Ahh, nostalgia.

Whether it’s a song, a movie or just something seemingly insignificant, dozens of things can make us think of our youth. So, as I sat here a few minutes ago, thinking of my youth, I was reminded of one of the cornerstones of growing up… baseball cards.

We all had them. We’d go through the packs, sorting out the keepers and tossing aside those cards that seemed to be absolutely everywhere (Oil Can Boyd, we hardly knew ye). As I grow older, I’ve come to realize that many of the “sure bet” cards that were going to provide me a comfortable retirement are now worth a fraction of what I actually paid for them in the year of their release. However, I’ve also discovered that you can find even more joy in the sad little cards that were tossed out before you could even break down the brick of bubblegum that you were hopelessly trying to chew.

For example, take this little winner from Cleveland Indian, Rod Nichols.

Is it the glasses, the collar or an enchanting mix of both that conjures up memories of yesteryear? Perhaps it’s the comfort in knowing that somewhere, at some time, for just a moment, this actually looked cool. Or not… after all, it IS Cleveland.

Or maybe it’s more of the dazed, glassy look in the eyes of Seattle’s Karl Best that best explains how it feels to search through these old cards.

A mixture of wonder, whimsy and methamphetamine that seems to defy verbal explanation.

If there’s one thing that we can all agree on, it’s the era’s refusal to accept the fact that the uniforms taking the field each day were, at best, fashion mistakes. San Diego, Houston and Chicago took the torch with gusto, blessing us with fashion choices that defied both reason and good taste. However, no organization ever took a more defiant stance against the world of fashion than the mighty Pittsburgh Pirates.

From the blinding yellow shirts to the incomprehensibly striped shoeboxes on their heads, the Pirates knocked fashion out of the park, rounding third and sliding into our hearts. Just take a look at these dashing gentlemen:

Mike Brown shows us that Jim McMahon wasn’t the only superstar to make sunglasses look THIS good.

Let’s all take a minute to thank Enrique Romo for bringing Yetti fashion to the masses.

And without the bold fashion choices of Lee Tunnel and Jim Leyland, stovepipe headwear may have been lost to the ravages of time… Abraham who!?

Of course, not every one of these superstars went on to the hall of fame, and before you say it, I’m aware of what a crime that truly is. Luckily, for Moose Haas and Ron Davis, Hollywood came calling. It was in the surprise smash-hit, Napoleon Dynamite, that Haas and Davis made their mark as they were cast as Uncle Rico and Napoleon, respectively.

Sadly, greener pastures did not lie ahead for some of our forgotten cardboard heroes. As they became relegated to the nickel bin at the card shop, their stats along with their personalities faded from our collective consciousness. Many baseball stars of the past used the card as a way to tell us something personal about themselves, opting out of the traditional poses and instead saying, “Hey world, this is who I am!”

Without these cards, we may never know that from time to time Willie McGee finds himself thoroughly disgusted.

We would never have seen the side of Sammy Stewart that says, “I’m lovin’ life!”

I would have grossly underestimated what a lady killer T.R. Bryden really is

… or ever known that Glenn Hubbard really, really likes snakes.

Sadly, we’re most likely destined to travel through our remaining years, never really knowing what happened to many of these guys. Some were bumped back down the minors, some blew out a knee and some probably own auto dealerships in their home town. I’d imagine that more than a few made a run for congress, maybe a few overdosed on one particular drug or another. Most likely they’re probably googling themselves right now and telling their children about their glory days in the big leagues.

However, I prefer to believe something more mysterious happened.

I noticed a common thread in many of the lowly cards of the past… something disturbing. It appears that, as their careers wound down (many before they actually began), they all seemed to notice something looming in the sky.

I can see it now. Just as the predetermined “bottom rung” of baseball stars arrived for their photo shoot, an alien craft descended from the sky. With a flash of light and an otherworldly noise, these players were taken on board and whisked away.

The ship would sail out of sight, leaving only the last images of these men, forever captured as a warning to future generations of "less than major" major leaguers.

Later, we would all discover that this was part of an intergalactic trade between the Alien League and Major League Baseball. In trade for some of our less talented players (still vastly superior to their alien counterparts), the aliens would make various concessions regarding their eventual invasion of the Earth.

We have these brave men to thank for our freedom as humans, and I for one would like to suggest a monument in Washington to commemorate their sacrifice… even if Al Cowens did refuse to go quietly.

Our youth has passed us by, and our memories of the boys of summer are fading as quickly as that Ken Griffey Jr. rookie card that you thought would be worth something some day so you spent all that damned money that you earned mowing lawns all freakin' summer on ONE CARD only to find out that it's worth less than a gallon of gas in Venezuela 15 years later... not that I'd know or anything. If you ever find yourself with a few moments to kill, climb into the attic and drag out your old baseball cards. After all, that old Biff Pocoroba card may not be worth much at the card shop…

… but the memories are more precious than gold.

Except maybe for the Ken Griffey Jr. 1989 Upper Deck rookie card... sonofabitch.