The 2017-18 Upper Deck Artifacts hockey set showcases snowy-looking card backgrounds and plenty of silver foil. Players are featured in action shots, and their uniform colors contrast sharply with the white background.

The set was released late last month. A hobby box contains eight backs, with four cards per pack. Upper Deck is promising three hits per box — either autographs, relics and/or Aurum cards.

But since I was opening a blaster box, the chance of finding a big hit seemed rather remote. A blaster contains seven packs (plus a bonus pack), and there are five cards per pack. I pulled 38 base cards, plus a Ruby parallel of Kyle Okposo, numbered to 299.

The other card was a Rookie Redemption, and the scratch-off code revealed that I would be receiving a first year player off the Columbus Blue Jackets’ roster. The card was called a Red 189, and after filling out my online redemption at Upper Deck’s website, I received an email letting me know that the card would be shipped between 12 and 16 weeks from now. Upper Deck will send Redemption winners an email when the card ships.

The Rookie Redemptions also will be available in relic, autograph and autograph/relic cards.

There are 180 cards in the base set, which is broken down by Veterans (cards 1-100); Stars, numbered to 599 (cards 101-130); Legends, numbered to 499 (cards 131-160; and Rookies, numbered to 999 (cards 161-180).

In addition to the Ruby parallel I pulled, some collectors may find Emerald (numbered to 99), Orange (55), Purple (20) and Black (5).

Here 's a story I wrote for Sports Collectors Daily about the 1958 Topps football set, which featured Jim Brown's debut on a Topps card:

www.sportscollectorsdaily.com/1958-topps-football-showcased-jim-browns-card-debut/

Topps put the finishing touches on its flagship baseball product when it released its Update set last week. There are 300 base cards in the set, all with the “US” designation before the number. As usual, players who did not make the first two series and those who were traded will be part of the set. Several inserts carry over from Series One and Two, with a few new ones added.

The design will be familiar to collectors of the first two series, as it follows the same formula.  The only difference is that when a player has an all-star card, the team logo is replaced by the ASG icon used for the game that was held in Miami this past July.

Judging from the checklists, the box and the packs, you can tell who Topps is hyping in this set. Aaron Judge is prominent — and should be — with three cards in the base set and two different variation cards. If you are collecting a master set, including inserts, autograph and relic cards, there are 17 Judge cards out there.

A hobby box will have 36 packs, with 10 cards per pack. Jumbo boxes will have 10 packs, with 50 cards per pack. Retail blaster boxes will contain 10 packs, plus an additional pack that contains a retail-exclusive, thick MVP Award medallion card.

I mention the blaster boxes because that is what I will be reviewing. For more than a decade I’ve reviewed hobby boxes that Topps supplied to me, but after not receiving  Allen & Ginter or Topps Heritage High Numbers during the summer, I emailed to find out why. The answer I received was that I was no longer on the distribution list, and that Topps often reevaluates who they send boxes to, adding and subtracting from the list.
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Hey, stuff happens. It was a nice ride. That won’t stop me from reviewing cards. It’s too much fun. And that will give me a chance to sample different products, too.

The blaster box of 2017 Topps Update that I opened yielded 80 base cards. There was one variation card that showed Padres outfielder Manny Margot sitting in the dugout wearing a home brown uniform. Players who made the All-Star team have an informative paragraph on the card back called “All-Star Game Creds,” which gives the statistics that made him an all-star.

The medallion card depicted newly inducted Hall of Famer Ivan Rodriguez. Rainbow parallels fall one in every 10 packs, and I pulled a card of Red Sox pitcher Craig Kimbrel. There are also gold parallels numbered to 2017, and I pulled cards of Phillies pitcher Pat Neshek and Blue Jays outfielder Dwight Smith.

As far as inserts go, Topps Salute returns with a 50-card subset. Even though this insert falls one in every eight packs, I managed to get two of them in my blaster box. The tribute to the 1987 Topps set also returns for the third time this year, also with 50 cards. I pulled one — an Orlando Arcia card. Major League Network cards returned and I open a pack that contained a Matt Yallof card; there are nine cards in this subset.

The newer inserts are colorful and some have a historic tone to them. The 30-card Untouchables is a 30-card, blaster box exclusive set that pays tribute to Cy Young Award winners who also excelled in the playoffs. The card has two photographs — one action. and one posed, The card I found was of 2016 winner Rick Porcello.

MVP Award Winners is also limited to retail blaster boxes, and there are 30 cards. I pulled five of these cards, including Ernie Banks, Lou Gehrig, Don Mattingly, Roberto Clemente and Joey Votto. These also come in red parallels numbered to 25, and 1/1 platinum parallels.

Another retail-only insert is called Postseason Celebrations, and the 25-card set is fairly straightforward — players celebrating victory. I pulled a card of the Phillies savoring victory in 1980, and one of the Giants celebrating after the 2012 World Series. I also pulled a blue parallel, numbered to 500, showing the 1979 Pirates.

Topps All-Rookie Cup inserts consists of 50 cards that honor the players who had great debuts. The card I pulled was of Rays third baseman Evan Longoria. The card front is from the 2008 Topps set, while the back discusses Longoria’s “Trophy Season.”

The final insert group I pulled was called Storied World Series, and there is a vintage photo on the front with a nice summary of that year’s Fall Classic on the back. There are 25 cards in this subset.

What I find troubling about this insert is that while the photos are vintage, they don’t all necessarily match the year of the World Series. For example card SWS-5, chronicling the 1905 Series between the New York Giants and Philadelphia Athletics, shows a play at the plate with a New York player tagging out a Philadelphia runner, who clearly is wearing a large, block letter “P” on his sleeve, which, according to Mark Okkonen’s magnificently researched book, “Baseball Uniforms of the 20th Century: The Official Major League Baseball Guide” did not appear until 1909.

The Athletics’ uniform has an “A” on the front and Also, the Giants had a large “NY” on their uniform front in 1905; the Giants began using the home uniform depicted in 1908, and in fact, in 1905 they wore black for Game 1 of the World Series. So I am guessing that photo is from 1909 at the earliest.
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And I am not altogether sure that the 1961 Yankees card, which shows Roger Maris following through on a swing, is from the World Series. It might be from a black-and-white photo that was colorized, but if so, the catcher should have had red sleeves, as the Cincinnati Reds had that color scheme.

Quibbling points, but they just seemed a bit confusing. 

As a postscript, I did buy a second blaster box -- after all, I am a set builder at heart -- and one of the more interesting cards I pulled was a Judge variation. The medallion card was Ichiro.

Despite some possible nitpicking by baseball historians, the Update set is a nice one and caps the year off nicely for Topps. It should be relatively easy to complete the base set, and the inserts add enough difficulty to make the chase intriguing.

Here's a story I wrote for Sports Collectors Daily about the 1957 Topps football rookie card of Johnny Unitas, which has really pulled in some big numbers in high grade: 

​www.sportscollectorsdaily.com/johnny-unitas-rookie-card-1957-topps-football/

Here's a story I wrote for Sports Collectors Daily about Brad Parvin, a sports card shop owner in Rockford, Illinois, who bought what has to be the ultimate Chicago Cubs card and memorabilia collection;

www.sportscollectorsdaily.com/ultimate-chicago-cubs-baseball-card-collection/

Here's a story I wrote for Sports Collectors Daily about the 1964 Topps Rookie All-Star Banquet cards.
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www.sportscollectorsdaily.com/1964-topps-rookie-all-star-banquet-cards-were-quirky-and-unique/

The year 2017 has been, in my view, the most turbulent year in our history since 1968. Here’s a sampling of 2017 so far. Killer hurricanes. Earthquakes. Terrorist attacks and bombings. A lone wolf shooter causing terror at a concert. Divisiveness in politics. A president who chastises the media as fake. Media that chastise the president as a flake.

Sound like 1968? You bet. In ’68 Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy were assassinated. The inner cities were rocked by rioting and looting. The Vietnam War basically toppled a president, and a Democratic convention to try and pick a candidate to succeed him degenerated into clashes between Chicago police and antiwar demonstrators. Even sports was not immune, as Olympic track medalists John Carlos and Tommie Smith raised gloved fists on the medal stand during as the national anthem played.

“The bold America that had emerged from World War II was on the verge of cannibalizing itself from within,” Sridhar Pappu writes in his new book, The Year of the Pitcher: Bob Gibson, Denny McLain, and the End of Baseball’s Golden Age (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; hardback; $28; 381 pages). Pappu, “The Male Animal” columnist for The New York Times, deftly trains social and political lenses on 1968, weaving in the results of an extraordinary baseball season that ended with a memorable World Series victory by the Detroit Tigers.

There was some great baseball taking place — well, there was some great pitching — and the two catalysts that year were Bob Gibson and Denny McLain.

Gibson, Pappu writes, was college-educated, “endured injustice, and helped direct change within the culture of the Cardinals.” He was fearless on the mound and when prompted, was not afraid to give his opinion. McLain was a man “brazenly out for himself,” who coveted money and was not afraid to talk about it. “He lived life on the edge” but “never doubted his invincibility.”
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Look at Gibson’s stats for 1968. He went 22-9 with an eye-popping 1.12 ERA and 13 shutouts. In Game 1 of the 1968 World Series he struck out a record 17 batters. What’s even more amazing is that the right-hander lost nine games that season; he started 34 games and completed 28 of them. In the 22 games he won, Gibson’s ERA was 0.57. Right-handed hitters managed a .159 average off Gibson; lefties fared slightly better, at .220. In games where the Cardinals scored two or fewer runs, Gibson went 9-8. After all, it’s hard to win if your team doesn’t score. “Gibson had to throw shutouts to win,” Pappu writes. “He was on his own.”

McLain went 31-6, becoming the first pitcher to win 30 games in a season since Dizzy Dean in 1934. His ERA also sparkled, at 1.96, and his completed 28 of his 41 starts. Right-handers hit .193 against the right-handed McLain, while lefties hit .206. McLain was 16-2 at the All-Star break and benefited by good run support by the Tigers. When Detroit scored three runs or more, he was 29-2.

I hesitate to call 1968 the end of baseball’s Golden Age, as Pappu implies in his book title. Depending on one’s perspective, the Golden Age can vary in one's interpretation. Some might argue that the post-World War II-expansion era from 1946 to 1960 deserves that title, while others might argue that baseball in the 1920s and ’30s was more appropriately golden. If you’re a Boston Red Sox fan, then 2004 through 2013 might be considered golden. It's arbitrary. What did end was pennant winners decided by most wins during the regular season; 1969 brought the dawn of divisional play and the pitcher’s mound was lowered by five inches, which altered the game.

Pappu tells the story of 1968 through the eyes of the participants, blending baseball with of race, violence, protest and the changing dynamic of American society. He does a nice job with the background leading up to that season. In 1967, summer riots in cities like Detroit and Newark would “forever change” how Americans viewed their urban centers. Pitchers like Mickey Lolich and Pete Richert were forced to change from baseball uniforms to National Guard gear, as they were called up for duty in the smoldering inner cities.

The ’68 season had begun under a cloud, as major-league owners and players grappled over how to respond after King’s assassination in Memphis on April 4. It continued with Kennedy’s death in early June. Meanwhile, pitchers like Gibson and McLain were racking up wins, pointing their teams toward an inevitable confrontation in the World Series. Don Drysdale also etched his name in history in 1968, when he threw 58 2/3 shutout innings.

Pappu blends him some sidebar stories, too. Among them is expertise of Detroit pitching coach Johnny Sain, who kept McLain focused and further enhanced his own reputation as the pitching guru of the 1960s. The experiences of sportswriter George Vecsey and pitcher-turned-author Jim Bouton also add texture to his narrative. In his own book, Ball Four, Bouton would write glowingly of Sain, who produced pennant-winning staffs for the Yankees and Twins before guiding the Tigers to a flag. Pappu adds more to Sain’s legend.

The story of Jackie Robinson, whose influence in American society had begun to wane by 1968, is also told in the context of that difficult year. To the end, Robinson was a crusader — not only for baseball, but for human rights and dignity— Pappu shows why Robinson remains revered today.

The 1968 World Series — billed as Gibson vs. McLain — is retold in great detail. Gibson won twice, but lost Game 7 to Lolich and the Tigers in a memorable finish. Detroit, trailing 3-1 in the best-of-seven series, swept the last three games to win their first World Series since 1945. McLain lost two games but did win Game 6.

There are a few glitches in Pappu’s narrative. In his epilogue, Pappu references a game against Boston where McLain, “on sheer guts,” struck out Cleon Jones, Carl Yastrzemski and Ken Harrelson. Pappu had the wrong Jones; Cleon played for the Mets, while Dalton Jones was with the Red Sox. That 4-0 victory at Fenway Park on Aug. 16, 1968, and those three consecutive whiffs helped McLain earn his 25th win, kindling beliefs that 30 wins were within reach. Those three strikeouts, with runners on second and third in the sixth inning, preserved a 2-0 lead by Detroit.

Pappu also writes of NFL running back “Gayle Sayers” instead of “Gale,” and refers to Bill White as president of the American League, instead of the National League.

These are minor mistakes. The overall effort is excellent, and the contrast between Gibson and McLain remains to this day. Gibson “remains the avatar” of his era and the one baseball fans remember. As for McLain, “the racy headlines have supplanted our memories” of his baseball career.

At a thrift store recently, I stumbled across a 1969 vinyl record album by McLain, touting his ability on the Hammond organ (“Denny is a strong-willed, impulsive man who speaks his mind bluntly,” the liner notes read). I bought the album — with McLain’s autograph (allegedly) scrawled across the cover — for five bucks. It’s easy listening, a mixture of jazz and rock. His favorite song from the 12 he recorded? “Lonely is the Name.”

It’s appropriate.
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For one season at least (he did pitch well in others), McLain’s name was up there with the greats. Gibson’s name and feats endure, and he is in the Hall of Fame. Pappu brings both diverse personalities together and gives the reader an entertaining history lesson in The Year of the Pitcher.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year for baseball fans. October is when the postseason begins, and fans eagerly wait to see who will emerge as heroes during the playoffs and World Series.

Seventy years ago, one of the most memorable World Series was played between the New York Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers. The Yankees would prevail in a tense, seven-game series, and it would be marked by one of the most memorable defensive plays and a no-hitter attempt that fell agonizingly short.

Bill Bevens, Cookie Lavagetto, Al Gionfriddo and George “Snuffy” Stirnweiss, along with opposing managers Burt Shotton and Bucky Harris, are the focus of Kevin Cook’s book, Electric October: Seven World Series Games, Six Lives, Five Minutes of Fame that Lasted Forever (Henry Holt and Company; hardback; $30; 291 pages). Cook, a former senior editor at Sports Illustrated and the author of several books — including 2012’s The Last Headbangers and 2007’s Tommy’s Honor — takes a Boys of Summer-like approach to the 1947 World Series, zeroing in on six key players from that postseason drama.

Electric in the book title is a passing nod to the fact that this was the first televised World Series, but from a descriptive standpoint, what took place on the field between these two rivals was electric, too.

The reader is treated to interesting and thorough biographies of each subject, a synopsis of the ’47 Series, and how each player and manager were affected by their brief moments of glory. The 1947 season opened an 11-year stretch that saw at least one team from New York in the World Series (1948 was the exception); the Yankees and Dodgers would meet six times during that era, with New York winning five times.

In Game 4, Bevens came within one out of throwing the first no-hitter in World Series history despite walking 10 batters. The right-hander allowed a ninth-inning double to Lavagetto, which gave the Dodgers a 3-2 victory at Ebbets Field and evened the series at 2-2. It was his only hit in the 1947 World Series, but it was a big one.
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Gionfriddo made the defensive play of the World Series in Game 6, racing to the bullpen fence in left-center field at Yankee Stadium to make a twisting, backpedaling catch to rob Joe DiMaggio of a sure game-tying, three-run homer. DiMaggio famously kicked the dirt between first and second base in a rare show of on-field emotion. Brooklyn Dodgers’ announcer Red Barber was incredulous at the catch, as his famous “Ohhhh, doctor” call demonstrated.

Stirnweiss was the American League batting champion in 1945 — one of eight who played for the Yankees — but never really received his due during his career. Critics downplayed his batting title because it came during the watered down World War II era, which was most naturally a sore spot for the Yankees’ second baseman. Stirnweiss would die in September 1958 when the commuter train he was riding ignored several signals to stop and fell into Newark Bay. He was one of 48 fatalities.

Shotton took over the Dodgers in early 1947 when manager Leo Durocher was suspended for the season for reasons never fully explained, although his alleged gambling and ties to organized crime probably factored into the decision of Commissioner Happy Chandler. Shotton, a quiet man who managed in street clothes, led the Dodgers to the pennant during a turbulent year that saw Jackie Robinson break the modern-day color barrier in major-league baseball.

Harris was the original “Boy Wonder” of baseball when he led the Washington Senators to their only World Series title as a 27-year-old in 1924. He also led the Senators to the 1925 Series but lost in seven games to Pittsburgh; he was a surprise choice to manage the Yankees in 1947 but rose to the challenge and produced the Yankees’ first Series title since 1943.

Cook’s storytelling ability is excellent, and he unearths wonderful tidbits about each subject. Bevens’ first name, for example, was Floyd, but he got his nickname when he lost a fly ball in the sun and also lost his balance. The baseball hit the bill of his cap, bounced straight up and then into the glove of the startled Bevens.

Shotton was also known as Barney, a nod to his playing days when his speed and base-stealing ability earned him comparisons to Barney Oldfield, the racecar driver who broke the 100 mph barrier. Lavagetto, born Enrico Atillio Lavagetto, was nicknamed Harry by an elementary school teacher. He earned his “Cookie” nickname because of Oakland Oaks’ owner Victor “Cookie” Devincenzi. When older players wondered what the owner saw in Lavagetto, they called him “Cookie’s boy.” It was a natural progression to “Cookie,” who managed the old Senators through their final years in Washington and in its first season as the reincarnated Minnesota Twins.

Cook’s research creates a lively narrative as he takes the reader through the 1947 World Series. Of the four players he profiled, only Stirnweiss would return to the majors in 1948. The other three would continue their playing careers, but in the minors.

Cook spoke with family members of the players and managers to give readers a more complete picture of the men who made such an impact in one Fall Classic. They gave him access to clippings and mementoes, and Cook also researched old newspaper and magazine clippings for information. He also relied on books about the era, including those from Barber, Peter Golenbock, Jack Smiles, David Gough and SABR member Lyle Spatz.

In today’s memorabilia-driven world, one can only speculate on what the ball Gionfriddo caught in Game 6 might be worth today. “It never occurred to Gionfriddo to keep the baseball he caught,” Cook writes. “At the time, Al was thinking about getting to the dugout and the bat rack because he was up next.”

Stirnweiss had several bats around his house that were cut in half and hung on the wall; one of them had belonged to Babe Ruth, Cook writes. Memorabilia buffs are fainting at this point.

Bevens and Lavagetto were the 1940s’ version of Bill Buckner and Mookie Wilson, or even of Ralph Branca and Bobby Thomson, seemingly joined at the hip because of one play. Bevens, Cook writes, “had a chip on his shoulder.”

“He was tired of being known mainly as the “Guy Who Lost the No-Hitter,” Cook writes. Bevens thought about the play often and once even asked Lavagetto, “You knew I had a no-hitter. You coulda let it happen. Why not?”
Lavagetto would not have laid down for Bevens, and the pitcher knew that. But his frustration was palpable.

Gionfriddo, for his part, delighted in retelling his brush with fame. Even DiMaggio played the good sport. When Bob Gionfriddo ran into the Yankee Clipper at a restaurant in San Jose, California, he mentioned that he was Al’s cousin. DiMaggio smiled.

“Is that little son of a bitch still alive?” he asked.

He was. And he’d outlast DiMaggio by several years, too.
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Electric October is a wonderful look back at a World Series that had drama, humor, tension, joy and sorrow. The YouTube videos of the Series and its defining plays are grainy, but Cook brings it back clearly to the reader with his precise prose.