two starts after pitching a one-hit shutout in Detroit.

Two hours and 34 minutes later, a cry of a different kind resounds when Appier strikes out Tom Brunansky to end the game, veers off the mound toward the first base line, slaps his glove, and shakes catcher Mike Macfarlane’s hand as he is handed the game ball.

If not for the thunderstorms that moved through Kansas City back on Tuesday May 15th, when this game was originally scheduled to take place, maybe this never happens. 

Maybe after seven innings Roger Clemens isn’t stewing in the dugout as reliever Rob Murphy gives up two runs and is replaced by Jerry Reed, who gives up another on a wild pitch before getting out of the inning with a Kevin Seitzer groundout, a sad performance capping Clemens’ fourth loss in a row, Appier’s muted double fist pumps further unnerving him. 

Maybe Clemens doesn't find himself watching the second of the twi-night games, muttering under his breath, vowing to carry that loss into his next two starts—two complete-game shutouts of his own—remembering that sting, in fact, in his final 10 starts of the 1990 regular season when the Red Sox drop only one of those games, Clemens posting a .92 ERA and delivering 76 Ks over that stretch. 

But that, all of that, does happen.

In the 1990 postseason, the Red Sox get swept by the Athletics in the ALCS, but Appier and the rest of the Royals are watching from home, their 75-86 record putting them 27.5 games behind the A's. Clemens pitches masterfully in a game-one battle against Dave Stewart, but the bullpen and offense do him no favors, and his anger builds, culminating in a wild game-four ejection.

Later that year, tucked away on the back of a shelf, or up in an attic, or on the floor of a closet, somewhere just out of sight, a couple of boxes of 1990 Leaf baseball cards sit and accumulate dust, forgotten.

And now, after a long 33 years, Reader, we get to find out what’s in them together. Welcome to the Cardboard Millennial, a blog about baseball cards and mixed metaphors by an aging Millennial—hope you enjoy your stay.