El Cardquistador

I’m staring at a list of 140 needed cards. Thirty are from a single 1984 Star set—perforated versions, puzzle backs, and whatever “Star Gold Edition” was supposed to be. Twenty-seven are Topps stickercards. There are hand-cut Kraft panels, 7-11 Slurpee coins from specific regions, and something called “1987 BOARDWALK & BASEBALL TOP RUN MAKERS DARRYL STRAWBERRY NO SLASH.”

I’ve lost track of how many Darryl Strawberry cards I’ve collected. Enough to know the weird ones are what’s left.

And the deeper I go, the stranger it gets.

The Strawberry Paradox (Why I’m Chasing Cards I Don’t Even Want)

The premise was simple: collect every pre-2000 Darryl Strawberry card. Not the best ones. Not the iconic ones. Every single one.

But “every” is a trap. It means stickers, repeats, odd formats—like the stickers, which are smaller than standard cards and feel out of place. Same photo, lower quality. Non-standard dimensions. Cards that disrupt the collection’s rhythm even while checking a box.

It also means the Star sets: thirty cards from 1984 alone, with variations like perforated and puzzle backs. After covering “gold-plated confusion” in detail, chasing more Star variants is still ironic. Yet 1988 Star Nova and 1991 Star Gold remain on the list.

At some point, the chase stopped being about want. Completion has its own gravity. You’re not curating anymore—you’re filling gaps.

Is that compulsion or commitment? Does the complete collection justify the less appealing aspects, or do these detract from the whole?

But at least those cards exist. At least I know what I’m chasing. The real problem is the stuff that keeps appearing out of nowhere…

The Unlicensed Underground (Junk Cards That Databases Forgot)

This isn’t about food issues or regional promos. Some of those are licensed. Some aren’t. Some scrub the logos because they couldn’t get approval. They’re unusual, but they still fall within the official hobby.

This is about the stuff that doesn’t. The cards that were never licensed, never widely distributed, and never properly cataloged. Cheap stock. Blurry photos. No publisher. No checklist. No logic. Sometimes they even used team logos without permission.

They’re not in the database because they never had a name. No brand. No release. Just cardboard with a face on it.

You find them in eBay lots with no description. Sometimes they’re mixed in with customs or reprints. Sometimes they’re listed as “oddball” or “bootleg,” but even that feels generous.

They’re not rare. They’re just forgotten. Or ignored.

And yet, they’re part of the footprint. If you’re chasing everything, they count. Even if they weren’t supposed to.

At this point, I’m not just collecting Strawberry—I’m recovering him. One blurry, unlicensed card at a time.

The No-Slash Boardwalk (When the Chase Becomes Impossible)

1987 BOARDWALK & BASEBALL TOP RUN MAKERS DARRYL STRAWBERRY NO SLASH.

That’s the one. The white whale.

The “no slash” variant is missing the slash between the B/B in “BOARDWALK & BASEBALL.” I finally found one today, after months of searching. I didn’t find it for sale, but I found a picture.

Other likely-impossible cards:

• 1987 Topps Stickers Hardback Test
• 1989 Topps Heads Up Test

Then there are the cards that aren’t impossible—just economically absurd:

• 1999 Finest Gold Refractor
• 1994 Finest Refractor

They show up. Most days, even. But not at a price that makes sense. They’re available. Just not attainable.

Regional exclusives with print runs so small they might as well be myths. Test issues that may not exist. Refractors that defy budget logic.

Do I keep them on the spreadsheet?

At what point do I declare victory? 999/1000? 990/1000?

The difference between rare and impossible matters.

Maybe the impossible cards are the point. They keep the chase alive.

If I caught them all, what would I do next?

The Absurd Ending

So no, I haven’t learned anything from chasing Darryl Strawberry cards. Maybe that’s the lesson. Maybe some chases are just chases, and meaning is optional.

Or maybe I’ll figure it out around card 950.

I’ll let you know.

And if you’ve got an unlicensed ’88 Strawberry card in a shoebox somewhere—seriously, email me.