Phillies Rookie Stars, 1972 Topps

Names: Pete Koegel, Mike Anderson, Wayne "W." Twitchell
Team: Philadelphia Phillies
Positions: Catcher, outfielder, and pitcher, respectively
Value of card: A handful of sunflower seed shells, still moist
Key 1971 stat: Despite what the card says, not a lot of star power
These three rookies are headed for The Matchup:

Round 1: Wearing a hat with a baseball team's logo (Winner: Anderson)
Round 2: Posing for a photo in front of some desert foothills (Winner: Koegel)
Round 3: Only one of the group to ever make an all-star appearance (Winner: Twitchell)
Round 4: The eyes of a cybernetic organism (Winner: Koegel)
Round 5: The eyes of a shady drifter (Winner: Twitchell)
Round 6: Fashionably popped collar (Winner: Anderson)
Round 7: Cheekbones that we'd absolutely die for (Winner: Koegel)
Round 8: Surname that resembles the name of that exercise for lady parts (Winner: Koegel)

Final score: Koegel 4, Anderson 2, Twitchell 2

Synopsis: Despite having inhuman eyes and enough airbrush paint to make the editors of Vogue uneasy, Pete Koegel surged late for the win. Looks like all that squatting finally paid off.

Phillies Rookie Stars, 1972 Topps

Curt Leskanic, 1995 Upper Deck Collector's Choice

Names: 371426300, Curt Leskanic
Team: Colorado Rockies
Positions: Cyborg, pitcher
Value of card: The last number on his name tag
Key 1994 stat: 16 runtime errors
Curt Leskanic, by the numbers: It's clear from the above photo that Curt Leskanic was a cybernetic organism, serial number 371426300, that was sent back in time to wallow in mediocrity before winning Game 4 of the 2004 ALCS. But what does that number signify? Let's break it down.

371: This identifies the manufacturing plant where the cyborg was created, located underground in sub-Saharan Africa, the only place still safe and warm enough to live once the asteroid people find our planet. This is likely the same complex that produced fellow athletic cyborg Matt Riley.
42: The meaning of life, duh.
63: The half-life of the radioactive material powering this man-machine hybrid. Either that, or the rating, out of 10, of the thing's cheekbones. Grrrrowr!
00: The combined value of all baseball cards that Leskanic would appear on. Hey, those future dudes really knew what they were talking about!

Curt Leskanic, 1995 Upper Deck Collector's Choice

Kal Daniels, 1988 Donruss Diamond Kings (Dreadful Diamond Kings Week No. 4)

Name: Kal Daniels
Team: Cincinnati Reds
Position: Outfield
Value of card: Unreasonable anger
Key 1987 stat: One flash in the pan
It's a mystery: Look, we know what you're thinking. Who the heck is Kal Daniels, and why are laser beams shooting out the back of his neck? So, we did some research, and while we still don't know much about Mr. Daniels' exploits as a baseball player — other than that he apparently was not happy to be selected for the Diamond King set — we believe we know why his neck is spraying beams of light everywhere. The only explanation is that Kal Daniels was actually a cyborg from the future, where he was called K.A.L. 3000. The acronym stands for Kill Aggressors with Lasers, and his primary duty was to use his lethal spine to protect the Space Pope from would-be assassins. No other answer makes any sense.

Kal Daniels, 1988 Donruss Diamond Kings (Dreadful Diamond Kings Week No. 4)

Matt Riley, 2001 Bowman

Name: Matt Riley
Team: Baltimore Orioles
Position: Pitcher
Value of card: One fake Matt Riley autograph (or, for that matter, one real Matt Riley autograph)
Key 2000 stat: 232 fewer strikeouts than in Little League in 1994
It's true, we tells ya: We could spend a few hundred words wasting your time writing about how this ridiculous card features an Aryan cyborg sent from the year 2137 with eyes that shoot blue lasers and a chin that's so sharp it can cut through diamonds, but, instead, we'll tell you a true story about Mr. Riley. When he was 15, he was on a varsity high school baseball team in the Bay Area but still played on a Little League team when schedules didn't conflict. Needless to say, he was the best pitcher in the Little League senior major division, and probably the best hitter, too. He threw about 92 mph, which at 14, the age of most of the league's players, looked like 192. One of the monkeys here at The Bust played in that league. Here's a play-by-play of the first at-bat against Riley:

Pitch 1: 10,000-mph fastball down the middle for a strike; swing physically impossible; fear courses through body.
Pitch 2: Curve ball heads straight for helmet's ear hole, forcing a dive to the ground, before ball bends over the heart of the plate for a called strike.
Pitch 3: 14,000-mph fastball that somehow moves much like a "Dusty Diamond All-Star Softball" pitch from a witch, for a swinging strike three, though the swing barely crosses the plate and looks as if it were powered by two pieces of cooked spaghetti.

And here's a play-by-play of the second at-bat against Riley:

Pitch 1: 17,500-mph fastball becomes a heat-seeking missile, zeroes in on rib cage, knocks wind out of scared middle-schooler, puncturing the flesh, but not nearly as much as the boy's ego; Riley would strike out the next three batters, stranding the runner at first.

And the third at-bat?

Pitch 1: Thrown to another player because the coach figured the kid had been through enough that day.

Matt Riley, 2001 Bowman