Here's Rollie Fingers, frozen at a pivotal moment in his delivery:
He's striding forward, stiff-lipped, eyes staring at the target, right wrist cocked and hiding behind him in the shadows. In just another fraction of a second that ball will be hurled toward the catcher's mitt at high speed.
But do you know what really gets me about this card?
The background.
It's just a wall of spectators, as far as the card borders allow you to see in every direction. If you look closely, you might see more than one of them shading their eyes with their hand on that bright, sunny afternoon. And the only thing separating all of them from the field?
A waist-high fence.
Not even a solid fence. A chain-link fence.
There's no protective netting. No padded wall. No rolled-up tarp in front of them. Nothing. You can see everything. You can even see some of their feet peeking out from under the bottom railing. They may as well be on the field.
If you were the first baseman going over to field a foul pop-up, you'd probably be able to smell their suntan lotion and hear every word of every casual conversation. Every word of support. Every jeer. How visceral it all is.
Adding just a little more to this card, the A's won the World Series the year before, 1973. And the year before that, 1972. They'd also win it all in 1974.
And adding still more, in 1974 Mr. Fingers would appear in a major league–leading 76 games, going 9-5 while putting up 18 saves and a 2.65 ERA. He struck out 94 batters over 119 innings. (He'd also win the Playoff MVP award.)
So, if you were a kid opening packs of Topps baseball cards during the summer of '74 and you found Rollie Fingers about to fling one toward home plate, you'd probably be feeling pretty good—A's fan or not.
And for giving collectors an idea of what that feeling on the mound might have been like—a superstar surrounded by fans as far as the eye can see, anticipating your every pitch—1974 Topps #212 has a place in my box of favorite cards.
