At first blush, the 2023 Leaf Draft football set sounds good. There are 20 packs in a blue blaster box, with a guarantee of two autograph cards.

The problem comes with collation. A collector these days has become spoiled by card companies’ collation. You don’t see duplicates very often, even in a blaster.

Well, it happened in the one I bought. The 20 packs yielded 51 base cards out of the 100-card set, but eight of them were duplicates. And considering that there were mostly two — and sometimes three — base cards in each pack, that means about four packs contained doubles.

Call me spoiled, but if I get 51 base cards, I expect them all to be different.
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For set collectors, this can be maddening, particularly when there were 49 parallels in the blaster — plus two autograph cards on stickers.
The parallels can be found in blue, gold, green and red.

Leaf has a nice breakdown of cards into different subset. The first 10 cards are called “First Overall” and feature players selected No. 1 in the NFL in certain years. Not sure if starting off the set with O.J. Simpson as card No. 1 is a great idea, but that is certainly a conversation starter.

Other No. 1s include the three I pulled, like Bruce Smith, Bo Jackson and Peyton Manning.

Card No. 11 features Caleb Williams, the 2022 Heisman Trophy winner, as an All-American, while Nos. 12-17 are Award Winner cards. I pulled Bijan Robinson (Doak Walker winner), Brock Bowers (John Mackey recipient) and Max Duggan (Davey O’Brien winner).

Card Nos. 18-31 are designated as base cards, and I pulled five of those, including one of draft analyst Mel Kiper Jr.

Cue up the “Who in the hell is Mel Kiper, anyway?” video from the 1994 NFL draft, when Indianapolis Colts general manager Bill Tobin ripped into ESPN’s draft guru.

Classic television.

As a side note, one of the gold parallels I pulled from one of the packs was of  NFL draft expert Todd McShay, who was one of nearly two dozen ESPN personalities laid off on Friday.

Tough times in TV land.

The next subset consists of base ARC cards, from Nos. 32-38. That is followed by base XRC cards (Nos 39-75); I pulled 17 of those cards.

The next two subsets focus on upcoming draft classes. Class of 2024 (Nos. 76-81) is followed by Class of 2025 (Nos. 82-86). I pulled three cards from the former — including Williams — and one from the latter.

Nos. 87-94 are dubbed QB Kings and I had five of those, including Bryce Young, Anthony Richardson and Stetson Bennett.
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The final six cards in the base set are called TD Kings, and I pulled two cards. The design for these cards are kind of punky, with the quarterback set against a backdrop of bricks and a graffiti-sprayed crown.

That was the only sketchy design. For the most part, Leaf’s design choices are simple and look good. The card fronts for many of the base cards feature an action shot of the player framed by a gray-white border. The Leaf logo is beneath the action shot, with the player’s nameplate anchoring the bottom of the card.

Most of these cards have vertical layouts for the card fronts, which I prefer.

The card backs feature the same player photo, but with player position and vital statistics. A short biography, about seven or eight lines, gives the collector some highlights or fun facts about the player. The design is also vertical, and it works nicely.

The card stock is thin, unfortunately, so be careful handling these cards.

As for parallels, there were seven blues, 12 golds, 16 greens and 14 reds.

To be honest, I liked the parallels better than the base cards because they were more colorful. But the restrained color pattern for the base cards is nice, too.

The two autographs in the box were a base card of Isaiah McGuire, the former Missouri defensive end who was picked in the fourth round by the Cleveland Browns; and Khalan Laborn, a running back who played at Florida State and Marshall and was signed as a free agent on May 1 by the San Francisco 49ers.

Overall, I’d call this set average. If you’re big into rookies and future stars, this is a good way to get started. The set is probably easy to complete, although those duplicates are kind of annoying.

If you are not into set building, Leaf does offer two other options in its Draft product. Red blasters have three autographs and contain 20 packs, while Gold blasters have three autographs and a 10-card set. Purple blasters have two signature cards and a 10-card set.
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The choice is yours.

Writers who accept tough challenges fascinate me. I admire their determination in bringing some clarity to a murky subject.
Robert F. Garratt admits up front that writing about the life of Charles Stoneham, who owned the New York Giants baseball team from 1919 until his death in 1936 at the age of 59, was “a distinct challenge.”
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That is an understatement. Stoneham, who bought the New York Giants from the Brush family with partners Francis X. McQuade and Giants manager John J. McGraw, formed the National Exhibition Company.

McGraw, the face of the Giants since 1902, would win four consecutive National League pennants and two World Series titles in the early 1920s. Stoneham, meanwhile, was a shadowy figure at best, content to stay in the background. The Stoneham family would own the franchise for nearly 58 years, moving it west to San Francisco after the 1957 season before selling it to Bob Lurie in 1976.
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Stoneham was a complicated figure, and Garratt makes a strong attempt at sharpening the hazy perception of the franchise owner in Jazz Age Giant: Charles A. Stoneham & New York City Baseball in the Roaring Twenties (University of Nebraska Press; $29.95; hardback; 215 pages).

​Garratt does not succeed completely, but his work is definitely the most thorough look at Stoneham to date. Stoneham had a shadowy past and became wealthy through his Wall Street business dealings because “he had an uncommon talent for the ‘Street,’” the Brooklyn Daily Eagle wrote in his obituary.
Garratt, an emeritus professor of English and humanities at the University of Puget Sound, grew up in the San Francisco area and was a fan of the Giants. He initially researched the Giants’ move from New York to San Francisco and its impact on the Bay Area.
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That resulted in his 2017 book, Home Team: The Turbulent History of the San Francisco Giants. The book, which examined the Giants’ relationship with San Francisco, the legacy of treacherous Candlestick and the team’s success during the 2010s, earned him finalist honors for the Seymour Medal.
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He was pitted against some stiff competition for the 2018, award, including winner Jerald Podair (City of Dreams) and finalists Marty Appel (Casey Stengel), John Eisenberg (The Streak) and Debra Shattuck (Bloomer Girls).

It is interesting to note that Steven Treder’s 2021 biography of Stoneham’s son, Forty Years a Giant: The Life of Horace Stoneham, won the Seymour Medal in 2022. There is something about the Stoneham family that intrigues baseball history lovers.
 
Garratt takes an interesting approach to Charles Stoneham’s life, suggesting that there was a parallel between the Giants owner and Jay Gatsby, the main character in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1925 novel, The Great Gatsby. And he hammers the comparison home in every chapter, with a lead-in that contains a quote from the novel.
 
Stoneham’s lavish parties and love for the night life gave the New York tabloids ample fodder during the Prohibition Era. The fact that he had two distinct families at the same time also had tongues wagging, even during the hedonistic Roaring Twenties.

Very Gatsby-esque.

Stoneham got rich through the stock market during the first quarter of the 20th century, running “bucket shops.”
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According to the Cornell Law School, bucket shops in the early 1900s were gambling operations that permitted “common people” to bet on stocks and other markets. Ordinary citizens were able to invest in markets, but their purchases were highly speculative and businessmen like Stoneham were easily able to turn a profit.

Stoneham began his career as a board boy in a brokerage firm but eventually formed his own company. When he took over the Giants, his Wall Street background was a major topic.

“Curb broker to be president,” the New York Tribune wrote in January 1919.

But Stoneham got out of the brokerage business by 1921, because he wanted to devote “full-time attention” to the sporting life, and specifically, the Giants, Garratt writes. The other reason was more in tune to Stoneham’s business acumen.

He realized that because the stock market was “heating up,” it would no longer favor his “bucket shop” style of investing.

“Stoneham’s company depended on a falling market to maximize its profits,” Garratt writes.

Stoneham made no secret of his relationship to men like Arnold Rothstein, the man credited as the mastermind behind the 1919 World Series Black Sox scandal. Stoneham would be indicted three times, tried for perjury and acquitted. His battles for control of the Giants with McQuade, and lawsuits over his connections to various brokerage firms that had failed, would sap the joy of winning four pennants from 1921 to 1924.

In 1924, Stoneham was indicted for mail fraud in the transfer of accounts to E.D. Dier and Company. Two years earlier, he was awash in legal battles with the firm of E.M. Fuller and Company, a business that had filed for bankruptcy and claimed that Stoneham was a silent partner.

“For the foreseeable future, Stoneham would find his world turned upside down,” Garratt writes.

The Fuller-McGee case (named for owners Edward M. Fuller and William McGee) took four years to resolve, and Stoneham would be indicted for perjury in August 1923. On the positive side, Stoneham was acquitted of mail fraud charges stemming from the Dier case in February 1925. Stoneham’s indictment for perjury in the Fuller case was dismissed in early 1927.

For those reasons, baseball executives like American League President Ban Johnson never hid his distaste for Stoneham. As a possible gambling scandal loomed on the eve of the 1924 World Series, Johnson blasted the Giants owner as “the worst influence we have in organized baseball,” according to the New York Daily News. “He and John McGraw must be driven from the game.”

Garratt notes that Stoneham and McGraw were “Jazz Age dreamers,” and the move that typified their pie-in-the-sky hopes to bring the Giants back to prominence in the late 1920s was the trade that brought Rogers Hornsby to New York.
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The Giants were looking for a player to match the star power of Babe Ruth in New York, and while Hornsby could hit, his demeanor and penchant for bluntness made him few friends — if he cursed, the Rajah’s favorite four-letter word was not “tact.”

The experiment lasted a year, until Stoneham traded Hornsby in a ridiculously one-sided deal that favored the Boston Braves — on paper, at least. Hornsby would wear out his welcome in Boston as well before landing with the Chicago Cubs.

Stoneham’s squabbles with McQuade, which simmered during the early 1920s, boiled over in 1928 when the owner got enough votes to remove McQuade as team treasurer.

While McQuade’s removal was “personally satisfying” for Stoneham, the legal entanglements over the next six years would be a “continuing distraction” for the Giants, Garratt writes. Stoneham would prevail after appealing a lower court ruling against him as McQuade’s complaint was dismissed by the New York State Supreme Court.

On the field, Stoneham would have one final year of glory when the Giants won the 1922 N.L. pennant and then rolled past the Washington Senators in the World Series.

Stoneham also finally received some respect from his fellow owners as a “wise senior counselor,” Garratt writes. That was a far cry from his entrance into the owners’ club, where he was viewed as “an interloper, a monied, shady businessman with a fondness for horses and gambling.”

Stoneham will always remain a hazy figure, feeling no need to call attention to himself, Garratt writes. Even as his health declined, Stoneham remained a silent figure.

His business deeds, however, spoke loudly.

“As the generous host, he was often in the background,” content to let others grab the spotlight, he writes. In a city like New York, where the spotlight shone brightly on public figures, that was quite a feat.

Garratt describes Stoneham as a businessman who was “unscrupulous and ruthless,” a serial philanderer and a quasi-bigamist and a private man without a close friend.

“He was paunchily fat, and his collar met his jowls,” sportswriter Paul Gallico wrote in November 1934, comparing the Stoneham to the 1920s to a slimmer version in the 1930s.

In Garratt’s final analysis, Stoneham’s complicated and spirited life “epitomized the Jazz Age.”
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Jazz Age Giant is well-researched, complemented by plenty of notes. Garratt writes simply and smoothly, explaining complicated subjects in a clear manner.
The life of Charles Stoneham may never be crystal clear, but Garratt helps bring it into focus.

Here's a story I wrote for Sports Collectors Daily about the 1950 Scott's Potato Chips cards and the man who desigmed them:

www.sportscollectorsdaily.com/rare-minneapolis-lakers-regional-set-has-deep-history-with-artists-family/

It is mind-boggling that Fernando Valenzuela burst onto the major league baseball scene more than 40 year ago.

It seems like only yesterday that the 20-year-old left-hander from Etchohuaquila, Mexico, was baffling hitters with his screwball, looking skyward as he wheeled toward the plate.

As a young sportswriter in South Florida with The Stuart News in May 1981, I got to sit in on a national telephone conference call that included Valenzuela; his interpreter, longtime Spanish broadcaster Jaime Jarrin; Los Angeles Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda; and several members of the team.

Valenzuela had begun the 1981 season with a 7-0 record and a ridiculously low 0.29 ERA.

“To be honest with you I didn’t think I’d get that far,” Valenzuela said at the time through his interpreter. “Before the season it never came to mind.”

“You can’t do that with mirrors or with luck,” Lasorda added. “Amazingly, nothing seems to rattle him. The guy makes the right pitch at the right time.”

It was an exciting time. Valenzuela would post a 13-7 record during the strike-marred split season of 1981 and pitched to a 2.48 ERA. He would win the National League Cy Young Award and was the third consecutive Dodger to win Rookie of the Year honors (pitchers Rick Sutcliffe and Steve Howe preceded him and infielder Steve Sax would win in 1982).

Valenzuela spawned what would be known as “Fernandomania,” a baseball and cultural phenomenon. “El Toro” pitched in the majors for 17 seasons — 11 in Los Angeles — and earned 141 of his career 173 victories while wearing Dodger blue.

That is what author Erik Sherman captures so well in his latest book, Daybreak at Chavez Ravine: Fernandomania and the Remaking of the Los Angeles Dodgers (University of Nebraska Press; $32.95; hardback; 249 pages)

Baseball needed Fernandomania. And more specifically, the Dodgers needed it.

The team performed well on the field and won National League pennants in 1963, 1965, 1966, 1974, 1977 and 1978, but the franchise had never found a way to soothe the bitterness of the Mexican American community. Latinos in the Los Angeles area had never forgiven the city of Los Angeles and Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley for cutting a deal to build a stadium at Chavez Ravine, which displaced hundreds of families during the late 1950s.

During the early 1950s, the city evicted approximately 300 families so a low-income, publicly funded housing project could be built. However, Los Angeles sold the land to O’Malley and the evicted residents — who had been promised the first pick for apartments in the proposed Chavez Ravine housing projects — were left holding the bag and were not reimbursed.

It came down to a contentious referendum, called Proposition B, to build the stadium, and O’Malley — who had pulled up stakes in Brooklyn to move west — won by 24,293 votes out of a total of 666,577.

O’Malley built Dodger Stadium, a magnificent complex that opened on April 10, 1962, but Mexican American fans stayed away in droves. It did not help that in May 1959, television cameras recorded deputies carrying residents from their frame houses in Chavez Ravine as bulldozers knocked down the structures, according to Andy McCue’s 2014 book, Mover & Shaker.

Bad for public relations, although city officials blamed the media for turning the eviction into “a cartoon morality play,” McCue would write.

Despite the Dodgers winning six pennants and two World Series at Dodger Stadium, Mexican American fans were hard to find. Even the three pennants during the 1970s did not help.

Valenzuela changed that. Here was a humble man who did not seek the spotlight, yet he possessed the kind of charisma that turned Dodger Stadium into a citadel of Mexican American pride. His physique and looks reminded many Latinos of “a Mexican uncle or cousin,” Sherman writes. “But he was an everyman who was doing incredible things. And he belonged to them.”

Valenzuela’s impact on the Latinos “was more impactful and profound than any no-hitter or World Series he ever pitched,” Sherman writes.

Longtime Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully would observe that Fernandomania looked like “an almost religious experience.”  Sportswriter Lyle Spencer told Sherman that “Fernandomania was a full-on festival every time he pitched.”

Pressed into action in 1981 when Jerry Reuss was scratched due to calf injury, Valenzuela became the first Dodgers rookie to start on Opening Day. It was also his first major-league start and he pitched a five-hit shutout.

Sherman guides the reader through Valenzuela’s blazing impact, when he first 12 starts at Dodger Stadium were sellouts. He is familiar with writing about baseball and digging nuggets out of his extensive research, which is also on display in Daybreak at Chavez Ravine.

Sherman has written books about the 1986 Mets (Kings of Queens), the 1986 Boston Red Sox (Two Sides of Glory) and co-authored autobiographies with Davey Johnson, Glenn Burke, Steve Blass and Mookie Wilson.
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Sherman’s 2019 book, After the Miracle, with Art Shamsky, was a warm and poignant look at the 1969 New York Mets.
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Valenzuela declined to participate in Sherman’s latest project, but that enabled the author, podcaster and 2023 inductee into the New York State Baseball Hall of Fame to interview former teammates and opponents. Those interviews provided a fuller, more analytical look at Valenzuela.

Sherman pulls out rich, insightful observations from a diverse group of players, including Valenzuela’s teammates — Dusty Baker, Rick Monday, Jerry Reuss and Steve Garvey, to name a few. Dodgers scout Mike Brito, Jarrin and even opponents like pitchers Bill Lee and Jeff Reardon also offer valuable perspective.

“He captured everyone’s attention,” Monday told Sherman. “Not right away, but when he did, he owned it.”

Valenzuela’s success in 1981 caught all of baseball flat-footed.

“I wasn’t thinking he was going to be the ace of the staff — that’s for sure,” former Dodgers executive Fred Claire told Sherman.
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Sherman writes about Valenzuela’s lunch with President Ronald Reagan and Mexico’s president, José López Portillo, a monumental day for a 20-year-old rookie who still took it all in stride. Valenzuela’s career was much more successful than that of Portillo, who was Mexico’s leader from 1976 to 1982. The New York Times reported in Portillo’s 2004 obituary that he brought Mexico to “the brink of economic collapse” and “was considered one of the most incompetent leaders of Mexico's modern era and his government among the most corrupt.”

Fernandomania, on the other hand, did not seem to have any limits, Sherman writes. Remember, he starred in the era before social media and modern marketing savvy, but it was not unusual to see homemade images of Valenzuela on T-shirts, posters and murals. Valenzuela was selective in what products to advertise but became wealthy.

The baseball strike certainly prevented Valenzuela from winning 20 games in 1981, but the eight-week stoppage, which forced the cancellation of 713 games, also afforded him a chance to rest and recharge. After an 8-0 start, Valenzuela was 9-4 but still led the league in complete games, innings pitched shutouts and strikeouts. The man needed a break.

The Dodgers got one too, as it was determined that teams leading their divisions when the strike began would be declared first-half champions and would earn a spot in the playoffs regardless of how they performed. It was a quirk that prevented the Cincinnati Reds, who had the league’s best record but finished second in both halves — from competing in the postseason.
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When baseball returned, Valenzuela was the starting pitcher for the N.L. in the All-Star Game. He would be named to the All-Star team six times during his career.

​As for the Dodgers, the 1981 playoffs would be a study in determination. Down 0-2 to Houston in the divisional series, Los Angeles would win the next three games at Dodger Stadium to advance. That included a Game 4 complete-game victory pitched by Valenzuela, as the left-hander had a 1.06 ERA against the Astros.

Against the Montreal Expos in the NLCS, the Dodgers prevailed in five games when Valenzuela pitched a gritty 2-1 victory that was helped by Monday’s clutch home run that snapped a 1-1 tie with two outs in the top of the ninth inning.

The Expos were managed in the playoffs by Jim Fanning, who took over for Dick Williams. Sherman described Williams as having a “vinegary personality.”
That’s an understatement.

During spring training in 1981 I approached Williams at Municipal Stadium in West Palm Beach because I was writing a story about Gary Carter, specifically about his baseball card collection. I introduced myself and started to ask if he had a minute to talk about Carter. He looked at me and asked, “Who are you with again?”

When I told him, he shook his head, turned on his heel and walked away, saying, “Nahhh.”

I must have looked shocked, since New York Yankees manager Gene Michael was standing nearby, laughing.

“Don’t worry, kid, he’s always like that,” Michael chuckled.

Well, that was a nice consolation. He certainly lived up to his name.

In the 1981 World Series, Valenzuela helped the Dodgers dig out of a 2-0 series deficit with a 5-4 victory in Game 3 against the New York Yankees. It was Valenzuela’s final appearance of the season, and while he was not sharp, he still battled with grim determination.

Reuss told Sherman that the effort was impressive because he did not have his best stuff.

“I imagine every time Van Gogh picked up a paintbrush, he didn’t create a masterpiece,” Reuss said.

Valenzuela had plenty of them in 1981, and the Dodgers would win their first World Series title since 1965.
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The losing pitcher in Game 3, George Frazier, who died on June 19 at the age of 68, became an unfortunate answer to a trivia question. He would become the first pitcher to legitimately lose three games in the World Series, as he was also saddled with losses in Games 4 and 6.
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Claude Williams, who pitched for the Chicago White Sox in the 1919 World Series, also lost three games, but the team was later found to have thrown the postseason series, according to the Society for American Baseball Research. Williams was not one of the eight “Black Sox” players implicated in the scandal, by the way.

Of course, Valenzuela’s career did not begin and end with the 1981 season. There were other seasons, other accolades and other feats — 21 wins in 1986, a no-hitter in 1990, and 13 wins in 1996 as he helped the surprising San Diego Padres win the N.L. West.

But the 1981 season was magical.
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The only glitch I saw in Sherman’s work was his statement that Hideo Nomo was the first Japanese-born player to reach the majors. That honor actually went to another pitcher, Masanori Murakami, who made his debut with the San Francisco Giants in 1964, according to MLB and documented by Robert K. Fitts in his wonderful 2015 biography, Mashi.

Sherman ends his work by wondering why Valenzuela’s No. 34 had not been retired, although no one has worn it since he has left the Dodgers. That oversight will be corrected in August, when his uniform will be retired during ceremonies and events during a three-game stretch.

Sherman’s research, coupled with his interviewing skills, makes for a compelling narrative.

Valenzuela “was like a composite of the Beatles — only in Dodger blue,” Sherman writes in his preface. “His appeal was universal. “He wasn’t just a baseball player, he was a healer in a time when, much like today, many Americans viewed Mexicans as second-class citizens.

“He was to Latinos what Jackie Robinson was to Black Americans. And their feelings for Valenzuela have only grown stronger over the years.”

“He’s for real,” teammate Davey Lopes said during that 1981 conference call.
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He still is, and remains a revered figure in Dodgers history. Sherman does a wonderful job of piercing through Valenzuela’s quiet shell to paint a complete picture of a beloved figure.

Here's a story I wrote for Sports Collectors Daily about eBay's new Collectors Camp concept, a way for collectors to hone their skills and make better deals:

www.sportscollectorsdaily.com/ebay-launches-collectors-camp-to-help-hone-skills-in-buying-selling-and-trading/

Here's a story I wrote for Sports Collector about a man who was reunited after more than 50 years with a 1952 Topps card of Mickey Mantle. The card was kept safe in a Wisconsin home in a -- wait for it -- cheese box.

​www.sportscollectorsdaily.com/1952-topps-mantle-found-cheese-box-could-bring-plenty-of-jack-for-wisconsin-man/

Topps Series Two baseball has finally come to my area, and the flagship set is mostly a continuation of Series One.

On a side note, it is gratifying to walk into a Target or Walmart these days and see countless rows of blaster boxes and packs from all sports. Thank goodness. Card shortages at stores or registering to view boxes of product was an aggravating experience.

While Target still limits the number of items you can buy, Walmart does not.

I no longer chase the Topps flagship set, although I do buy a complete set when those boxes are released. Got to keep that complete set streak from 1968 intact, you know. And if not for 11 high numbers from the 1967 set and seven from 1963, I’d have every set done since 1960.

Of course, some of those cards I may never get, like the Pete Rose rookie card from 1963. But I am reconciled to that.

Anyway, the 2023 Topps Series Two set is a continuation of Series One, with 330 cards in the set. Cards are numbered from 331 to 660, featuring veterans, rookies, future stars and team cards. Series Two features the rookie cards of Kodai Senga, Anthony Volpe and Jordan Walker.

A blaster box costs $24.99 plus tax and contains seven packs with 14 cards to pack. There is also one commemorative Father’s Day Team Patch cards in each blaster. These cards have blue logo cap patches. Lucky collectors could find the signed version of the patch card, which is limited to 25 copies or less.

I do like the design that Topps has chosen for this year’s set. There is an action shot on the card front that dominates the space, with a white border and a thin line containing the primary color of the team’s uniform.

A mug shot of the player is positioned in the lower left-hand corner, with his name in white block letters below the smaller photograph. His position is anchored in the bottom right-hand corner of the card when the design is vertical, while slightly more toward the bottom center for horizontal layouts.

I have made no secret through the years that I prefer a vertical design. That goes back to when I began collecting in 1965. All of the player cards had vertical layouts, and the only exceptions were team, World Series and league leaders cards.

To me vertical always looked better in binders.
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As far as card backs go, I never minded the horizontal layout. There are columns of statistics to present to the collector, and horizontal is a much better look. Series Two follows the same pattern, highlighting the player’s vital statistics and year-by-year numbers. Where there is room, a short biography or a paragraph explaining a career highlight is included.

Just like I did when I bought my first blaster of 2023 Series One, I pulled 84 base cards from the blaster box of Series Two I bought at Target. There was also a Royal Blue parallel of Evan Longoria; the Royal Blues can be found in one of every 10 blasters. I also pulled an Orange Foilboard parallel of Orioles pitcher Keegan Akin that was numbered to 299.

The third parallel in the box was a Rainbow Foil card of Pirates pitcher Rodney Contreras.

Every pack in the blaster had a Stars of MLB insert, a 30-card set, so I pulled seven of them.

Another insert card I pulled was a World Baseball Classic card of Sandy Alcantara. There are 60 cards in this subset.

In its tribute to the 35th anniversary to the 1988 Topps design, the blaster had one of the 1988 Topps card insert and one of the 1988 Topps All-Star Baseball cards. Both insert sets contain 50 cards.
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I pulled a 1988 Topps Baseball card of Julio Rodriguez and a 1988 Topps All-Star Baseball insert of Buster Posey.

There was also one Home Run Challenge card, a promotion that features 30 of the game’s top sluggers. Each card has a scratch-off code that collectors enter on the Topps website, and contestants then pick a specific date when the player might hit a home run. If you win, you receive a Home Run Challenge Winner card.

The card I pulled was of the Mets’ Francisco Lindor, who already has 12 homers this season.

The final card I pulled was the commemorative Father’s Day Team Patch, a manufactured relic. My card featured Hunter Greene of the Cincinnati Reds, along with a blue logo against a white patch background.
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Consistency is the hallmark of Topps’ flagship set, and Series Two follows that pattern. There are few surprises that I saw, but if you are set collector, this is the must-have set. Now, collectors will await the Update set.

Here is a review I wrote for Sport in American History about Dyed in Crimson by Zev Eleff:

ussporthistory.com/2023/06/10/review-of-dyed-in-crimson/