The Pack Rat #4: I Think I Got "Catfished"
Talkin' Drake's Cakes, Frankie Muniz, and Chess
Welcome to the fourth issue of The Pack Rat, the monthly newsletter where I open a pack of baseball cards.
PACK: 2024 Bowman Baseball
Gerrit Cole - Pitcher, New York Yankees
Most Yankee fans seem to appreciate that Gerrit Cole grew up a Yankee fan, but I don't. If I ever again see that photo of the 11-year-old future ace holding his "YANKEE FAN TODAY TOMORROW FOREVER" sign back at the old Stadium, there's a strong possibility that I might puke my guts out. I guess that's where being "green with envy" comes from—the nausea that sets in when you watch someone live your dream.
However jealous I may be, I am happy for Cole. Just so long as he pitches well when it matters. The second he blows a big game that costs the Yankees another World Series victory, I will turn on him and maybe even call him something disparaging like "Gerrit the Carrot." (Hopefully, I will have thought of a better insult if that day comes.)
Isaiah Drake - Outfielder, Atlanta Braves
Before Drake had beef with Kendrick Lamar, Drake's Cakes had a heated (and then left on a windowsill to cool) rivalry with its fellow bakery conglomerate Hostess. When Drake's Cakes came out with a cream-filled chocolate cake called Ring Dings, Hostess unveiled their Ding Dong dupe. While this ongoing food fight has yet to get violent, you have to wonder what was going through the mind of Drake's Cakes duck chef mascot, Webster, when Hostess started putting Twinkie the Kid, a gun-slinging cowboy confectionary, on its packaging. Message received, I'm sure.
While I can't say the same about the rapper, I will gladly defend Drake's Cakes. Their Fruit Pies are probably the best baked good that take an entire presidential term to go bad. If Isaiah Drake ever gets a cup of coffee in the Big Leagues, I highly recommend he pair it with a pack of Coffee Cakes. (Though, of course, Entenmann's does it best.)
Homer Bush Jr. - Outfielder, San Diego Padres
In the early days of the app formerly known as Twitter, when the "verified" blue checkmark couldn't be bought with money nor byline and was reserved for household names like Shaq and Kanye, it was unclear if someone posting under a lesser celebrity name was truly them or not. Things were especially murky when the account was for more niche public personalities like a reality show cast member or a beloved but forgettable bench player from the late 90s/early 00s.
Still, I shot my shot and tweeted at Homer Bush Jr.'s father—who was one of my favorite players from the legendary '98 Yankees—and asked him if he'd like to have a catch someday. He, or at least whoever was running the account, agreed. Somehow*, Campbell's Soup got involved and sent us branded ¾ sleeve baseball shirts to wear during our friendly toss—but it never came to be. The most ridiculous part of the story is that I can't remember why. This was during the peak of MTV's "Catfish," so maybe we were waiting for Max and Nev to get involved.
*I probably reached out to them. Everything felt possible back then, even if it didn't make sense. The fast-casual chain Bareburger once mailed me a gift card because I tweeted them a half-baked idea for a jingle. I used a kazoo. It sucked.
Trea Turner - Shortstop, Philadelphia Phillies
Perhaps the days of the villainous Philly sports fan are a thing of the past. Winning a title or two makes everyone friendlier. What did they do again anyway? Throw Mike Schmidt at Santa? I can hardly recall; it's been so long. Now my memory is clouded with Rocky-coded feel-good stories like fans embracing Alec Bohm after a rough home game in which he yelled, "I hate this place," and giving a standing ovation to their newly-signed and richly paid star shortstop Trea Turner to show their unwavering support for him while he struggled at the plate.
Inspired, or at least not threatened, by the fans' positivity, the Phillies rode a returned-to-form Bohm and Turner to a National League Championship Series appearance. That's great and all, but I still believe booing is a better motivator. Maybe it's just my personal preference. I'd rather be told this newsletter sucks than be applauded for "sticking with the writing thing." As the Hall of Famer Reggie Jackson once said, "Fans don't boo nobodies." So yes, if you're not going to give Trea Turner a Bronx cheer, I will gladly accept it. (An 11 year, $300,000,000 contract would be nice, too.)
Ryan Vanderhei - Pitcher, San Francisco Giants
For the most part, the designers who Photoshop the Major League jerseys on these Minor League prospects do a good job, but this Ryan Vanderhei card looks like the poster of a Frankie Muniz movie I'd like to watch, but will never come to be in today's Hollywood where only Ryan Reynolds and Glen Powell can land a role. Life is unfair.
For his part, I think Muniz has happily left acting in the past. I'm not sure what he's up to now, but a few years ago I did buy a raspberry vinaigrette from the business he owned with his wife, Outrageous Olive Oils & Vinegars. I never opened the bottle because I bought it more as a token of my fandom than a dressing for my salad, but Muniz sold the specialty shop shortly thereafter. I paid at least $15 (plus shipping & handling) and the label didn't even have his name on it. Outrageous, indeed.
Henry Davis - Catcher, Pittsburgh Pirates
The back of Henry Davis' baseball card says he enjoys playing chess. I, too, partake in the Gentleman's game—and I'm terrible at it. I regularly set the board up incorrectly and call my knights "horses."
I'll never be a high-IQ pawn star like Bobby Fischer, Magnus Carleson, or that one grandmaster who was accused of cheating at chess with a vibrating butt plug, but there's no shame in my game. It's fun to boss a royal court around. I wish there were a little more solidarity among shitty players. On the rare occasion where I actually win against a fellow chess chump, they almost always storm off. Hold your knights and let me have this moment.
Roc Riggio - Second Baseman, New York Yankees
I wouldn't dare challenge the toughness of a guy named Roc, short for Rocco, but that's a lot of (or very little) name to back up. Riggio better show plenty of fight in Pinstripes or he'll be the laughing stock of Arthur Ave—and let me tell you, as someone who had to book it green-faced and slice-less out of one of the block's many esteemed Italian eateries to puke (due to previous illness not induced by gourmet grub or Gerrit Cole), you don't want that.
Schadenfreude is a German word but a New York pastime.
—Alex Watt