Jeff Katz

One of the great inventions in recent hobby history is the invention of Pack Night. Created by a group of Chicago friends/SABR members, Pack Night is simply joyful – a small band of pals get together with unopened boxes of packs, mostly from the 1980’s and 1990’s and split them equally, trading, sharing, and gabbing about cards and baseball for hours. And there’s pizza and beer. The generous spirit of Pack Night is what makes it special – Dodger collectors get Dodger cards, Cub collectors get Cub cards, set builders are helped to build sets. And there’s pizza and beer.

Pack Night made a rare road appearance two weeks ago in Cooperstown. Almost 20 baseball friends came to the village and hung out for the weekend. There was a Pack Night to end all Pack Nights. Not only was there a giant table piled high with boxes and packs, but there were multiple tables set up with free stuff that was up for grabs (I left with a bag full of RC Cola cans I didn’t have).

One thing that’s difficult about Pack Night is that the product can get repetitive. Lots of 1988 Donruss make their way to the table. Same for 1990 Topps. It ain’t called “junk wax” for nuthin’. Twitterless Rich, a non-social media member of the core Chicago gang, keeps a spreadsheet of what’s been opened. It’s both helpful and frustrating, because it’s awfully tough to find a rarity, but I was determined to find something that hadn’t been opened before. And I did – a box of 1984 Topps Rub Downs.

I was intrigued when I stumbled upon these. I had never heard of them. The cards, such as they are, are lightweight stock, like tracing paper, with images you can transfer from the Rub Down sheet to wherever. They’re slightly smaller than regular cards and come two to a pack. That’s 72 in a box and there are 32 in the set.

I was very excited to open these packs and, maybe, I could cobble together a set. I wasn’t tied to anything else I was opening and was happy to give them all away. My goal was to come away with a complete set of Rub Downs and I announced to the long table that, if anyone didn’t want theirs, they should send them my way.

To my surprise I didn’t do very well, leaving with only about half the set. However, the sharing philosophy of Pack Night does not end at the door. I put out an ask to our Cooperstown group via Twitter DM and I was quickly two shy of complete. Those last two were easy to find on Sportlots, cheaply (even though one Rub Down featured Steve Carlton and the other Mike Schmidt).

Fun to put together, fun to have. There’s a 1985 set, but some of the Rub Down sheets are the same as the 1984 version, the only difference being the date stamp. There are new players – Gwynn, Boddicker, Gooden,etc. – scattered throughout. Maybe I’ll buy one, but one set may be enough. It wouldn’t be the same anyway; my 1984 set is inextricably connected to a special weekend in Cooperstown, and that makes all the difference in the world.

When we moved from Brooklyn to the middle of Long Island in December 1971, it was like landing on the moon. I was nine years old, with long curly hair and a David Crosbyesque fringe jacket. The kids in my school were more Leave It to Beaver than Mod Squad.

The stores were different too. There was a drive through place to get your milk and groceries (Dairy Barn). In Canarsie, we had Bill’s Superette, a truck that would drive down East 82^nd Street with similar goods. Instead of the local candy store, there were 7-Eleven Stores. And Slurpees. Many many Slurpees, the official drink of the Gods.

There are few things on Earth as delicious as a Coca Cola Slurpee, but, starting in 1972, the icy drink game was dramatically upped. Slurpee cups had baseball players!

I was going to be drinking a lot of Slurpees anyway, but now there was something new to collect. The players were beautifully, and colorfully, drawn. Well worth keeping after the last straw full. I was so hooked on Slurpee cups that my Grandfather would buy me empty ones. Thanks to the benevolent staff at the Lake Grove store, I was allowed to go behind the counter and go through the sleeve of cups, picking out the ones I needed. I don’t know if they charged less, or the same, for empties, but it worked for my Grandfather, and for me. At a quarter either way, it was manageable.

I’ve transported stacks of Slurpee cups to every place I’ve lived in the last 50 years, but only recently did I come across these lovely photo checklists. Now I can work on these 60 cup sets.

The 1972 cups have back bios set to the left in one solid paragraph. The 1973s have a more centered look. This is important to know since the checklists have a lot of overlap. There are some great distinctions – Willie Mays has Giants (1972) and Mets (1973) versions. Others can only be distinguished by the backs.

The 20 Hall of Famer cups are not as nice. Weird, really. Like the 1963 Bazooka All Time Greats, they portray HOFers when they were old. Nothing more appealing to the kids than a desiccated Lefty Grove. 7-Eleven liked them enough to put out a radio ad.

I’ve learned a few things as I start investing the cups I need. Thankfully, sold listings on eBay indicate that the common guys are pretty cheap, two for a dollar at times. Even big names don’t go for very much.

What I don’t know is whether there’s a lurking short print out there. I tend to think not, but I’d hate to get stuck paying a ton for a 1973 Ellie Rodriguez cup.

This feels like a good project. I never dreamed I’d have complete runs of Slurpee cups, but it seems attainable. Not as much fun as drinking a Slurpee, but close, very close.